Mary Novaria

When our Kansas home went on the market two years ago, we thoughtfully staged the house with the help of a professional. We didn’t necessarily agree with everything she asked us to do—taking out all our books and bookshelves, for instance—but we complied, putting excess furniture, family photos and excess décor into a rented storage unit. Then our realtor suggested we fly an American flag every day. “Buyers love that,” she said. We took her word for it, dusted off the flag we normally flew only on national holidays, and slipped it into the rusty bracket by the garage door. A week later we had a full-price offer on the house. In addition to the side-by-side refrigerator, our buyer asked for the American flag. It seemed a small price to pay. “Sure, she can have it,” we said. Now, two years later, we’re flagless and all of a sudden I’m feeling it. Until today, I hadn't once thought about replacing that flag. I didn’t even realize I missed Old Glory until John ...

The “For Sale” sign is up. So is my anxiety level as we have now entered real estate limbo. We’re moving… but not yet. We’re living here… but only a while longer. Last time we sold a house, it was on the market for six hellish months. Two things I remember most about that time eighteen years ago: The phone would ring requesting a showing just as I’d strapped our one-year-old into her high chair for dinner … And, I hid baskets of laundry on the far side of our bed, hoping lookers would merely glance into the room and not walk in far enough to see the mounds that accumulated daily with a pre-schooler and a baby. When we finally had an offer, it came from a couple who had come to the Open House the very first week our home was on the market. They’d loved it and spent those months saving for a down payment. Serendipity. The home didn’t sell because it was waiting just for them. As for us, we looked and looked, made a few offers, and had a couple of deals fall through. Then, t...