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The other F word

The bleak economic situation grabbing headlines these days has hit home. Or, rather, the house next door.

A story in the campus newspaper yesterday, about how the state is receiving a large grant to prevent cash-strapped people from losing their homes, featured a lovely black-and-white photograph of the house immediately to our west. With a caption about how the sidewalk of the residence remains covered in snow and ice because the house is vacant, because the property has been, yep, exactly.

Foreclosed.

Tim and I had been wondering for weeks what was up with our neighbors, who moved out in the midst of a rather acrimonious divorce. (Ask us sometime about the pile of broken dishes and smashed computer parts on the back porch.) They tried for several months to sell, but they were asking too much -- in our unsolicited, and highly unqualified, opinion -- and eventually the realty signs came down. The mowing stopped. Then, as snow fell, the pavement remained unshoveled.

And now, a red note on the door reveals that the house has been...abandoned. The bank has sent someone in to "winterize" the property -- I hope that person got in before pipes broke or mold grew or bums moved in or whatever other heinous occurrence could have, well, occurred.

This can't be good for property values, can it? Who buys foreclosed homes? Hopefully not someone wanting to set up a meth lab. Or a slumlord looking to make a buck on a rental, who'll rent to someone who wants to set up a meth lab. At least the paper didn't reveal the property address.

If you're in the market for a three-bedroom, two-bath ranch in an outstanding school district, that the bank is looking to unload for a steal, tell your realtor to keep an eye out for the listing. You'd get a big, privacy-fenced yard, room for expansion in the unfinshed basement, and a cozy living room with a wood-burning stove.

And, let's not forget. Incredibly amazing neighbors.

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