Today my house was to be foreclosed upon in a public auction sale.  Until yesterday afternoon I wasn’t certain whether Thanksgiving morning would find me filling cardboard boxes with my belongings and swathing glassware in bubble wrap or making mashed potatoes and kneading dinner roll dough. With a few clicks of the mouse I learned it was the latter.  Darn.  I was hoping the calamity would get me out of side dish duty for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving meal with dear friends.

I cannot make heads or tails out of this roller coaster of foreclosure postponements from my lender, Bank of America.  The misadventure makes me feel like either my head is buried up my tail end or I've been cast to replace Bill Murray in the starring role to "Groundhog Day Redux".  A five-second exhaustive search of my small brain entombed in my small butt for a logical explanation to these postponements reveals nothing.  It’s time to look elsewhere for answers.  I’ve scoured the internet for months and it bears no fruit so in keeping with my usual bouts of unsound reasoning I think I should search the refrigerator.  After all, resistance to one's own illogic is futile.  A glance at the empty shelves reveals a severely depleted inventory of food.  The last thing I want to do is spend hours transporting perishable goods when it's time to leave.  I thought that was today.  Darn again.  An assortment of condiment jars cast their inedible shadows around tupperware containers I conveniently refer to as my petri dishes of peril.  I am living proof that man can survive on condiments alone.  Deli mustard with pickled okra… eat your heart out Mario Batali... just be sure to sauté it first.  Wait.  That’s it.  Shadow inventories.  It’s the only explanation to this foreclosure procrastination I can come up with.  My lender knows my house is a first-class loser.  It’s underwater and if they dump it in this market they’ll take a hit of a few hundred thousand dollars.  Perhaps if they wait out the storm the hit won't be so bad.  A recent article in The New York Times lends credibility to my suspicion as I read the following words,

The housing market is confronting an abundance of inventory, high unemployment, fearful consumers and devastated family balance sheets.

I don’t get it.  Just a few days ago everything seemed hunky dory when the National Association of Realtors reported a 2-year high in existing home sales in another New York Times article.  This nugget of news reporting had me shaking in my boots on Monday as I thought my lender would be sure to foreclose ASAP in order to sell the house to this mysterious new tidal wave of buyers.  Either they don't read the news or they're terrifed of the petri dishes in my fridge.  I don a lab coat rub my hands together all mad-professor-like.  Yes, I am a dork.  This article continues confusing me as it states,

Existing-home sales in October rose to the highest level in more than two years, according to a report released Monday, driven by the popularity of a credit for first-time home buyers. The surge far outpaced expectations and nurtured hope that the stubbornly frail housing market might be on the upswing.

If I want this sort of back and forth I may as well pick up the phone and call my lender.  As I reflect upon previous conversations with Bank of America Home Retention Representatives I wonder if these two journalists are competing for the Gold in confusing contradictions.  I bounce back to the first article and read,

While brisk sales volume should, in theory, push up prices, Maureen Maitland, the vice president for index services at S.& P., said the oversupply of inventory was acting as a brake. “You can look down the street and have 10 houses to choose from,” she said.

I look down the street and the only foreclosed home on the market (that I know of) looks like this:

If you care to read more about this bulldozed foreclosed home’s fate you can go here. Doesn't my lender realize this is my soon-to-be-foreclosed home’s best competition?  Apparently not or surely they would have booted me today.  It's the petri dishes.  Has to be.  Or... perhaps Bank of America intends to foreclose on another house in the neighborhood unbenknownst to me and they're simply waiting for the right 2-for-1 special on a house bulldozing.  Whichever the reason, this temporary reprieve allows me the comfort to experience discomfort as I intend to set aside this false alarm tomorrow and stuff my face with fowl alongside friends I consider family.

In my haste of packing-box-hoarding I neglected to prepare a list of thanks for the Thanksgiving holiday so here’s what I’ve cooked up so far:

• I am thankful for the horrible arguments from the neighbor couple next door wherein they shout things at one another like “You stupid bitch!”,  “You asshole!” and my personal favorite, “Shut up!  Just shut the f—up!”  It’s a strange thing to be thankful for but as my life is turned upside down by this foreclosure I take comfort in the fact I will never say these things to a loved one (or an annoying one for that matter - not even my lender).  Yes, I know, the bar has been set pretty low but still…
• I am thankful for my overpriced, overhyped cordless vacuum cleaner whose batteries now hold a 20 second charge.  When speed cleaning becomes an Olympic sport I can expect a windfall of money from the corporate sponsors who will be knocking down my door to sign me to multimillion dollar, multiyear sponsorship deals.  I'll be sure to cover the large foreclosure notice on the door with an even larger holiday wreath just to keep my corporate image squeaky clean.
• I am thankful for the neighborhood skunk who makes his presence known with nightly foul-smelling secretions.  I'm saving a ton on my water bill because there's no point in showering when everything around you smells like skunk.  Also, badges of honor seem to elude me of late so it is a privilege to know my house is this wickedly wafting weasel's favorite on the block.  Again, the bar has been set pretty low but still…
• Most of all I am thankful for OS and its community of readers and bloggers.  Your reads, comments and scrutinies throughout this journey bowl me over.  Thank you and thank you again.  

I’m beginning to wonder if it was a bad idea to volunteer for side dish duty for the upcoming Thanksgiving meal.  The barren cupboards of my house contain neither potatoes nor the ingredients to concoct dinner rolls.  I don’t think anyone will take kindly to mashed potatoes made from cardboard moving boxes and bubble wrap disguised as dinner rolls.  “They’re low in carbs,” is what I intend to announce to cover the blunder.  Unfortunately that passé food craze will only embarrass me further so it’s off to the supermarket I go in hopes they’ll release a shadow inventory of potatoes and heat-and-serve dinner rolls.