When a cute little American girl and a shy little Australian boy fall in love, she moves, they get engaged, they get married, they make a baby, and they realize they're still renting, the urge comes upon them to begin building equity. They set a budget, get loan preapproval, and begin looking for houses.
When the aforementioned couple finds a house that is pretty much perfect in every respect (dry, wood floors, sound, cute as a button, good location, big backyard) and it needs minimal renovation (bathroom, kitchen, laundry room, floors and painting) and even less yardwork (one oleander bush), then the aforementioned couple would be wise to make an offer.
When the inspection turns up a couple of fibro walls, however, this is where it turns tricky.
Fibro is a generic term for a group of products manufactured from the 1950s which sometimes contained asbestos. It was touted as a miracle substance because it's fire-resistant and highly insulating. It's lightweight and easy to install and, oh yeah, one tiny fibre in your lungs can cause asbestosis and ultimately, mesothelioma. It's evil. It's pretty much the definition of why untested technology is terrifying. It was only banned completely in 2003, even though they'd known since the 1980s how terrible it is. So "safe" homes are houses built before 1945 (which have another set of problems) and after 1985 (which are generally ugly).
Now, one can live in a house with fibro panelling quite safely. If it's not cracked or damaged, it's fine. When it is cracked and deteriorating in, say, the laundry room, then you have to see about getting it removed by qualified technicians who dress up like moon men because this stuff is just that awful.
So although it is well within the couple's price range, the property of interest is actually be dangerous to live in. Immediate steps would have to be carried out in order for this family to move in. On top of the already firm plans to pull up the grody carpet to polish up the beautiful cypress floorboards and to paint all the walls, there is now a plan to pull out the kitchen and bathroom and laundry and just start all over. Put up drywall where there was asbestos, take out the bathroom tiles and replace all the fittings with new, and completely redo the laundry.
This would be the case for pretty much any house in their price range in that area. Fibro is everywhere.
It's not unexpected so it's certainly not the part that stresses us out. The stressful part is where we the agent tried to corral us into signing a contract we hadn't seen along with a waiver of our right of a cooling off period. My husband is a patient man and it is something to see him get angry. You know those pictures of storm clouds coming across plains, like in southern Wyoming? It was like that. As soon as he realized what they wanted us to do - sign a contract we and our solicitor hadn't seen, and waive rights to a cooling off period - hoo boy, watch yo'self!
So we're back to looking at other places, just to keep our options open. We've signed nothing and paid nothing. We're just interested. But it's hard. We just want to make a home.
And that's the long version of why I haven't sewn, written, or done anything else for a fortnight. Yikes. Tonight's the night: I'm going to sit down with my machine and churn out a dang quilt top. Everything else is out of my hands and that is fine. I just want to make something beautiful.