Dear Buyer,

Recently, a series of unfortunate events conspired to pressure me to sell my home sooner than I would have liked. My experience as a seller has been less than favorable overall, from the chaos of packing, cleaning and staging, to the disruption of any semblance of a normal life while my agent allows strangers to walk through my house and judge my interior design skills. And I haven't even started the closing process.

I first entertained the idea of selling my home earlier this year when a co-worker commented about the seller's market.  Then, later, a friend whose child was heading to college listed their home because they didn't need to stay in district and, to their surprise, it sold within hours. Knowing that I could probably ask more for my home in a seller's market, I made a cautious call to a friend who is a realtor to find out what I had to do to get my home listed. The list was simple, and yet daunting.

As anyone who has ever put down roots somewhere, you tend to collect stuff.  I have more stuff than most people, with what some would call hoarding tendencies.  While I don't hoard junky stuff like old newspapers, I did have a dedicated box for collecting used toilet paper rolls to turn into campfire starters.  I also have ten storage crates full of quilting material, and I don't quilt.  Or at least, not yet.  It's a habit I have been intending to take up for going on 10 years now.  Choosing what to pack and what to toss was an ordeal of monumental proportions. I should note that the toilet paper rolls were responsibly recycled.

At first, I was careful and organized, going through my collections of stuff with a discerning eye.  I did keep quite a lot of it but I tossed and donated a lot too. Each box was labeled and sorted into neat stacks based on where they would eventually go.  As the target listing date drew nearer, I started to panic and created dozens of miscellaneous boxes - basically anything that wouldn't be part of staging got boxed and labeled as a junk box for me to go through once we moved.  With the strength of the market, I thought this would be a short term situation.  Boy, was I wrong.

After agreeing to delay my listing for first one and then two weeks, my agent gave me high praise, telling me that it was the most professional looking home-owner staging she'd ever seen. All the nights spent burning the midnight oil to clean and paint the concrete floor in the basement were totally worth it. Every drop of sweat moving boxes and furniture were going to pay off handsomely. Pictures were taken and a 'LIVE' date was chosen, and a list price was determined.  All I needed now was a buyer to fall in love with the house like I did. Dozens of showings later, I'm still waiting.

After two weeks on the market, my agent suggested that the price that she set was too high and it was lowered to match what other homes in my area were selling for.  This seemed like reasonable advice and I agreed.  Another week has gone by and while everyone who has come through says my home is lovely, they end up looking and buying elsewhere.  Now, my agent has suggested lowering the price yet again and asked me to write a "love letter" about the house for buyers to read.  I didn't even know that was a thing, but now I'm seriously considering it.

My home, built near the end of the Arts and Crafts era, still retains some of its original charm along with solid wood doors, hardwood floors and high ceilings.  But for all it has going for it, its surrounding neighborhood was interrupted by the Eisenhower Interstate Highway in the late 1950s.  What I see as a feature - easy access to the highway - others see as a deterrent.  Never mind that you can barely hear the highway, and during the times when there would normally be traffic most people are at work or school anyway.  I retain the hope that the right buyer will walk into the house and see their future home.  Meanwhile, I have a love letter to write.  

The most memorable gift

 25 years ago when I bought my first home, the seller brought a gift to the closing.  He presented us with a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and a container of salt, inspired by a scene in the classic movie 'It's a Wonderful Life.'  Now, there's no way that he knew that this was my favorite movie and that I was well acquainted with that scene, but it is a touching gift that I remember to this day because it had special meaning for me.  It is also something I have given as a housewarming gift when friends move into a new home, along with the blessing from the movie: "Bread, that this house may never know hunger; Salt, that life may always have flavor; and wine, that joy and prosperity may reign forever."

Now that I am in the process of selling my current house, I have thought about the best gift that I can give the new owner of my home.  I know it's not a common thing (to present a gift to the buyer), but I consider myself an uncommon person. The seller who sold it to me didn't give a gift, but they did leave a note welcoming my family which was appreciated.  I could go the Wonderful Life route again but I fear it might not be as memorable to someone who hasn't watched the movie thousands of times and has most of the dialogue committed to memory.  My friends come to expect this of me; strangers maybe not so much. Clearly, a different memorable gift should be considered.

While we were packing to prepare the house for sale, I considered gift options and I was drawn to the story of the butter dish I received as a wedding gift.  I have a crystal butter dish that I use daily, and it has a heartwarming story that I tell quite often.  As the story goes, my Aunt wrote in her gift card that I would soon forget who gave me a place setting of china, or a couple of wine glasses, but that although I didn't ask for it in my registry I would use this gift daily and always remember that it came from my Aunt.  For what it's worth, every time I use the butter dish, I do remember my Aunt.  This is where it gets interesting. 

One of the boxes I was going through to purge before packing included all of my wedding papers from planning to post-wedding thank yous. I had everything in there, extra invitations, every response card, every gift card, every gift receipt, even the seating arrangements and guest list.  I have no idea why I saved all of this stuff but it was time to cull the stack.  As a memento, I kept one invitation, a copy of the map I drew to the reception hall that was long ago torn down to build a CVS pharmacy, and the congratulations card from my parents with a handwritten note from my mother wishing me a long and happy marriage.  I read through all of the gift cards one more time, just in case one of them had something memorable I might want to save and that's when I found the card from my Aunt.  

I was elated to find this card, finally some tangible proof that I wasn't just making up the story of the butter dish. I confirmed the part about not recalling who gave me china or crystal - which to her credit has borne true - and then she went on to say that every time I use the sugar and creamer set that I would remember her.  What?!  I don't have a sugar and creamer set or at least not anymore.  I rarely drink coffee at home and I don't even own a coffee maker. Plot twist! For over 25 years, I have been remembering my Aunt and daily giving her quiet thanks for this butter dish that she didn't even give me, and I have no idea who did.

Oddly, I am now more determined than ever to present a butter dish as a gift to the new owners. Hopefully, it will be as memorable to them as mine was to me.