After about nine months of work, penny pinching, careful planning, and a lot of waiting, I bought a house. The house belonged to my grandmother before she died. After her death, nobody in the family could bare to see the house go to a stranger. We found a local community bank willing to work with me, and they gave me a great rate on a 30 year fixed rate conventional loan. I also received a grant from the Federal Home Loan Bank of Atlanta. Yesterday was my settlement, and now I begin the process of moving in. It all seems so surreal.

I've moved my bed over, and tonight will bring over more clothes. This weekend I'll work on books (which accounts for about 80% of what I own), my computer, and my various other belongings.

Also, I need to bring over some incense or something tonight, because the place smells like she's still living there. It's not that I want to erase all traces of her from the house, but it's a bit unnerving to walk in the door and get a big whif of Nana's favorite potpurri. The house is dark and dingy, much like you'd expect when inheriting a house from a dead relative. As wrapped up as I get in that kind of macabre mystique, I'm not Gomez Adams so I'll have to shake out the cobwebs and lighten the place up.


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