My husband Doo and I recently returned from a West Coast jaunt to visit my twin sister and her family in LA. We stayed a couple of nights with them and then drove down to Orange County, where we fantasized about retiring to Laguna or Dana Point or one of the other ultra-chic beach communities. Sand, surf, and year-round sun? Sure beats the heck out of Indiana winters. And a decent double-wide would only set us back $750,000!
Alas, that is the main problem with our dream of moving to Southern California. Real estate prices are crazy. My wombmate’s home is a fourth the size of ours, has a small AstroTurf “lawn” in front and hangs on a cliff side, one heavy rain away from being washed into the valley. And yet, she could list that sucker for three times our suburban two-story with its big, gentle-sloping yard and two-car attached garage. I’m not exaggerating. Zillow confirmed this!
But our view is one of gloomy roundabouts and even-gloomier naked trees, not majestic mountains and forested canyons. She’s a short Uber-ride from the Pacific, while we’re a grueling 13 hours by mini-van from the Atlantic. George Clooney lives in her neighborhood. My kids briefly went to school with the daughter of a WTHR meteorologist. There’s just no comparison.
So, yah, we’re daydreaming of our own Southern California ocean-front place. We’re less than six months away from being empty nesters, after all, and surely our friends and family would come visit. They’ll have to stay in a hotel, of course, as our trailer won’t accommodate guests, but at least the weather and scenery will be beautiful.
Peace out.
