Getting Spooked

The Purchase

Since childhood, the way anyone could tell I was de-stressing was the tell-tale sound of chair legs being dragged across wooden floors as I rearranged my bedroom for the thousandth time. If you read the “about” page on this site you also got a glimpse of an ill-failed oven creation designed to cook Gainsburgers for my dog. You’d have thought almost burning down my neighbor’s shed would have been a deterrent, but instead I only became more convinced of my calling to design homes from tiny houses to natural habitats to castle-inspired mini-mansions. By the time I was in my late twenties, friends had begun to utilize my design advice as well as have me remodel their homes. That short history lands us a little lopsidedly in January 2019, when I convinced my overworked partner to let me give it a go as a business after having successfully renovated our prior home for a sale and eventual move to Denver. Boy howdy did he not know what he was in for.

Like any spiritual seeker, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. A mid-century modern would be nice. Maybe an old farmhouse, or a split-level ranch. Also, like the spiritual seeker, I was aware that I’d know it when I found it…or so I thought. What became clear early on was that it would likely be old and really really beaten up. This was no quick-flip situation. I wanted something that needed a second chance, much like I had in my life a time or two. I wanted something that, even with age, was beautiful and elegant and memorable, much like I hope to be. We probably viewed over a hundred houses on the weekends when Brannon would rather have been resting at a lovely brewery or hiking in the backcountry. We looked in countless dirty cabinets and toilets, secretly popped office asbestos squares out of dropped ceilings to see what secrets they held beyond, and wondered constantly how our generational predecessors thought some ideas were good ideas. This journey eventually led us to make offers on five houses. House 1 was a cute little bungalow, but we had to wait for bank paperwork and by the time it came through the owner had decided to flip it himself. House 2 was a pretty Queen Anne Victorian in the happening Baker neighborhood, but it was priced too high and the appraiser wouldn’t bite, so we bailed. House 3 was almost ours. It was ugly ugly ugly due to an off-balance pop-up, but was near the Wash Park neighborhood, and I knew I was up for the challenge. The seller asked for all bids by a specific date, best offer wins. We had the same offer as another bidder, but they made their’s a half day before us. We came in second. Losers again. House 4 was a French Empire majesty. I wanted that one bad. It had been a two-unit apartment conversion with dropped roof inside. That dropped-roof covered carved cornices and original molding. The owner was out of the country and fancied us briefly. However his price was also too high, a real problem in the Denver market where people are waiting for developers to swipe up their land. I wanted to save that girl so bad, but again we had to let her go.

And then, just when I wondered if it would ever happen, we stepped right into it, both literally and figuratively. I went first and dragged Brannon with me. It was a weird day that day. My realtor, Tammy Beyerle of Keller Williams Foothills Realty, picked me up and drove me to the Highlands area where we parked in front of a house that could clearly be a consideration for haunted tours. A posh-looking woman in a BMW pulled in behind us. She gave us the stank-eye as we walked toward the house. Keep in mind, we had an appointment time and were right on the nose of it. The house was in bad shape. It had been sitting empty for 20 years with no upkeep whatsoever. We would later find out from a funeral card tucked under the carpet that the former owner had gotten cancer and passed away leaving the house to his wife who just left. Who can blame her? Memories have a way of inhabiting a space and this house has a lot of memories. It was built in 1900 by a father for his daughter, one of two houses he built next door to each other. It is also located on Denver’s old 23rd avenue streetcar line! For over 150 years, Denver has had an active public transportation system and this house is a part of that unique urban history. As I toured this space that was a breath away from being condemned, all I can tell you is that I felt it was home. The spirits and memories were all positive energy, like they knew I was there to share not to take away. I stood in the upstairs master bedroom and the universe shined light on me through the double windows. I could barely keep myself from rushing Tammy down the stairs to write an offer, and it’s a good thing I didn’t because I would have run right over stank-eye posh lady and her dust-covered cronies who ignored rules of etiquette and interfered on our showing time. Normally I wouldn’t be so harsh, but I am because there’s some karma due here.

This house was going at a low price. Aside from the fact that is was a near-scrape situation, it had actually been purchased only three months prior by another buyer. That buyer had the same love for history and story as we do. Unfortunately, he also had an unexpected family emergency which caused him to put the place back on the market and likely take a loss or get very little in profit. His one caveat was that the house be bought by a flipper not a developer or wholesaler. Enter Stank-eye. We said, “hello” to her group and introduced ourselves. Their response…crickets. Not one word until we asked them to lock up behind us and we got an “ok.” I thought Tammy might bust a blood vessel with her indignation about how realtors should handle themselves. I love her on my team. She has a great moral compass and is kind and compassionate. We went off to write our offer and that evening found out that another buyer had seen the home right after us (yes, the very ones you may be thinking of now) and had already locked in their offer, keeping us from moving forward. I couldn’t stand that we were set to lose out again. I was spooked. You’re probably wondering about that karma.

Well, as it turns out this buyer had lied to the seller and was actually a wholesaler pretending to be a flipper. As soon as the seller got word about the fib (from other wholesalers he had turned down who were pissed they had been shut out), he told the buyers that they had to have an offer on the home from an actual flipper/buyer by 12pm that following day or the deal was dead. And here is where we got the win. Tammy had made me write an offer anyway. She had the foresight to know that if the fibber’s deal fell through that we stood a chance. She was right. Stank-eye and her bad manners lost this round. The next day, our offer was accepted and on January 31st my dream of being a real-life Joanna Gaines wannabe was a reality when we signed the title to this aging beauty. Again I was spooked, but this time for very different reasons. Now, I actually have to make this work. Now, there are people depending on me to make a profit. Now I need to prove to myself that I am not just a dreamer but a maker. But bigger than that, I know that this house is depending on me for rebirth and a second life, a chance to tell her story for another 119 years, and that is what I take the most seriously. I want her to be proud.