The best laid plans

I was doing some early morning browsing, using the  Google search words  ‘large apartments near Marketown’. Then it popped up on my screen – an apartment that was to change the trajectory of my life.

During the past year, I have mulled over the challenges of living alone in a large house. Although I have closed some of it off,  I’m still occupying substantial floor space. If I moved to something smaller, on a single level, daily life would be much easier for me. I would free up housing for a few more people as well as reduce my energy use and responsibilities for maintenance.

I seemed to be wedded to Hamilton, where I’ve lived for the past 14 years, and to this  house which optimises accessibility. Yet I’ve been noticing that one by one, small shops in my suburb are becoming difficult for me as they often have one or more steps to enter – the independent bookshop, the newsagent, the baker and even the butcher, which at least has a handrail to ease my way down.

I’d inspected a few apartments but found they quickly ruled  me out because of heavy fire doors to enter the building, the apartment and even the waste collection area. There was no obvious place for me to park and charge my mobility scooter. The prospect of organising numerous modifications after the purchase daunted me. New builds in the city have better access but are massive residential towers with costly lifestyle facilities I would never use.

On Friday 27th February, the agent K. showed me the display apartment for a low rise building of 12 apartments minutes from the shopping centre of Marketown. It’s in Newcastle West, now being revitalised and transformed into the city’s commercial and residential  hub. An apartment was available on level two which would satisfy my desire not to be too high up, with a pleasant outlook through trees over a premier sports ground. There are only two apartments on each level and entry from the street to the car park (for my mobility scooter) is flat, via an electronic swipe key.

The building has been tenanted for its 13 year life – now the owners/developers are refurbishing and selling all the apartments. They are targeting over 55s/downsizers and providing assistance to people like me who find the idea of the transition formidable. Only three remain to be sold.

It’s now 42 days since that inspection. Yesterday my Hamilton home was open to interested purchasers for the first time. Getting ready for that day has been a rollercoaster – not just the challenges of buying and selling simultaneously, but worries about the effect of the outbreak of the war with Iran on interest rates (selfish, I know) and whether this was a bad time to be selling. 

Before Easter, much cleaning was done, along with planned – and unplanned –  work by my handyman. Surplus possessions were disposed of in a flurry of sales on Facebook Marketplace – after asking myself sternly: Now, where exactly would I put this in my two bedroom apartment?

Immediately after Easter, teams of people sent by my selling agent worked their magic on my house – it’s called staging. Then photographs were taken and videos made; marketing materials developed and approved.

Meanwhile, I worked with agent K. and my occupational therapist on the list of modifications for the apartment I hoped to buy, a list that was growing by the day and increasingly expensive. They would include removing the (new) carpet and replacing it with suitable flooring, automating the apartment entry  door, and installing a lockbox outside my door so the ambulance can over-ride the apartment’s security. Extra power points  include one in the car space where I will park my scooter. 

My family  checked out the apartment and approved. I gathered funds early from long-term investments ready to pay the deposit, and arranged bridging finance in case an emergency arose. To-do lists proliferated for every stage and contingency – on a whiteboard, Post-it notes, coloured pages for priority, white pages for routine.

Recalling my schoolgirl French, it was un projet extraordinaire.

At times I lost heart as haggling over the terms of the contract for ‘my’ apartment challenged the protections my conveyancer was seeking to put in place for me. At night, my fears took over. I could pull out of selling my house, stay where I am. The huge transition spend would be saved. I may not sell for a price which makes downsizing financially worthwhile. Have I left it too late – will I have enough good years to fully enjoy my new locality? 

I desperately missed Ken’s counsel and turned instead to my older son.

Next morning, with the energy of another day, I always felt better.

There has been another major issue. The modifications would not be made until I owned the property, for obvious reasons. After settlement, I would need to find somewhere else to live for three or four weeks. Returning to the market looking at serviced apartments, hotels, Airbnb, share houses – the same old issues about accessibility kept coming up for me.

And then, in another early morning brain flash, I thought of my beautician. She had retired in recent years but still came to my house. I recalled that she and her husband had added an extension to their home for his Italian mother.  When she died 28 years later, they turned it into an Airbnb. It  is in a suburb  that I would consider ‘further out’ but is still quite reasonable in the way of Newcastle distances. Importantly, it meets all my needs perfectly, with the advantage of caring people on the other side of an interconnecting door.

Many hazards are ahead, not least finding the buyer who really wants this house.  Time frames are short but interest already seems high. My selling agent is right – people still need to find places to live, and don’t seem to be put off by the accessibility adaptations of my home.

I have been caught looking in one direction while the solutions are just outside my line of sight. I tipped my head a little, to catch a different angle. The saying comes to me – life is what happens when you are making other plans. Or not making them …