Searching - for a home - where the heart is

Looking for...
Seeking...
Searching out a...

Although these sound like openings to personal ads, these are all beginnings for roommate searches. The housing search is on. Even though the roomates want someone with a good 'feel' the posts indicate otherwise: It's a visual thing, at least this is what the Craigslist ads tell me.
Cozy, quaint, nestled. Indications that the room (shared housing) is tiny, tiny, tiny. Some are cryptic: fully updated. What exactly does that mean? Indoor plumbing? Electricity that's no longer knob & tube?

Dog-friendly. Many I've seen say this yet it's a ploy: there's a $350 dog deposit. $350? Really? Not so friendly "deposit." That is a lot of damage, far beyond the cost of replacing dry wall or some grass. Or, dog must be under 25 pounds, which is kind if funny since I've seen quite a few hefty Dachsunds, Shih tzus, and Poodles at work, not counting the cats who tip the scale above mid-20s and have offered to draw blood from my forearms and face at no extra charge.

Easy going. This is something I look for then discover that the Easy Going roommates have a bunch of rules around community-building and food interests.
Vegan, meat-eater, Ethical hedonist, Green, Conscious, male attorney seeks other professional, no professionals - please! artists only!, dogs, no dogs, no cats, hypoallergenic couple, non-smoker, smoker, drink-okay, no drugs, 420 okay, one day at a time, must like children, day-work schedule works best, no parties, community life and music in the house makes it all come together, section 8 okay, No section 8, descent [sic] credit, "patio overlooks plush court yard where you'll ...enjoy your morning coffee on... plus it has a closet." Yes, that was all one sentence.

I couldn't wrap my brain around the closet on the patio, but that's just me. I haven't had to be in the throes of major shared housing in a while, so I suppose that there are now closets on the patio because the others inside are now little bedrooms? I dunno.

So, I switched to houses or apartments (as a solo and not a shared) and immediately found that my price range set me far beyond the Bay Area's galaxy. I actually considered a place that offered multiple bedrooms, bathrooms, garages (yes, plural), and an enclosed backyard, AND an option to buy this house cheaply. It also came with a complimentary, miniscule one-hour, eight-minute commute to my present abode. One hour ++. That's 68 minutes in good traffic. I get frustrated on my bicycle if I miss a couple stop lights and arrive at work in 20 minutes instead of 15. could I handle sitting on a train and/or bus and/or Bart for 1 1/2 hours? Could I? I'm not so sure. Yet there's a nagging at my brain: the yard, the yard. Big enough for one or two or three furry buddies.

Searching for housing is a pain, no doubt about it. I'm trying to piece-meal my health together and also consider a big ass move .... again. It seems that I have finally received most of my forwarded, non-yellow address mailer postal mail.

Not long ago, I searched for the abode in which I presently reside -- by the way, thankfully, kindly, and graciously made possible by hired movers. It was arduous, to say the least, to finally settle on this place. Fifteen places caught my fancy and all were in varied geographical coordinates. Now, today, I'm looking both at location and price. I've ruled out ground-floor anythings, north-facing buildings, and buildings that appear to have pink as their typical exterior color. This latter descriptor is hard to explain; pink simply doesn't suit me as a building's color. North? Well, it's dark. I lived in a north-facing apartment and we discovered mushrooms growing in our always-damp shag carpeting. 'Nuf said there.

Price, though is tough. The market seems to be jacking up the cost of rentals even though many people are unemployed and unable to pay their skyrocketed rent. The Tenant's Union declared, as per California statute, that a move-in cost can be no more than twice the cost of the first month's rent (that's the deposit), or three times that if the place is furnished. Criminy! That is one chunk o' change. And still, the management company or the owners or the other roommates request the cash bags.

One shared place I perused offered an 'easy-going' space in a 1900s house, complete with a meditation person, a writer, some furniture (dresser, chairs), a bed (eeww, bedbugs) and requested nearly a thousand bucks for rent since the dwelling was located near the Berkeley Bowl and not far from the University. Yep, all for the low low price of $950/month + first, last, And deposit -- a person could have a ROOM! Yes, a Room, oh, with cupboard space (of course, water is included) and two laid-back dudes. I have to admit, I actually Googled-earthed it just to see what the house looked like: not so bad for a bedroom with potential bedbugs (that's my input).

Rentals. I searched beyond my frontiers when I rather recently (6 months ago) settled into my chilled upstairs apartment space. I wonder, after all the address changes I plugged in to my creditors and magazine subscriptions, could my mail locate me, moreso, could my own persona pinpoint me once again if I skedaddled for the fourth time in 11 years, seventh in 15?

I hate moving. Did I say that yet? I hate moving. And yet, I am seriously considering this sojourn of my being once again. I hate moving. I can handle public speaking, let alone the fright of a shortened life, but moving, or losing my vision? No, not so much on my list of favorite things.

Could it, the mail, my inner foundation find me again if I hopscotched to another town, another zipcode, another dwelling shared or unshared, communal or solo, in the woods or out in the burbs, along the water, on the Peninsula, in Sonoma, somewhere in the 925 or in the Presidio in what was once an Officer's housing? Could I handle bonking my head on the Potrero Hill top floor (it's complete with its own, private bathroom!) attic-converted-to slanty ceilinged bedroom/live-in space, or perhaps in a massive 3-story Jingletown loft that reminds me of the one Kevin Bacon rode his bicycle around in that 1980s broker-turned-bike messenger movie, or, perhaps abutting some farmland with acres and acres to roam and grow stuff or throw pinecones and balls for Gracie and Basco and ...?

Uprooting for trees is traumatic at any point. Often kills off part of its cell structure and definitely jerks its growth patterns around, occasionally to the point of death or near-death if not handled correctly. No certainty, though, on its survival even if it does seek and receive ample nourishment, sunlight, and fresh air later. Moving is difficult.

One thing is certain: at this point, I am solid where I am but aware that a foundation can be borne elsewhere. Only downfalls here in this funky apartment are no dogs and the windows are made from rice paper and imaginary glass.

In search of...
Seeking...
Looking for...

I suppose that this, all of the shared-dwelling, solo-resident thing, and/or this search-for-housing bizness is a different way to move forward, move on, or simply move again. Or it's the process of creating a space again where 'the heart' can reside. Find a home where my heart will be. Or, maybe simpler, it's just living in a dwelling where I can have dogs, which, quite frankly, is pretty much the same as the previous sentence.