Please excuse me while I wax reminiscent about mi casa. Long entry.

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I do this pacing thing when I write and I'm home alone. I'll walk the apartment. Out the office, circle the living room, into the kitchen, some combination like that only I'm lost in thought. So today I walk into the living room and look up to look out the big living room window and there's a guy outside looking over the duplex. The driveway to the property cuts right in front of the place and he's on the otherside in the grass. He catches me in mid-pace, looking thoughtful. I pretend I have better things to do than pace the living room and I turn around and head for the office.

Having lurkers outside is no surprise. The property went up for sale in December. A week or two ago we heard there had already been four bids. Yesterday, two people visited the property. The day before that, I caught a glimpse of another guy looking around. Today, there were a total of four people throughout the day and at least three other drive-bys (looking, not shooting).

The realization that we may have to move is hittling me hard. With all the people coming out here to look, I don't think it will be long before it sells. Then we'll probably have to move. Unless, of course, the new owners keep the rent dirt cheap. But I doubt it. There's a lot of work they'd have to do on this place. They'd probably tear all the buildings down and put up a big apartment complex.

I moved into here in early fall of '99. I've lived here for over five years and it's the longest I've stayed in one place since moving to Eugene. No wonder I'm feeling a little down about moving. This place had become home.

I learned about this little writer and artist commune early on when I first moved to Eugene. Dan is a pottery maker who sells his work at the Saturday market. His place on the property is a small building no bigger than a one-car garage. His studio is the actual two-car garage next door. Dan has been living here since the mid to late eighties. He helped George the landlord who lived in the bigger house at the front of the property. As George got older and less mobile, Dan did more. He brought George his groceries, did the banking, sent the checks to pay the bills, and filled his wood stove with pellets.

Dan also found renters for the duplex apartment in the back. Since he belonged to the writers workshop and since most writers around here try to live on the cheap, he found willing (and perhaps eager) renters. Steve and Chris York moved into one side of the duplex in the mid-nineties. Ray Vukcevich moved into the other side a year or two later.

When the Yorks bought their house on the coast (thankfully they had cheap rent to pay down any debt and save money) and moved, I got to move in. It was all about who you know.

How cheap is the rent? When I first moved in, I was paying $170 a month all utilities paid for a two bedroom apartment. The rent got as high as $245 while George was the landlord. We don't know why he charged so little. The place has always been in poor but livable shape. There was also the fact that we helped George out in other ways. I used the riding lawn mower to cut the grass. Before I came along, Chris York had done the cutting. Each tenant takes their turn hauling the garbage to the curb each week. And I've done a few grocery store runs for George and filled his wood pellet stove, too.

Character. Let's talk about the character of this place. The duplex sits at the back of the main house in front, back a ways from busy and noisy River Road. There's a circular driveway, an entryway on each side of the main house. My side of the duplex has a large evergreen tree outside the living room window that keeps the place well-shaded and cool in the summer. The front steps are made of wood and just before Christmas I put my foot through the wet, rotting wood for the first time.

The ceilings are only seven feet high, and that varies because the floor slopes. Steve York, who is a very tall guy, had to duck to get through each doorway when he lived here. He even had to duck to miss the ceiling light fixtures.

There is a tiled ceiling and above in the crawlspace we can here squirrels scampering around. They've chewed through my ceiling at least once. There hasn't been much noise lately because Ray had used his didjeridoo on his side of the duplex to scare the squirrels away. He then sealed the entryways outside with chicken wire.

The floors are wood, certainly not hardwood. The tiled floor in the bathroom has been wearing away and falling apart ever since I moved in. One morning about three years ago I awoke to find a tile at the corner of the bathtub gone. There was a hole in the floor and as I stared at it, I saw the paws of a raccoon who had been living under the place. I sealed the hole up that day, but it was a poor job. Today, the replacement tile sags.

We were on our own for a lot of problems. Appliances, for example. We are responsible for having them. Thanks to the Yorks for leaving them behind, I've had a refridgerator and a clothes washer. Well, until the fridge died on me in 2002. I then bought a used one.

We have gas heat and in the winter it's a good way to dry clothes by hanging them above the heater.

Outside the kitchen window one has a view of a patch of blackberry vines that keeps growing. We began to call her Audrey. "Feed me, Seymour!" The vines have gotten two close and needed to be cut back. Spraying Audrey hasn't killed it and it just keeps coming back. Which is alright, because it blocks the view of the truck abandoned in the back. George used to run a mobile equipment cleaning service. The truck is probably the size of a Ryder moving van and now the windshield is broken. It's now a club house (underneath and inside the cab) for the local cats.

Ximena moved in with me almost two years ago. She brought great improvements to the place. It was her idea to paint he kitchen and office before she moved in. The kitchen changed from bland white to cream-colored with red trim around the windows and cupboards. The inside of the round kitchen doorway also got painted red. The ceiling is a blue-green. The office got blue walls and red trim. I couldn't believe I had lived there so long with bland white. We didn't get the rest of apartment painted before she moved, but those two rooms were improved.

When Ximena moved in, her cat, Kitty, moved in, too. I gotta tell you, seeing mouse droppings on the kitchen counters becomes old. But Kitty is a great mouser. Last year she caught several mice. This year the mice seem to avoid the place. Or maybe Kitty is just hiding them and we'll find them when we move.

This place has been good for writers and first sales. Chris York sold her first story to Strange New Worlds while living here. Steve York, if I'm not mistaken, sold his first novel as well. Ray Vukcevich sold his first novel. On the morning he got the news he was still in his bathrobe and when he saw the Yorks leaving for work, he ran out to tell them. When I sold my first story to Realms Of Fantasy, I jumped up and down in my apartment, shaking the whole duplex up. I ran outside and there was Ray looking outside his door. He had heard the noise (and felt the quakes) and looked outside to see what was the matter. It was just me and I was bursting to tell someone (another writer) about my first sale.

Now, Ximena has had a story at Realms for a year now and we know it's been passed up to Shawna. Perhaps the luck of this place will strike again.

Back to the subject of moving. Change can do me good. Moving can be exciting, especially the hunt for the right place, as long as it's not too difficult.

You get what you paid for. This place is old and falling apart. I think I'll still miss it.

I remember all these little things about this place as I fear the end of my stay here is near.