It’s Always Something. . .

This morning I was scheduled to help a client unpack from her not so recent move (August!) to Whidbey Island from the greater Seattle area.

I awoke to the sound of my neighbor’s car skidding on the icy hill that is our street. We were hit late last night by one of those not so infrequent anymore snowstorms that completely paralyze the city. Those that do venture out usually end up stranded in a ditch - rank amateurs - I can hear the scoffs from my friends and family in the Northeast.

But its true. Three inches of snow here is a really big deal. There’s minimal plowing and with all the hills it makes driving a nightmare. Even the ferry is closed - I’m not sure why, but there it is. So I won’t be going to Whidbey today and all those boxes stacked up in her spare bedroom will have to wait.

This poor client had the absolute move from hell. The seller turned out to be a complete crazy and we think she may have cursed the house - literally. My client arrived at her new home to discover all the countertops had been removed from the kitchen, the bushes ripped up and removed from the yard, and a couple of the windows taken out.

On New Year’s Eve, while celebrating with friends, a fire broke out in the kitchen ceiling - the result of faulty wiring in the can lights which had apparently been smoldering for months and finally set the insulation on fire.

The ceiling broke through and the flaming chunks ruined the expensive wood plank flooring and the entire downstairs was covered in a layer of soot. All the items she had unpacked had to be packed up again for the restoration cleaning. To add further insult, the electrician found more lighting that was not up to code, so basically the entire downstairs had to be rewired.

Her backyard excavation (for the new patio and deck) is currently a huge pond. The drainage that was put in isn’t working, but the good news is - the ducks love it. It could probably double as a skating rink today for the neighborhood kids.

As Rosanne Rosannadanna sagely observed, “It’s always something. . .”