We’re approaching the two year anniversary of a very nerve-wracking period here. The earliest posts on this blog recount the whole story in detail, but I’ll give the cliff notes version here. Basically, to say we bought the Einsel House in an unconventional manner is an understatement.
Thursday, August 27, 2009 – Charles and I are the only bidders for the Einsel House when it is sold at sheriff sale. Immediately after the sale we find out there was an attorney who was supposed to bid for the bank, but he basically wasn’t paying attention and never placed any bid.
August 27-September 19, 2009 – Charles and I wait anxiously for closing (which we are told takes 6-8 weeks)
September 20, 2009 – Our attorney gets a phone call from the office of the attorney who didn’t bid at the sale. That attorney offers us $ to rescind our bid. If we refuse he threatens to contest the sale.
A few days later I wrote here, “So in the end we are not that concerned about losing the Einsel House. The main difficulties have to do with time and money. And lack of sleep. I'll elaborate on the "time and money" stuff later…”. Well, it’s two years later, and we obviously did get the house, and it feels now like a good time to finally share some of the details I withheld back then.
Anyone who has read here regularly already knows that we owe my parents (particularly my mom) a huge thank you for all of the help they have provided at the EH, especially during those first nine months. But what regular readers here don’t realize is that we are indebted to my parents for more than just their time and labor. We also owe them innumerable thanks for their trust in Charles and me. That is because much of the money spent on the Einsel House during those first nine months was money borrowed in my parents’ names and borrowed against their house.
Charles and I have always been conservative financially. When we started looking at houses we went to the bank regarding preapproval for a loan. We told the loan officer how much we planned to borrow, he took our information, pulled our credit scores and immediately said, “That will be no problem!”. The bank loved Charles and I, but it turns out we were only half of the equation; the other half was the Einsel House. And the bank wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about the EH. It made no difference how high our credit scores were; with a patchwork roof, peeling paint, crumbling drywall and no furnace there was no way the Einsel House would qualify for a conventional loan.
Our loan officer said we would probably qualify for a construction loan (portfolio loan I think he called it), but the extra hoops such a loan would require made Charles and me very cautious. As I understood it, with a construction loan the bank would have to review and approve everything we did to the house. We would have to provide the bank with documentation that all work was done by licensed, insured professionals and we would have to have quotes approved by the bank before any work could begin. Trying to renovate the house with a bank looking over our shoulder through the entire process did not sound fun at all.
Enter my parents - who had a house that would easily qualify for a conventional loan. When we brought the possibility up with our loan officer I think he was somewhat taken aback, but he said that from the bank’s perspective it would be no problem. If my parents’ house and personal credit both qualified, the bank really didn’t care how the money was spent. So my parents applied for a home equity line of credit in their names, and with their house on the line. The plan was to use the HELOC to make the repairs needed in order for the Einsel House to qualify for a conventional loan. Charles and I would be responsible for all fees and payments required on the HELOC, and once the Einsel House was up to par we would refinance it in our own names, using the proceeds to pay off the HELOC in my parents’ names.
The paperwork for the HELOC against my parents’ house went through without any complications, and on September 17, 2009 they signed their names opening the line of credit. We were all set for our closing on the Einsel House – until three days later when we suddenly had an attorney threatening to contest the sale.
This added a whole new set of complications to the situation. The line of credit through my parents was set up and ready to go, and from that front we were still able to close and start repairs. But the attorneys I work for cautioned us strongly against putting any money into the house with the possibility of litigation hanging over us. Although they felt that we stood a very good chance of keeping the house in a court battle, they said that if the sale was somehow reversed we would probably lose any funds invested in the building above the purchase price. The courts would say that any improvements we made to the house while it was the subject of ongoing litigation were a “known risk” and if we lost the house we would also lose any money spent on improvements. Legally, the safest thing would be to close on the house, but then not put any more money into it until we were sure we were not headed to court. But it was already late September, and the house in question had no furnace and needed obvious structural repairs. There was no way we wanted to let it sit empty through the approaching winter.
The loan officer at our bank had more bad news. The home equity line of credit through my parents was still there, and the bank still didn’t care how that money was spent. But our loan officer warned us that the bank would never approve a refinance on a property that was the subject of ongoing litigation. This meant that even if we took our chances and made the necessary repairs to the Einsel House we would not be able to refinance it until any possible litigation was resolved. This was concerning for two reasons. First, the HELOC had an adjustable interest rate and we wanted to be able to refinance as soon as possible to secure a fixed rate. Second, Charles and I were planning on a conventional 30 year loan when we refinanced; but the HELOC was based on a 10 year amortization. This meant that our monthly payments on the HELOC were more than double what they would be following a refinance. We were prepared to make those payments for awhile, but being tied to those payments indefinitely was very concerning – especially because it was technically my parents who were on the line.
The attorneys I work for were quite confident that if push came to shove case law would ultimately uphold our purchase of the Einsel House. But they warned that even if we ultimately prevailed in court, it could take a long time to get there. The attorney opposing the sale was the senior partner in a multiple member firm. Even if he knew he would lose, it would cost him nothing but time if he chose to be a thorn in our side (and we had no reason to doubt that he would).
In the end we bought the other attorney’s cooperation by paying him an amount equal to half of his malpractice insurance deductible in exchange for his signature on a "Covenant Not to Intervene or Interfere in Sale." Considering the alternatives it was a concession we felt we had to make. And in the end it did all work out. We closed without complications on the Einsel House on October 7, 2009. For eight months we made payments on the line of credit open in my parents’ names, and in June, 2010 we closed on the refinance of the Einsel House, paying off the HELOC and settling into a conventional fixed rate 30 year mortgage.
It’s a little bit surreal to recall the emotional highs and lows surrounding our purchase of the Einsel House. If I were making the whole story up I don't think I could have put more twists and turns along the way. Looking back, I remember the last advice my dad shared with me on the morning of the sheriff sale - "Just relax," he said, "if it's meant to be it will be". And in the end, I'm so glad that he was right.
Showing posts with label sheriff sale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sheriff sale. Show all posts
Friday, September 16, 2011
Friday, August 20, 2010
One Year Ago Today
One year ago today Charles and I and attended our first, and only, sheriff sale.
...There was only a pounding vacancy in my head. No words formed into thoughts, but it was a prayer anyway. At the podium she asked if there were any other bids...
As I sit here today I can recall the emotions of that day so clearly. The nervousness, the fear, the confusion - and ultimately the joy. But as I look back today there is an added emotion. It's not guilt exactly. And yet. There is sorrow in the knowledge that one person's joy can come only at the expense of another person's pain.
Somehow it's the same today as then. The words won't quite form into thoughts, but it is a prayer anyway.
...There was only a pounding vacancy in my head. No words formed into thoughts, but it was a prayer anyway. At the podium she asked if there were any other bids...
As I sit here today I can recall the emotions of that day so clearly. The nervousness, the fear, the confusion - and ultimately the joy. But as I look back today there is an added emotion. It's not guilt exactly. And yet. There is sorrow in the knowledge that one person's joy can come only at the expense of another person's pain.
Somehow it's the same today as then. The words won't quite form into thoughts, but it is a prayer anyway.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Sunday Visitors
Just before noon on Sunday I was working on the final coat of finish in the office at the Einsel House when I noticed an unfamiliar van pulling up the drive. The woman who got out was studying the house intently as she came up the walk to the kitchen door. We must have made quite a contrasting pair when I opened the door - she neatly dressed and arranged (think "retired schoolteacher" - which she would later tell me she was), and me in my paint-splattered work clothes with unkept hair. But when she introduced herself I was immediately too excited to worry about how I looked. Although she had never lived in the house, this was a previous owner of the Einsel House. The property had been in her family since the early 1900's, and although the family sold the house in 1997, our Sunday visitor still owns the fields to the north and east of the house. She now lives several counties away and a local farmer rents the fields, but she had stopped by to check on her land and she noticed that the house showed signs of recent work. So she drove up the drive and then followed a wonderful hour, showing her through the house and grounds, soaking up the memories she shared of this place and the people who called it home.
Later in the afternoon (when the office woodwork was safely under its second coat of finish) I again looked up to an unfamiliar car coming up the drive. It took me a minute this time to realize that I had indeed already met the couple who got out of the car. Laughing, they introduced me to their youngest son - who was seven years old when they moved out of the Einsel House. This was the last family to rent the property from our first Sunday visitor, having lived here from 1995-1997. And then followed another wonderful time, with a different memory bubbling up every few steps. It was fun to watch their son as he walked around. Being so young when his family left, his memories of the house were fuzzier than his parents', but as we went from room to room he became more and more animated. It was clear that being in the house (and listening to his parents' stories) helped bring his own memories back in focus.
Charles and I owe the H family a special thank you. As I mentioned above, we had met them before, but that meeting had been more than a year prior to their Sunday visit. As this blog has chronicled, the story of how we wound up with the Einsel House is a bit unconventional. Typically, when you buy a house at sheriff sale you are buying "as is", without any knowledge or any chance to inspect the property. Thanks to my job, we found out in January of 2009 that the Einsel House would probably wind up at sheriff sale, but we also knew that the process would be a lengthy one. Just by driving by we knew we were very interested in the property, but without a chance to see the home's interior we weren't sure how interested we were. Charles in particular thought it was crazy to twiddle our thumbs for months - in a buyer's market - waiting for a house that we could only view from end of the (quite long) driveway. And I must admit, although 'a few months' doesn't sound that long in the grand scheme of things, it sure feels long when you are actually living it.
Enter the H family. A friend from church lives just across the field from the Einsel House, so one night I called her to find out if she had by chance ever been in the house and could answer any of my questions about the home's interior. She told me to call the H's. So I did. And they gushed about the property. Told us they had pictures and video and they would be happy to share them with us. So early on a spring evening we went to the H's house and they put in a home video taken in the mid 1990's at the Einsel House. And oh. my. OH. MY. In my wildest dreams I had never imagined that the the woodwork could have looked like that. And those original doors. And the springhouse. And the stone bridge. And the creek. And I was in love. In love. Head over heels in love.
Eventually I hand delivered a letter to the house's owners explaining our interest in the property and asking if we could see the property in person. (At that point I was probably willing to buy it regardless, but Charles was still understandably hesitant to buy a house based only on some 12 year old photos and video.) Oh, we did still look at other houses. But as that long summer came to an end we still had not bought anything, and just before the sheriff sale on this house the owners called us and most graciously allowed us into their home. It was a selfless act for which we remain most grateful.
The rest, as they say, is history. : )
Later in the afternoon (when the office woodwork was safely under its second coat of finish) I again looked up to an unfamiliar car coming up the drive. It took me a minute this time to realize that I had indeed already met the couple who got out of the car. Laughing, they introduced me to their youngest son - who was seven years old when they moved out of the Einsel House. This was the last family to rent the property from our first Sunday visitor, having lived here from 1995-1997. And then followed another wonderful time, with a different memory bubbling up every few steps. It was fun to watch their son as he walked around. Being so young when his family left, his memories of the house were fuzzier than his parents', but as we went from room to room he became more and more animated. It was clear that being in the house (and listening to his parents' stories) helped bring his own memories back in focus.
Charles and I owe the H family a special thank you. As I mentioned above, we had met them before, but that meeting had been more than a year prior to their Sunday visit. As this blog has chronicled, the story of how we wound up with the Einsel House is a bit unconventional. Typically, when you buy a house at sheriff sale you are buying "as is", without any knowledge or any chance to inspect the property. Thanks to my job, we found out in January of 2009 that the Einsel House would probably wind up at sheriff sale, but we also knew that the process would be a lengthy one. Just by driving by we knew we were very interested in the property, but without a chance to see the home's interior we weren't sure how interested we were. Charles in particular thought it was crazy to twiddle our thumbs for months - in a buyer's market - waiting for a house that we could only view from end of the (quite long) driveway. And I must admit, although 'a few months' doesn't sound that long in the grand scheme of things, it sure feels long when you are actually living it.
Enter the H family. A friend from church lives just across the field from the Einsel House, so one night I called her to find out if she had by chance ever been in the house and could answer any of my questions about the home's interior. She told me to call the H's. So I did. And they gushed about the property. Told us they had pictures and video and they would be happy to share them with us. So early on a spring evening we went to the H's house and they put in a home video taken in the mid 1990's at the Einsel House. And oh. my. OH. MY. In my wildest dreams I had never imagined that the the woodwork could have looked like that. And those original doors. And the springhouse. And the stone bridge. And the creek. And I was in love. In love. Head over heels in love.
Eventually I hand delivered a letter to the house's owners explaining our interest in the property and asking if we could see the property in person. (At that point I was probably willing to buy it regardless, but Charles was still understandably hesitant to buy a house based only on some 12 year old photos and video.) Oh, we did still look at other houses. But as that long summer came to an end we still had not bought anything, and just before the sheriff sale on this house the owners called us and most graciously allowed us into their home. It was a selfless act for which we remain most grateful.
The rest, as they say, is history. : )
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Keeping Busy
I've been taking pictures but haven't had time to download them from the camera. The schedule this past week has been the same each day. At the office until 4:00, then hurry to the house and work until dark (which comes way too early every night). It's only about 3 hours a day at the house, but there's been progress. We're going through primer and have several empty tubes of window and door caulk. There are a couple swatches of paint color on the kitchen wing but I'm not happy with the lighter color yet, so by tonight there should be at least one more swatch up to compare to the others.
The masons have half of the front of the house ground out. New mortar is in on the back of the 2-story part of the house and it's looking nice. They are also supposed to have estimates for us today on the various options for repairing the front door's lintel.
The kids have been enjoying the weather too. Our son has been spending every afternoon exploring the creek and the woods. Our daughter putters about variously riding her bike on the driveway, lugging around a cooperative tiger-striped kitten, or joining her brother for adventures along the creek.
We've also been enjoying our bats. At about 6:30 each evening we can hear them start to chirp and chatter. And shortly after 7:00 they start to come out. They swoop out fast and low from the fascia board along the attic. They are big enough that we can easily watch them fly away. The kids got a huge kick out of the bats the first time they saw them, with lots of squealing and running and pointing. While we need to get the bats out of the attic, I really really hope we can convince them to remain somewhere on the property.
And one last note today - I've changed the blog back to a public setting. The Order of Confirmation of Sale was subject to a 30 day appeal period, which expired late last week. I've been checking the on-line docket on the county clerk's website religiously and so far nothing has been posted. It appears our worries about the sale being contested are over. It is still frustrating that we had to buy anyone's cooperation, but having the house tied up in appellate courts for another year would have been a nightmare.
The masons have half of the front of the house ground out. New mortar is in on the back of the 2-story part of the house and it's looking nice. They are also supposed to have estimates for us today on the various options for repairing the front door's lintel.
The kids have been enjoying the weather too. Our son has been spending every afternoon exploring the creek and the woods. Our daughter putters about variously riding her bike on the driveway, lugging around a cooperative tiger-striped kitten, or joining her brother for adventures along the creek.
We've also been enjoying our bats. At about 6:30 each evening we can hear them start to chirp and chatter. And shortly after 7:00 they start to come out. They swoop out fast and low from the fascia board along the attic. They are big enough that we can easily watch them fly away. The kids got a huge kick out of the bats the first time they saw them, with lots of squealing and running and pointing. While we need to get the bats out of the attic, I really really hope we can convince them to remain somewhere on the property.
And one last note today - I've changed the blog back to a public setting. The Order of Confirmation of Sale was subject to a 30 day appeal period, which expired late last week. I've been checking the on-line docket on the county clerk's website religiously and so far nothing has been posted. It appears our worries about the sale being contested are over. It is still frustrating that we had to buy anyone's cooperation, but having the house tied up in appellate courts for another year would have been a nightmare.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
We are homeowners!!!
Back on August 20th, we were told to expect it to take 6-8 weeks to get to closing. It's exactly seven weeks later and The Einsel House is ours! We handed over the rest of the purchase price late yesterday afternoon, and the paperwork is being filed today.
So the posting should get much more interesting from here on out!
So the posting should get much more interesting from here on out!
Friday, October 2, 2009
Crisis Averted
Mr. Attorney's attorney is reviewing the proposed "Covenant Not to Intervene or Interfere in Sale." Provided it meets with his approval it looks like we have averted this crisis.
We had to buy this cooperation, though.
In the end, if we had gone to the sale and had to bid up to what this is now costing us we still would have been thrilled. We're still getting a good price on an amazing property. But although we feel relief, it's hard to feel much happiness at this resolution. After all, we're paying half of the malpractice deductable for a mistake we didn't make.
We had to buy this cooperation, though.
In the end, if we had gone to the sale and had to bid up to what this is now costing us we still would have been thrilled. We're still getting a good price on an amazing property. But although we feel relief, it's hard to feel much happiness at this resolution. After all, we're paying half of the malpractice deductable for a mistake we didn't make.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Are you there, St. Joseph? It's me, Kimberly.
Sorry to go private. Posts here may be sparse for awhile. This wasn't my plan. But the "Thank you" back in this blog's first post was obviously given prematurely.
Mr. Attorney (and believe me it takes restraint to avoid using other choice titles) has offered Charles and I $$$ to bow out of this sale. If we refuse (and believe me we will) he is threatening to contest the closing of the sale.
So if you're willing to pray we appreciate it. And if you're the type who would rather take a small cloth doll dressed in a suit and a pair of women's glasses and poke it with 18,000 pins - well, we'd appreciate that too.
(Continued here)
Mr. Attorney (and believe me it takes restraint to avoid using other choice titles) has offered Charles and I $$$ to bow out of this sale. If we refuse (and believe me we will) he is threatening to contest the closing of the sale.
So if you're willing to pray we appreciate it. And if you're the type who would rather take a small cloth doll dressed in a suit and a pair of women's glasses and poke it with 18,000 pins - well, we'd appreciate that too.
(Continued here)
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Moving Forward
As of 8:30 this morning we have money to bring to the closing table. Woohoo! Confirmation of the sale has been signed by the Judge, now we just wait for the attorneys to prepare the deed.
This afternoon we have an appointment at a local heating and plumbing company to go over our first bid on a new heating system. Tomorrow afternoon we meet another masonry contractor and another heating contractor back at the house to get more bids.
We're moving forward!
This afternoon we have an appointment at a local heating and plumbing company to go over our first bid on a new heating system. Tomorrow afternoon we meet another masonry contractor and another heating contractor back at the house to get more bids.
We're moving forward!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sheriff Sale - Part 3
The attorney who wanted our house kept trying the woman who had run the sale. He asked her to reread the case number for the sale of the property in question. She did and he said, “That’s not the case number that is on my paperwork. Two numbers are transposed on my papers.” The woman apologized but said she didn’t know what she could do. After a few tries at the woman who ran the sale, the bank’s attorney turned to Charles and asked if he could talk with us after the sale. Charles nodded. As the small crowd thinned, the attorney came over and sat on the other side of my husband. The woman who had run the sale came over almost immediately and the attorney raised both hands in front of him (like a criminal about to be arrested) and said, “We’re just going to talk, that’s all.” The conversation that followed is somewhat of a blur to me, but it went something like what follows.
Turning to Charles he said, “We can work this out. So, are you specs?” Charles and I both replied, “No.” “Oh,” he replied, “well we’ll talk. I’m sure there’s a way we can work this out.” He paused. “You’re not specs?” We both shook our heads no. “Well, what are you going to do with the house if you’re not specs?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. Charles said, “We’re going to live in it.” And the attorney replied, “Oh.” Somehow, he seemed even more puzzled than before. At this point I interrupted to ask Charles for his cell phone. Charles gave it to me and as I walked towards the exit door I heard him explain to the man beside him, “My wife works for an attorney.”
Yeah. There are numerous times I have been grateful for the job I have, but that moment ranks right up there among the top.
I stood just outside the doors to the sheriff department and talked with one of the partners of the law firm where I work. I told him we had a bit of a problem. I explained to him that we went to the sheriff sale, it was the first property sold. Charles placed a bid at two/thirds value and that his was the only bid. “Well, that sounds great,” my boss said, “what’s the problem?” So I explained to him that at the end of the sale this other attorney came forward saying he should have bid on the same property but he had the wrong case number on his paperwork. From the other end of the phone I heard deep chuckles and I knew that meant good news.
Charles later told me that while I was on the phone the attorney beside him tried to make small talk, and kept assuring him that “we could work this out”. He even made some comment about having put on his wife's glasses instead of his own that morning. (???) After only a short while, Charles told him he wanted to wait until his wife returned before talking any more. Following that, the attorney folded both arms across his chest and they both waited in silence. They were sitting thus when I came back in. The attorney unfolded himself and said with a smile, “So, are we going to work this out?” I replied, “We are going to stand behind the bid we made this morning. If you have any other questions I can give you the number for our attorney.” The attorney facing me said he was sorry to hear that. He took the name and number of the firm I work for, and then stood almost breathing down the back of my neck while I filled out the purchaser’s information sheet the sheriff department required. Although my voice sounded firm after my phone call to my boss, my hands were shaking like leaves and it was difficult to keep my handwriting legible as I completed the purchaser’s form. The attorney leaning over my shoulder asked for a copy and he finally left.
Charles and I went to an office to finish filling out paperwork and to make our downpayment on the property. It became obvious at this point that what had just happened was highly unusual. Staff told us that once in a while there will be an attorney who is running late and arrives after a property has sold, but that they could never remember an attorney being present but simply not bidding on the property he was there to buy. Everyone assured us that our bid was legitimate, and that they didn’t think there would be anything the attorney could do to reverse the sale. After a few minutes the county sheriff came in and introduced himself to Charles and I. He told us that if there was any difficulty he and his staff would stand behind our bid. As he told us, his staff ran the sale “by the book” and our bid was made “by the book”. He told us not to worry. And he told us congratulations.
It was still before noon, so we decided to visit a nice restaurant for lunch to celebrate. As we walked out the door of the sheriff department for the last time that morning, Charles and I looked at each other, smiled, and then, finally, we both dissolved in laughter.
(We didn't realize it when this post was originally published, but the drama wasn't over yet.)
Turning to Charles he said, “We can work this out. So, are you specs?” Charles and I both replied, “No.” “Oh,” he replied, “well we’ll talk. I’m sure there’s a way we can work this out.” He paused. “You’re not specs?” We both shook our heads no. “Well, what are you going to do with the house if you’re not specs?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. Charles said, “We’re going to live in it.” And the attorney replied, “Oh.” Somehow, he seemed even more puzzled than before. At this point I interrupted to ask Charles for his cell phone. Charles gave it to me and as I walked towards the exit door I heard him explain to the man beside him, “My wife works for an attorney.”
Yeah. There are numerous times I have been grateful for the job I have, but that moment ranks right up there among the top.
I stood just outside the doors to the sheriff department and talked with one of the partners of the law firm where I work. I told him we had a bit of a problem. I explained to him that we went to the sheriff sale, it was the first property sold. Charles placed a bid at two/thirds value and that his was the only bid. “Well, that sounds great,” my boss said, “what’s the problem?” So I explained to him that at the end of the sale this other attorney came forward saying he should have bid on the same property but he had the wrong case number on his paperwork. From the other end of the phone I heard deep chuckles and I knew that meant good news.
Charles later told me that while I was on the phone the attorney beside him tried to make small talk, and kept assuring him that “we could work this out”. He even made some comment about having put on his wife's glasses instead of his own that morning. (???) After only a short while, Charles told him he wanted to wait until his wife returned before talking any more. Following that, the attorney folded both arms across his chest and they both waited in silence. They were sitting thus when I came back in. The attorney unfolded himself and said with a smile, “So, are we going to work this out?” I replied, “We are going to stand behind the bid we made this morning. If you have any other questions I can give you the number for our attorney.” The attorney facing me said he was sorry to hear that. He took the name and number of the firm I work for, and then stood almost breathing down the back of my neck while I filled out the purchaser’s information sheet the sheriff department required. Although my voice sounded firm after my phone call to my boss, my hands were shaking like leaves and it was difficult to keep my handwriting legible as I completed the purchaser’s form. The attorney leaning over my shoulder asked for a copy and he finally left.
Charles and I went to an office to finish filling out paperwork and to make our downpayment on the property. It became obvious at this point that what had just happened was highly unusual. Staff told us that once in a while there will be an attorney who is running late and arrives after a property has sold, but that they could never remember an attorney being present but simply not bidding on the property he was there to buy. Everyone assured us that our bid was legitimate, and that they didn’t think there would be anything the attorney could do to reverse the sale. After a few minutes the county sheriff came in and introduced himself to Charles and I. He told us that if there was any difficulty he and his staff would stand behind our bid. As he told us, his staff ran the sale “by the book” and our bid was made “by the book”. He told us not to worry. And he told us congratulations.
It was still before noon, so we decided to visit a nice restaurant for lunch to celebrate. As we walked out the door of the sheriff department for the last time that morning, Charles and I looked at each other, smiled, and then, finally, we both dissolved in laughter.
(We didn't realize it when this post was originally published, but the drama wasn't over yet.)
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Sheriff Sale - Part 2
It all went according to plan the morning of the sale. Charles took our two children to the babysitter while I met my father at my parents’ bank. Promptly at 9am he signed for the $8,000 cash withdrawal, and I went to meet my husband at the sheriff department.
The crowd at the sale numbered only 10, and we were the first to arrive. Among the others we recognized the daughter of the current owners of the house we would be bidding on. With her was a gentleman we did not recognize. I tried to push back the idea that he might be there to bid on the property. Most of the people sat in silence. One gentleman joked with the man beside him, and offered his prediction that banks would be the only buyers this day. Among the people in the lobby there were four who obviously were attorneys. I couldn’t help but wonder which one we would be bidding against.
When the woman behind the podium asked for other bids I felt nailed to my seat. I’ve never been in a car accident or had any of those fabled “near death” experiences where your life flashes before your eyes in a matter of seconds, but I have some idea what it must be like. Because somehow, within the next two seconds, visions from the entire past year of house-hunting came unbidden to my mind. Old Winchester, Lemert Road, Township 44.
Beside me Charles sat as still as I. I tried to raise my eyes and scan the room, but my gaze was locked at the sheriff’s seal on the front of the podium. Another second ticked by and I had the distinct thought, “What the hell is this attorney waiting on?”
Still another second ticked by. I tried to consciously think of a reason why the bank wouldn’t want to bid on the house, but it was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. The entire room seemed frozen in place and my mind went blank.
It had been six or seven seconds at most, and the realization was dawning in me even before I heard the woman at the podium, “If there are no other bids then going once, going twice, sold to Mr. Charles…….”.
And suddenly I could move again. I looked up. Sitting across the room I caught the eye of the current owners’ daughter. She smiled at me. I turned to look at Charles and I saw the disbelief I felt reflected in his face. What had just happened?!?! Suddenly, overwhelmingly, I wanted to stand up and yell, to run, to jump! Could this be for real? It was hardly 10:05 and it was over! And it was ours – for the minimum bid possible!
But I couldn’t jump or yell. There were 11 other properties to sell that morning. So Charles and I both continued to sit quietly. I was oblivious to the next 5 or 6 properties that sold. Several times I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. But every time I opened them it was the same scene. The same people sitting quietly. The same podium in the front of the room. The same smile I kept feeling spread over my face.
About eight miles out of town on a county road sat the house and property that would soon be ours. Just over seven acres bordered to the south by a tree lined creek. A nineteenth century fieldstone farmhouse filled with the original unpainted woodwork. A matching stone springhouse tucked under trees along the creek. An arched stone bridge crossing the creek. And in the distance a country cemetery that includes weathered stones for our home’s first owners, John & Elizabeth Einsel.
Gradually, I came back down to the earth, and as the last few properties sold I followed along on the listing sheet. The woman running the sale began to thank everyone for coming. But she was interrupted by one of the attorneys sitting at the back of the room. He had arrived shortly after Charles and I and had sat quietly through the entire sale, sorting through the papers on his lap. I had watched as he bid on one of the last properties sold, buying it back for the bank that held the former mortgage. But now he stood up and interrupted the auction’s closing comments. “Wait,” he said, “what about the property at….” My breath caught as he briefly shuffled his papers again, and then he read out the address of the house – our house. OUR HOUSE. OUR HOUSE.
Every eye in the room turned to Charles and I. “I’m sorry, sir”, the woman who ran the sale said, “that was the first property we sold. It was bought by ….” She shuffled a few papers and read out Charles’s name and bid amount. The man seemed nonplussed. “But I’m here to bid on that property” he said, “I’m authorized by the bank to bid on that property.” The woman up front repeated that it had already been sold. Suddenly my head was spinning. I was aware that my lips were silently forming the words, “You can’t do this! It’s too late! It’s too late!”. And my mind was screaming, “No! Haven’t we lost enough houses already?!? Please, God, don’t let this happen again! Please, not like this!”
....to be continued. Part 3 here.
The crowd at the sale numbered only 10, and we were the first to arrive. Among the others we recognized the daughter of the current owners of the house we would be bidding on. With her was a gentleman we did not recognize. I tried to push back the idea that he might be there to bid on the property. Most of the people sat in silence. One gentleman joked with the man beside him, and offered his prediction that banks would be the only buyers this day. Among the people in the lobby there were four who obviously were attorneys. I couldn’t help but wonder which one we would be bidding against.
When the woman behind the podium asked for other bids I felt nailed to my seat. I’ve never been in a car accident or had any of those fabled “near death” experiences where your life flashes before your eyes in a matter of seconds, but I have some idea what it must be like. Because somehow, within the next two seconds, visions from the entire past year of house-hunting came unbidden to my mind. Old Winchester, Lemert Road, Township 44.
Beside me Charles sat as still as I. I tried to raise my eyes and scan the room, but my gaze was locked at the sheriff’s seal on the front of the podium. Another second ticked by and I had the distinct thought, “What the hell is this attorney waiting on?”
Still another second ticked by. I tried to consciously think of a reason why the bank wouldn’t want to bid on the house, but it was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. The entire room seemed frozen in place and my mind went blank.
It had been six or seven seconds at most, and the realization was dawning in me even before I heard the woman at the podium, “If there are no other bids then going once, going twice, sold to Mr. Charles…….”.
And suddenly I could move again. I looked up. Sitting across the room I caught the eye of the current owners’ daughter. She smiled at me. I turned to look at Charles and I saw the disbelief I felt reflected in his face. What had just happened?!?! Suddenly, overwhelmingly, I wanted to stand up and yell, to run, to jump! Could this be for real? It was hardly 10:05 and it was over! And it was ours – for the minimum bid possible!
But I couldn’t jump or yell. There were 11 other properties to sell that morning. So Charles and I both continued to sit quietly. I was oblivious to the next 5 or 6 properties that sold. Several times I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. But every time I opened them it was the same scene. The same people sitting quietly. The same podium in the front of the room. The same smile I kept feeling spread over my face.
About eight miles out of town on a county road sat the house and property that would soon be ours. Just over seven acres bordered to the south by a tree lined creek. A nineteenth century fieldstone farmhouse filled with the original unpainted woodwork. A matching stone springhouse tucked under trees along the creek. An arched stone bridge crossing the creek. And in the distance a country cemetery that includes weathered stones for our home’s first owners, John & Elizabeth Einsel.
Gradually, I came back down to the earth, and as the last few properties sold I followed along on the listing sheet. The woman running the sale began to thank everyone for coming. But she was interrupted by one of the attorneys sitting at the back of the room. He had arrived shortly after Charles and I and had sat quietly through the entire sale, sorting through the papers on his lap. I had watched as he bid on one of the last properties sold, buying it back for the bank that held the former mortgage. But now he stood up and interrupted the auction’s closing comments. “Wait,” he said, “what about the property at….” My breath caught as he briefly shuffled his papers again, and then he read out the address of the house – our house. OUR HOUSE. OUR HOUSE.
Every eye in the room turned to Charles and I. “I’m sorry, sir”, the woman who ran the sale said, “that was the first property we sold. It was bought by ….” She shuffled a few papers and read out Charles’s name and bid amount. The man seemed nonplussed. “But I’m here to bid on that property” he said, “I’m authorized by the bank to bid on that property.” The woman up front repeated that it had already been sold. Suddenly my head was spinning. I was aware that my lips were silently forming the words, “You can’t do this! It’s too late! It’s too late!”. And my mind was screaming, “No! Haven’t we lost enough houses already?!? Please, God, don’t let this happen again! Please, not like this!”
....to be continued. Part 3 here.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Sheriff Sale - Part 1
With a new router (and new blog header!) I can finally get to the full story of the sheriff sale. Remember folks, one of my bachelor's degrees is in English writing, so I've been known to throw brevity out the window at times.
A few weeks ago my husband and I went to our first sheriff sale. We had only the vaguest idea of what was about to occur. We had a restless night behind us, and limited hopes for the hour ahead of us. In the year preceding we had lost two houses that seemed far more certain than this one, but they say hope springs eternal. And so, just in case, locked in the glove compartment of the truck was an envelope bulging with hundred dollar bills.
We had arrived at the sheriff’s office an hour before the sale was to begin. Both of us were wishing we had had the chance to go to an earlier sale, just so we would know how the whole sheriff sale process works. As I watched other people come in and sit down, I tried to remind myself that it would be okay if the bank outbid us. If that happened the house would eventually end up being listed with a realtor, and we had been patient already, we could be patient some more.
At about two till ten a podium was brought out and sat in a front corner of the lobby. And promptly at ten o’clock the sale began. Two women from the sheriff’s staff ran the sale. There were general announcements – bids would be made by raised hand, appraisals had been made without interior inspections, typical "buyer beware" language – and then it began. As we had talked the night before, my husband had expressed the hope that the property we wanted would sell somewhere in the middle of the sale. But that morning, at 10:02, the first address read from the podium rang familiar in my ear and I realized that this was it.
Twenty-four hours earlier I was almost dancing around. We had transferred the required 10% of the appraised value from our online savings account and Charles was going to pick up the cashier’s check after work. I was going to meet the loan officer at the bank when I got off work at 4pm, but his earlier email had assured that we should go ahead and bid on our dream home without worrying about the financing. We knew the bank that had foreclosed on the current owners would bid the property up but we were prepared to go to 96% of the appraised value, and I figured our chances were pretty good.
That was twenty-four hours before the sale. It was 18 hours before the sale that the dominoes started to fall.
First Charles called me on his cell. He was at the bank, but the transfer from ING wasn’t there. He sounded frantic. From my computer at work I logged on to ING. I saw the transfer made on Sunday, just after we had gotten home from visiting the property we hoped to buy. And then I saw the entry from Monday, "Requested Account Closed, deposit returned". In the headiness of Sunday afternoon we inadvertently transferred the money to an account with our old credit union, an account that had been closed for nearly a year. ING caught the mistake and returned the funds but as I stumbled the words out to Charles over my cell phone at 3:50 that afternoon, knowing the money was still there provided no relief. ING requires three business days to transfer funds, and we needed that money by 10am the next morning.
The woman at the podium read out the case number, street address, and case caption for the property. It felt surreal. She read out the appraised value and said that bidding would begin at 2/3 of the appraised value. And she asked if there was an opening bid of 2/3. In my mind I couldn’t believe this was happening already and it seemed that everything in the room was in slow motion. But it was only a few seconds before my husband raised his hand beside me.
I was in the parking lot pacing circles around the truck when Charles met me after getting off work at 4:00. We made a couple harried phone calls before I left for my meeting with our loan officer. Charles went back to our credit union, prepared to drain our checking account. We would still need to find $8,000 before the next morning. I was 10 minutes late to my meeting with the loan officer, and the preceding 20 minutes had left my mind almost numb. Somehow it seemed appropriate that the details I was hearing now only added to my sudden despair. Portfolio loans with hoops to jump through, concern that the house might not appraise high enough for us to roll renovation costs into our loan (no matter if we could afford the monthly payment).
It was a dark night. Through cell phone calls with my mother (who was visiting my brother 1300 miles away) we determined that my parents had $8,000 they could loan us. Over the phone, she guided me through their on-line banking and the money was transferred into one account. My father arranged for someone to cover for him at work the next morning so that he could meet me at 9am at their bank, and sign for the cash withdrawal.
But as Charles and I considered the financing, we wondered if the efforts of my parents would end up being for naught. We had decided to bid up to 96% of the appraised value. It was a figure we were comfortable with, even with the repairs the property needed. But we had assumed on a conventional, 30 year fixed rate mortgage. My meeting that afternoon had been dominated by words like "adjustable" and "appraisal", and coupled with our suddenly AWOL 10% downpayment, the mood that night was impossibly grim. After much agonized discussion, we decided to drop our bidding limit to 79% of the appraised value.
The woman running the sale asked Charles to identify himself for the record. Somehow his voice sounded firm and confident. He spelled our last name while the second woman at the podium wrote diligently. The first woman restated Charles’ name and the amount of his bid. There was only a pounding vacancy in my head. No words formed into thoughts, but it was a prayer anyway. At the podium she asked if there were any other bids.
....to be continued. Part 2 here.
A few weeks ago my husband and I went to our first sheriff sale. We had only the vaguest idea of what was about to occur. We had a restless night behind us, and limited hopes for the hour ahead of us. In the year preceding we had lost two houses that seemed far more certain than this one, but they say hope springs eternal. And so, just in case, locked in the glove compartment of the truck was an envelope bulging with hundred dollar bills.
We had arrived at the sheriff’s office an hour before the sale was to begin. Both of us were wishing we had had the chance to go to an earlier sale, just so we would know how the whole sheriff sale process works. As I watched other people come in and sit down, I tried to remind myself that it would be okay if the bank outbid us. If that happened the house would eventually end up being listed with a realtor, and we had been patient already, we could be patient some more.
At about two till ten a podium was brought out and sat in a front corner of the lobby. And promptly at ten o’clock the sale began. Two women from the sheriff’s staff ran the sale. There were general announcements – bids would be made by raised hand, appraisals had been made without interior inspections, typical "buyer beware" language – and then it began. As we had talked the night before, my husband had expressed the hope that the property we wanted would sell somewhere in the middle of the sale. But that morning, at 10:02, the first address read from the podium rang familiar in my ear and I realized that this was it.
Twenty-four hours earlier I was almost dancing around. We had transferred the required 10% of the appraised value from our online savings account and Charles was going to pick up the cashier’s check after work. I was going to meet the loan officer at the bank when I got off work at 4pm, but his earlier email had assured that we should go ahead and bid on our dream home without worrying about the financing. We knew the bank that had foreclosed on the current owners would bid the property up but we were prepared to go to 96% of the appraised value, and I figured our chances were pretty good.
That was twenty-four hours before the sale. It was 18 hours before the sale that the dominoes started to fall.
First Charles called me on his cell. He was at the bank, but the transfer from ING wasn’t there. He sounded frantic. From my computer at work I logged on to ING. I saw the transfer made on Sunday, just after we had gotten home from visiting the property we hoped to buy. And then I saw the entry from Monday, "Requested Account Closed, deposit returned". In the headiness of Sunday afternoon we inadvertently transferred the money to an account with our old credit union, an account that had been closed for nearly a year. ING caught the mistake and returned the funds but as I stumbled the words out to Charles over my cell phone at 3:50 that afternoon, knowing the money was still there provided no relief. ING requires three business days to transfer funds, and we needed that money by 10am the next morning.
The woman at the podium read out the case number, street address, and case caption for the property. It felt surreal. She read out the appraised value and said that bidding would begin at 2/3 of the appraised value. And she asked if there was an opening bid of 2/3. In my mind I couldn’t believe this was happening already and it seemed that everything in the room was in slow motion. But it was only a few seconds before my husband raised his hand beside me.
I was in the parking lot pacing circles around the truck when Charles met me after getting off work at 4:00. We made a couple harried phone calls before I left for my meeting with our loan officer. Charles went back to our credit union, prepared to drain our checking account. We would still need to find $8,000 before the next morning. I was 10 minutes late to my meeting with the loan officer, and the preceding 20 minutes had left my mind almost numb. Somehow it seemed appropriate that the details I was hearing now only added to my sudden despair. Portfolio loans with hoops to jump through, concern that the house might not appraise high enough for us to roll renovation costs into our loan (no matter if we could afford the monthly payment).
It was a dark night. Through cell phone calls with my mother (who was visiting my brother 1300 miles away) we determined that my parents had $8,000 they could loan us. Over the phone, she guided me through their on-line banking and the money was transferred into one account. My father arranged for someone to cover for him at work the next morning so that he could meet me at 9am at their bank, and sign for the cash withdrawal.
But as Charles and I considered the financing, we wondered if the efforts of my parents would end up being for naught. We had decided to bid up to 96% of the appraised value. It was a figure we were comfortable with, even with the repairs the property needed. But we had assumed on a conventional, 30 year fixed rate mortgage. My meeting that afternoon had been dominated by words like "adjustable" and "appraisal", and coupled with our suddenly AWOL 10% downpayment, the mood that night was impossibly grim. After much agonized discussion, we decided to drop our bidding limit to 79% of the appraised value.
The woman running the sale asked Charles to identify himself for the record. Somehow his voice sounded firm and confident. He spelled our last name while the second woman at the podium wrote diligently. The first woman restated Charles’ name and the amount of his bid. There was only a pounding vacancy in my head. No words formed into thoughts, but it was a prayer anyway. At the podium she asked if there were any other bids.
....to be continued. Part 2 here.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Thank You Mr. Attorney
I'll start with the abbreviated version. The details - in all their agony and glory - can come later.
About two weeks ago my husband and I went to our first sheriff sale. Five minutes in we had the winning bid on a property I had been watching and praying for the prior 8 months. Thirty minutes in we realized that we owed our incredibly low winning bid to the bank's attorney, who (because of two transposed digits in his case number) sat through the sale without ever placing the bank's proxy bid.
Charles figures that in those five minutes we used up all our "good luck karma" for the next twenty years.Frankly, I hope he is wrong. A little more luck will come in handy. Because closing is still about 4 weeks away, and we've got a lot of work ahead of us.
About two weeks ago my husband and I went to our first sheriff sale. Five minutes in we had the winning bid on a property I had been watching and praying for the prior 8 months. Thirty minutes in we realized that we owed our incredibly low winning bid to the bank's attorney, who (because of two transposed digits in his case number) sat through the sale without ever placing the bank's proxy bid.
Charles figures that in those five minutes we used up all our "good luck karma" for the next twenty years.Frankly, I hope he is wrong. A little more luck will come in handy. Because closing is still about 4 weeks away, and we've got a lot of work ahead of us.
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