I’ve moved to Century 21 Heritage Group

For me that’s big news - a new office (on Princess St), fresh faces, fresh approach - but for you, nothing will change much (although I do feel really energized by the decision, and perhaps that will show up in the prose). The branding’s different (it’s sharp), but I doubt most of you would have noticed even that much without my pointing it out.

When I talked to clients before the holidays, most of them couldn’t say where I worked, and really didn’t care. And you have no idea how thrilling that was; it felt like I’d been handed a travel visa.

Speaking of which, I remember an age ago getting off an Air Canada flight in Las Vegas. I was down there to see U2 (back when U2 were still good). The heat when the doors opened, that scorching smack, redolent of palm trees and tarmac, was a thrilling shock to the system. This feels a lot like that.

AND HERE’S A THOUGHT:

I’m really fond of these signs.

I take my work seriously, and I’ve gone through a few different For Sales over the years, but this most recent design hints most directly at my history as a writer. It feels like a book cover to me, and that intersects nicely with my belief that every house has a story to tell, and also that if all its systems are working well, in mechanical and aesthetic harmony, a house can be a pretty complex and glorious machine for living in (a term stolen shamelessly from Le Corbusier, a Swiss-French architect/planner).

What I’m getting at - and it’s really not complicated - is that I think one of these would look mighty smart planted nice and upright, out front of your place, don’t you, if you decide to sell this year?

The write up will make you proud, I promise, and might even have you wishing you didn’t have to move.

1049 HWY 2 EAST - $895,000

It’s gorgeous! And reduced now from the original.listing price of $935,000. I really didn’t think that would be necessary, but these are odd times in the real estate market. To me, it feels like a steal, but what do I know?

A BIT OF HISTORY (not a word of it true):

I remember this picture being taken. The photographer was just passing by on the road, on his way to the Islands. That’s my mum behind us kids, and dad’s off to my right. The man with the pipe and the stiff wide chaps is Godwin, and he supervised the building of the house. Horrible man. Regularly, mum would call us in from the orchard behind the house and the kitchen would smell richly of Godwin’s apple tobacco. The man himself would make like he was testing the fresh boards in the living room, those long planks being nailed down just a month back and still bending whenever the fire burned. Watching him it was like he was walking a pine tightrope, performing some modern dance. Mum always looked part petrified and part as angry as she did when the startled horse clattered over one of the barn cats mid-summer, killing it outright, its brain like jam on the flagstones. Dad always knew when Godwin had been through the house too. When he arrived home he’d sniff at the air like a hunting dog. But he was a timid man, always weighing good against bad, conclusion against consequence (mostly as a way of stalling any action, I think) and he worked at figuring out that balance until his arms were so tired he was no good for anything, not bringing in eggs, not even strangling one of the too many ducks.

RECENTLY SOLD

MUSINGS