Open House
My mother likes to look at houses. I don’t remember this being the case when I was younger, but since moving to Florida, I’ve noticed. Wherever there’s an open house she’s there. She always notices for sale signs on front lawns and scans the classifieds for good deals. When my parents were actually looking for a condo this was a very good thing. My mother found them an excellent deal in a very nice place.
When my sister was looking for a house, my mother was out looking with her every weekend. Sometimes when my sister was busy she’d go out looking for her on her own. I’d call her cell phone and she’d say, “I’m just out looking at houses for your sister.” She loved to say that.
She took real estate classes when we lived in New Jersey, but for some reason never got her license. I don’t understand why. Real estate seems to be more her field than social work (she’s a social worker).
My mother especially loves open houses. It doesn’t matter what type of home it is. She’ll look in any price range–million-dollar homes to one hundred-thousand-dollar homes. She’ll walk in confidently, look around and ask questions.
Last month I went out with my mother while my father and husband rehearsed for a gig. On the way back home my mother saw a sign for an open house at a new condo complex. She made the right into the complex’s parking lot so suddenly that I thought I was in an episode of Duke’s Of Hazard. “Do you mind if I stop in at this open house?” she asked as the car skidded into a parking space.
There were two model units to look at in the complex. Of course she looked at both. She asked the realtor questions and picked up fliers. She acted like she was sincerely interested in buying a place.
When my husband called to find out why we hadn’t gotten back yet, I told him that we were at an open house. He just laughed.
