To Be or Not To Be

 

Not the Hamlet quandary, rather, to be or not to be a Californian—that is the question. It has been just over a month since our return to SoCal, prompting our annual quest for the “perfect home,” knowing full well that in all likelihood the search will be inconclusive! We have pursued the question with vigor as is our wont.

My ambivalence about California persists. The weather has been a bit cooler than normal, but it is certainly not what is to be expected in the Midwest this time of year. We walk nearly every day, enjoying the sand and sea, filling our lungs with salt air, starting to get tan lines around watch bands and shirt sleeve borders.  Our grandchildren are growing, becoming individuals of interest and delight. We have the opportunity to see them nearly every week. The privilege of becoming a genuine part of their lives is sacred. Yet something about California living be whispers “be wary.”

Once again we have engaged the time of a realtor, although I feel guilty commanding a professional’s time when I could give her 1:20 odds against making the sale’s commission.  She has shown us dungeons and do-ups, but nothing that could prompt a bid.  The charming lady tells us that realtors have very little “product” to show; Orange County homes are selling like hot cakes once again. It is amazing to solid Mid-westerners that homes selling for 500-600 thousand have cardboard cabinet shelving and water heaters ready to begin a great conflagration.  

We have been encouraged to give Laguna Woods a second look. As I recall most of the very reasonably priced homes there hadn’t seen an interior decorator since 1952, or a cleaner in a decade. The sellers were either recently deceased, or sitting in wheelchairs manned by home health aides waiting to whisk them off to a nursing facility as soon as the ink was dry on the contract. Despite descriptions of golf courses and recreation buildings teeming with activities the leisure village for seniors was depressing, depressing, depressing—but cheap.

In a more venturesome mode we have also been looking at new homes. The construction industry in California is booming (take note all you investors).  I am interested in the Central Coast between Santa Maria and San Luis Obispo, hoping soon to make a visit to active lifestyle communities in the model homes stage. The smaller homes—and people our age need smaller—are fairly reasonable in this area of California. It is about 2.5 or 3 times farther from our grandchildren however which may or may not be a good thing. If we were to move to Orange County I’m afraid that we would always be second best to the girls’ California grandparents—lovely, loving people who have been a part of their lives since birth.

The quandary continues, uppermost in my mind is the query “Is it really too late for us to relocate?”  We are no longer young; our time has most probably past, and besides, who wants to have a mortgage in their 70s!  Frankly we are torn between the safety of our wonderful Midwest home or the risk of an uncertain future in a land long overdue for an earthquake.  The slings and arrows propagate exponentially… 

In all probability we will return to the Chicago area in March with the question unresolved, but not really unanswered.  Once again life will resume, all too quiet, searching for a place to rent next winter, choosing which snow shovel to use on the driveway, facing dreams discarded with a brave smile, acquiescing to sensibility, waiting for the home health aide.