I don't burn hot. I smolder and smoke, throwing up an occasional piece of ash. As a teenager, I had quite a bit of fire but over the years I've learned to tamp it down. Right now, I feel like cold ashes in the fire pit. All week I've kept a steady burn, pushing the lender to make a decision so we could close escrow.
This morning, Mr. Bill (the lender) called me and said that he was still having trouble with the appraiser and underwriter. The underwriter questioned the appraisal; specifically the value of the barn and the lack of local comparisons. The appraiser was offended and defensive. A battle of egos evolved with neither one willing to give ground. Mr. Bill scheduled a conference call with the two of them in another attempt to resolve the issue.
As I was driving out to the property after work to feed, he called with an update. The call did not go well. The egos refused to give. The details are pretty silly. We've lost a week and a half trying to negotiate a path to reasonable. It looks like we will be getting a new lender Monday. Some of the file can be transferred but much of the process, including getting another appraisal, will be repeated.
On a brighter note, thanks to my followers who helped me identify the mystery flowering shrub. It goes by two common names, depending on where you call home: St. John's Wort or Rose of Sharon. I'm partial to the second name. I'd rather picture a smiling Sharon with a cheerful yellow flower in her hair than a stern St. John with a wart on his nose.
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