Buying a first home in the early 1980s was not for the faint of heart. Personally, I’m reminded of the opening in “A Tale of Two Cities,” when Charles Dickens famously wrote, “It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.”
The best? I was engaged to the great love of my life, my husband now of 30-plus years. And because my new fashion/trend-forecasting business was proving so successful, we had saved up enough money to pay for both our wedding (they cost a lot less in those days) and a 20 percent down payment on a condominium in Brookline.
The worst? Known to all as “Marvelous Marv,” my charismatic, bon vivant dad unexpectedly died of a heart attack at the age of 61.
All of a sudden, researching wedding venues and hunting for an apartment became a painful reminder of places where he wouldn’t be.
Then, adding to that pain, were the mortgage rates.
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