They’ve Stopped Making It

Dearest Rachel –

It’s a silly little line that hits early on in A Charlie Brown Christmas, but it occasionally resonates with me for reasons I can’t quite pin down. The gang are catching snowflakes on their tongues as they fall around them (Lucy, fussbudget that she is, insists that she never engages in such behavior until at least January, to which her little brother Linus observes the snowflakes intently for a moment before claiming, with some puzzlement, that “they sure look ripe to me”). At some point, topic of Christmas gifts comes up, and once again, it’s Lucy who complains that she never really gets what she wants for the holiday: real estate.

It’s a joke I didn’t understand when I first heard it, mostly because at the time, I was the age of the characters themselves (which in some respects IS the joke; what, are kids of five or six years of age that interested in property and investments? Don’t be ridiculous; only those drilled in its importance by their elders would arrive at such a conclusion that early in life) and didn’t really even understand the meaning of the phrase, let alone why it would be desirable to own real estate. Even now, apart from owning one’s own home – rather than, say, having to rent – I don’t see where it’s that crucial about land as an investment.

Sure, there are other, more pointed, jokes to be made about its significance – I happen to be particularly fond of the advice to “buy land; they’ve stopped making it,” which makes light of the limited supply of the stuff (although, when you come down to it, everything is only available in limited quantities). I even jocularly referred to it when the cottage on the island became available for sale; we considered purchasing it, even as we were aware that it might not appreciate in value the way our stock portfolio was doing at the time. I think we were both surprised by our broker’s reaction when we (somewhat hesitantly) asked him about freeing up the funds to buy the place; he thought it was a great idea to add it to our overall portfolio (despite the fact that it would take a large chunk out from under his control), and pointed out that the joke had more truth behind it than I was aware of. His only concern was that we wouldn’t be able to get out there to maintain it on the regular basis that would likely be necessary.

Of course, it didn’t come to pass. By the time we put in an offer, it had already been sold to a family who lived, if not precisely in the area, at least within an hour’s travel (not counting the ferry ride) of the place, and could better run the place as the rental property that it is. We met them, albeit briefly, on our last visit to the place, during the pandemic, and they seemed quite nice and accommodating.

Not that it mattered all that much, of course; with your departure, there was no longer the appeal in going there anymore, as the place had more memories for you and your family than for Daniel and me. In a way, it was just as well we didn’t win our bid to buy the place; those memories would have been oppressive to have to deal with every trip out there. Every inch of that place – inside or out – has something of you and your folks about it. And I’m not just talking about the cottage, which you only discovered to be available in 2007. The entire island was your favorite place on earth, from your youngest days. But for me, it was at best, a respite from the workaday world who couldn’t reach me there; since I no longer have to deal with the work farce, its appeal to me is somewhat limited. Daniel and I can hole up just as well here at home, if that’s what we want to do, and still have all the comforts of home, literally.

But this letter wasn’t meant to talk to you about the island as such (although reminiscing with you like this is part of the original point of these letters as a whole). The thing is, we have on occasion dreamed about, and looked at, the idea of “another place,” somewhere, someday, somehow. I still recall one stop on one of the cruises we took with the family – I want to say it was near Nice – where the port included a real estate office, plastered with posters of homes in the area for sale. To be sure, this was long before you came into your inheritance – indeed, while we were aware of it’s existence at the time, we had no idea of its real size, and what it could (or would not) allow us to obtain – so everything listed on the walls and windows was little more than the same distant dream it would be for anyone other tourist like ourselves. But I think I recall both of us momentarily agreeing that it would be cool (we might even said out loud that it would be “nice” before giggling at the pun) to own such a vacation home. Of course, that still brings us back to the island, since even then, you made it clear that you would prefer a place there before we started looking overseas for a vacation home.

Likewise, there was the timeshare group that invited us out for a very nice meal in order to pitch us about the possibility in investing in a share of a collection of places around the world in which to vacation. Some of the offerings did seem attractive, as I recall, but you and I had very specific places that we wanted to go to and see; upon discovering that they had no options for a location in Japan, all the hype and pressure tactics in the world (and they used some, you’ll agree) could not persuade us to sink money into the offer.

So why, you may ask, am I bringing up these old stories at the moment? Well, once I got yesterday’s letter written to you, and I’d taken the time to go through my news feed, I found myself wandering through various real estate sites. This letter has gone on long enough that I might save the bit about tiny houses (and what brought that on, specifically) for another time, but eventually I found myself looking at listings in Japan – and finding them more affordable than I thought they might be.

It’s almost enough to get me wondering about the possibility of looking into real estate again, especially after two successive years of visiting the country, wandering around this or that town and city center now and then.

But I realize I’m getting way out in front of my skis to consider such a thing. This is, after all, a country I’ve only been to three times in my life, and never for very long; how would I manage on my own there, where I not only can’t speak but can’t even read the language? I’m not even the otaku that I used to be (although, from what I can tell of their society, they might actually consider that a good thing). Still for all that I might find Japan intriguing, I should probably see if I can make my way through the place on rail, like I’ve been planning off and on, before trying to do anything too crazy like this.

Besides, I have far too many commitments here, between my family and community, to try and uproot myself for no other reason that I think that it might be cool. They may have stopped making land there – as they have everywhere else, for that matter – but it’s also not going anywhere. As long as I still live, I have time to consider such a decision, and maybe avoid running into one too rashly, ne?

These are the strange things that go through my mind as I idly wander through the pages of the internet these days, honey. I’m sure you would be able to talk me back down to earth from such things, but under the present circumstances, all I can ask of you is to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.