Happy

This blog is the day in a life of an accidental business. Sometimes my personal life overlaps into the business life. This is one of those situations.

I don't wish to sensationalize Mrs. 508's plight. Hollywood would probably turn it into something glamorous, but it wouldn't change the fact there is now a young orphaned boy involved. Though I have never personally met the 508's I am astounded by their generosity. With all of Mr. and Mrs. 508's financial burdens, they still found room in their hearts and lives for a young child.

The other day I was carefully telling my six year old son about this. He asked questions which led to a delicate explanation, where I did my best to explain the evil heart of others and a heinous crime, all while hoping I was preserving his innocence. I didn't have all the answers, but my Buckaroo got the gist.

After, he asked if he could take the Build-A-Bear gift card he received for his birthday and give this little boy a present. "Yes, I said. But, you need to understand, you aren't getting another gift card. If you use this, it will be gone."

"I know," he replied. "But I have toys and I have a mommy. He doesn't."

On Tuesday, I took my agoraphobic self to the mall with Buckaroo. We went to the Build-A-Bear shop. Buckaroo picked out a bear. After it was filled, he tested how soft it was by squishing it a few times, just to make sure this little boy would be able to hug it. He lovingly cleaned the bear thoroughly with the air hose. After some deliberation, he selected a generic baseball outfit for the new bear. All the while, Buckaroo was telling the bear how he needed to be a good friend to this child. Buckaroo would then make the bear answer in a gruff voice, "You can count on me!" Then, Buckaroo named him "Happy."

Build-A-Bear shipped out my package for me. Next week, a motherless toddler is going to get a special treasure, carefully selected by a boy with a big heart.

Whistling Past the Courthouse

There comes a time when enough is enough. Mrs. Martin and I hit that impasse last week. Mr. H. showed up at her doorstep with a love letter from me that read, pay or get the *^%^&* out of my home. Mrs. Martin obliged and sent me a check that didn't bounce. Of course, this just delays the inevitable, allowing for another verse in the where-the-heck-is-my-rent tune. Right now she wants to try make things right. I know how this one will probably end.

Mrs. 508 is another story. She has been dealing with a tremendous amount of tragedy lately. I am not talking about job issues--though those still remain. I am talking about criminal things. Not her, but a dear friend has fallen prey, leaving behind a young child Mr. and Mrs. 508 are now guardians. To add to Mrs. 508's burden, she miscarried. Though I have a lot of respect for her and do not wish her situation upon anyone, I am becoming convinced her life is one big country song. And, her circumstances are counter-productive to paying me rent.

I had prepared a love letter for Mrs. 508 to be delivered tomorrow. I was no longer calling and e-mailing, instead deciding the best course of action was to let chips fall where they may. In a moment of psychic premonition, Mrs. 508 called today. She had a plan. She had money. Both apparently are mine.

There is a fine line between spooking a tenant who owes money and calling their bluff. I could be hard on Mrs. Martin and Mrs. 508. They would either figure out a way to keep the roof over their heads, leave or dig their heels in making me employ Legal Eagle. Right now, I am willing to work with them, in hopes what my gut tells me is true. Hopefully they will turn their sad song into a happy ditty.

Reality

Today, I took a good hard look at the state of our company. It is about as awful as I expected it to be. I only looked because Mr. Partner is asking for some information. This of course, is information he is entitled to. Money hasn't been misappropriated. Nobody is stealing. It has been spent on things like furnaces with gas leaks. Hot water heaters. Clean up on Mr. Smith's former house. Paying the utilities for vacant homes. Harvard tuition for Eaglet. You know, expenses.

There is something liberating at looking at really bad news. It doesn't make the situation any better, but the brain starts working. Survival skills kick in. It is amazing how solutions flow when the only other alternative is failure.

It isn't pretty. But, through responsibility comes creativity and solutions. We have weathered this far and if we can make it past this hump we can be in the black again. This is nothing like this past summer. And, we made it though that.

You know what? It isn't the end of the world. The bills are still getting paid. We have the money to pay the mortgages and maybe a little left over to pay for the plumber. The reality is we are making it. Barely.

Once upon a time we were profitable. It will happen again.

So, You Want to Buy a Rental Home?

First of all, if you are reading this AND you still want to be a landlord, I am certainly impressed. It really isn't that bad. Normally.

And, it is a a walk in the park if your tenants aren't doing anything illegal and they are paying on time.

Recently, My husband asked me which houses I would want to keep and which ones I would dump if the market were better. After some deliberation, I came up with my list. My answer surprised me, as one of the homes on my "keep" list was the house in Leeds--with a few caveats.

So, today's primer is how to pick the right rental home. I should put a disclaimer in here. Early on, I didn't follow these rules, so some of my properties aren't ideal. Now I know. And, now I have something to blog about.

Before you buy a rental property, pick a real estate agent who understands your vision. In the event you don't think you need a real estate agent, let me assure you: YOU DO. If you want a list of reasons why, I will be happy to provide them, but for the rest of you out there who are clear on this point, let me cut to the chase: GET AN AGENT.

Most agents are certainly qualified to help you buy your dream home. However, there is a different between using an agent to buy the home you will live in and an income property. The first agent I had in Alabama didn't know a thing about investments. At the time I overlooked this--which is saying something because in my real estate business I specialize in investment properties. I thought I could compensate for her lack of knowledge.

My former agent is good at what she does, but didn't see the big picture. If I ever want someone to sell my personal residence, she would be the aggressive pit bull I need on my side to negotiate my price. However, if I want someone to help me select the right rental home and grow my company, I need an agent who understands the big picture and can crunch numbers. That would be my current agent Jack.

Once you have the right agent, here's a few tips for selecting the right house.

1. The house isn't a home. It's a piece of meat. That is, if the wall paper is all wrong, if the carpet is ugly, use this to your advantage. Cosmetic items a seller won't fix turn off buyers. Just look through it to the bones. Cosmetics are easy to fix. Don't get attached to what is pretty. Become attached to what is functional.

2. Location, location, location. Rental homes are necessary for all walks of life. Most likely, the return on investment for a high-end rental home isn't going to be that great. You might get a great return on a rental in a low-end neighborhood, but you are going to find people who want to live in low-end neighborhoods. As a tangent to this, don't buy in the outskirts. Stay close to major shopping centers and traffic arteries. Outskirt homes might cost less, but that is because the demand is lower.

3. Buy into the school system. More than anything, my tenants care about the school system. I have three homes located in the worst school system in Birmingham. I can rent them. But, of those three, none of those tenants do not have school aged children. And, I am taking a hit on the rent for these homes. I have some homes in much better school systems and my rents reflect it--even if the home is smaller.

4. When you buy a home, you are buying into the neighborhood. Quality tenants want quality neighbors. Though my home in Leeds may not have neibhors who appreciate my value system, the street my home is on is a quiet street where the neighbors take care of their properties. Neighborhood pride is intrinsic.

5. Buy the right kind of home for the culture--at least three bedrooms and two bathrooms. In Birmingham, a second bathroom for a home built in the 1960s, is not as common as it is in Phoenix. For reasons too long for this post, I have two homes with one bathroom. I can rent one bathroom homes, but I am competing against two bathroom homes. Therefore, the tenants I get who might be interested in these homes probably were already rejected by landlords who own two bathroom homes. In Phoenix, I would not own a home with less than four bedrooms. In Birmingham, three bedrooms are acceptable. And, please! No weird floor plans! Recently, Jack and I went into a four bedroom, two bath home. One bedroom was by itself, down the hall. Another bedroom had a door leading to the master bedroom--the only egress to that particular room. And, off the master, was another full bedroom!

6. Make sure the home has the right amenities. A garbage disposal and dishwasher are essential. If you have the only home with a carport on the street with two car garages, your ability to attract quality renters will be more difficult.

7. Location, yada, yada, part 2. Anything that is on a major road, backs a major road, faces a major road or is anywhere near something commercial or multi-family is out of the question. Keep looking. Even if you find your tenant, someday you may want to dump the place and it will be harder to sell at a price you want to sell it at.

8. Cash flow is essential. This is why the house in Leeds is still on my list. My mortgage is low enough and the demand for this area was strong enough to justify my rent. Why own a home where you are taking a loss? It defies the concept of "income property."

9. Expect to be in it for the long haul. Once upon a time, property values in Phoenix shot up exponentially. This was an anomaly. So, any investor who bought before this big spike and then sold during the spike was considered a genius. Myself included. At the time I had an investment partner (who has since bailed) who somehow thought I hung the moon because of this one Phoenix investment. As much as I assured him it was dumb luck, he was way too pleased with the outcome to consider the fact I had nothing to do with this (and from that purchase, we were able to buy several other homes in Birmingham). When the second home we bought and sold didn't pan out as well as expected, I was no longer a genius, but something akin to a festering boil (though I am sure he meant that in the nicest way). So, if you buy a home today--even if you get the most awesome deal alive--think long term. If you can get your cash out of it sooner, all the better. But, don't plan on it.

10. Think like the kind of tenant you wish to attract. There is nothing wrong with modest homes in blue collar neighborhoods. I have a few. I also have some higher-end homes as well. Interestingly enough, my higher end homes generally don't bring in a significantly better caliber of people. Higher end homes require higher rent, higher maintenance, higher property taxes. Lower end homes have less expensive rent, less expensive property taxes and neighbors who aren't as concerned about the neighbor's rusting scrap metal proudly displayed in the front yard. Somewhere in there, I have found a balance. It really seems to boil down to good sized homes, on quiet streets, in quality school districts.

Real estate is a good investment tool if it is done right. I didn't do everything right and am now fixing what I can. I foresee good things in my future, but for now feel free to learn from my mistakes.

More Pictures

This first picture I took from the car while I was in Birmingham a couple of weeks ago. Autumn leaves are so exotic for me. It was simply beautiful. One day Jack and I were driving around and I kept gushing about the foliage. Anyway, I wanted to share it with my fellow desert dwellers.



Homes in Birmingham also are exotic to me. I really don't like the wood-framed stuccoed multi-dimensional banal pale pink with salmon-colored roofs the Phoenix metro area has. Birmingham has primarily older brick homes with white trim. Or, brick foundation with some sort of veneer siding.



When I visit, I spend about as much time with Jack playing "Is that a..." plant game as I do looking at homes with him. I saw a magnolia tree and holly for the first time in my life on this past trip.

The lots are larger and many back yards don't have fences. Here every home is encased with a six food wood or block barrier. I wonder if we Phoenicians would be somewhat friendlier if we didn't treat our homes like fortresses. This particular home has a large front porch--just like every other home on this street.



I think this particular home and this particular neighborhood is simply charming. This neighborhood is all brick, large, stately trees that overhang into the wide streets. There are mini-antebellum type homes all over this block. I just happened to buy one that wasn't.



By the way, one of the homes I posted yesterday or today is Wayward's former residence.

Pictures

Here are pictures of some of the homes I manage.

This is the first home in Birmingham we bought.





This is the second home we bought. My favorite tenant lives here, though I have never personally met her. If I could move to Birmingham, I would probably want to live where she lives. It is on a mountain on a few acres. It is a far cry from the city living I have experienced all my life.

Gone But Not Forgotten

Mr. Smith is gone. There is a big notice posted on his door from the sheriff telling him to get out and announcing the amount of money he owes me. Carolsue graciously kept the note up when she went by today so the entire neighborhood could see it.

Where is Mr. Smith you might wonder? He high-tailed his Neptune washer and dryer right across the street. Seriously. Across the street. He can stand on his front porch and look at his former front porch.

I don't know about you, but having the sheriff's big get out sign attached the to door where he used to live can't be much fun for him. As Carolsue--who has a great grasp on human nature--explained, every neighbor around there must have snuck over after dark to read it and find out about Mr. Smith's situation. They will also see his junk--which he graciously left--piled up at the curb on trash day.

What did Mr. Smith leave me: a mess. The walls have urine on them. He left filthy diapers in the closets. He took the light switch plates. He bashed in the interior doors (which screams of domestic violence. I have seen this before in empty houses. It is very sad). There is trash on the inside and out. There is magic marker on the walls. There is siding missing where he was doing something to the exterior deck. The missing siding exposes the interior walls. There is a ton of trash Andy, my convicted-murderer-lawn-guy (I will never tire of writing that), will have to haul away.

Although somewhat discouraging, this is nothing compared to what Wayward left me. And, I can take a modicum of satisfaction in knowing Mr. Smith's neighbors can see first-hand what a deadbeat he really is.

Taking a Gamble

Now that I can understand him, Mr. Richards is someone I have grown to respect in the past year. As I may have mentioned, he didn't rub me right to begin with. I am the first to admit it is because I already had turned over that particular house twice and he was vying for a chance to rent it. I was half-way convinced nobody of quality would ever want to live there. But in Mr. Richard's case, I rolled the dice and took a chance.

Another reason was because he complained about a bunch of little things--some of which he caused--when he moved in. For instance, if one wants the stove to work properly, it is a good idea not to soak the elements in glass cleaner and then complain when they don't work. I'm just saying...

All and all, Mr. Richards has been a decent tenant. Paying late doesn't make someone a bad tenant--especially if they are telling you they are paying late. Mr. Richards has been going through some tough times. However, he has a very marketable skill set--one in high demand. And, even though he got hurt, he has been able to come through. Money is still tight, but he is back to work.

Today Mr. Richards called me asking for a break. It wasn't a good day to do that, as I started the eviction process on someone else and I am not feeling terribly generous. But, if I take Mr. Richard's situation by itself, it really is plausible.

When he called, he wasn't asking for pity. He called armed with an action plan of how he wanted to fix his situation. He gave me concrete dates and amounts. When I told him these deadlines are firm and I will put him on the street if he misses one, he said, "I need a place to live, so I have to pay you like I say I will." That is very different than those who just couch their bets. The ones who are bluffing just say, "yes ma'am." And I know the end is near.

I have written about the handshake culture in Alabama, Mr. Richards is one of those types. If he says he will do something, he does it. He has always come through. I refuse to worry about him pulling my leg in this case because of his past history. Odds are his word is good with me.

Another Language Barrier Story

When Mr. Richards first moved in, there was some sort of problem with the plumbing. But, I could not tell you what it was, because I have the hardest time understanding him with his thick drawl.

So, I called the plumber and told them to call Mr. Richards. I explained, I just didn't understand him, maybe they could.

"Oh dear. Is he Hispanic? They can be hard to understand," the plumber's office manager knowlingly said.

"No," I replied. "He's Southern."

Spending My Money

Mrs. Waterford and I have been discussing her garage door dilemma. You see, apparently Mrs. Waterford did fully understand the small hand-held device was supposed to be purchased to remedy the non-opening garage door issue. In fact, Mrs. Waterford did do this. However, it didn't remedy the problem.

So, being the proactive tenants they are, they looked into resolving this issue themselves. It turns out the contraption called a "garage door opener" had shorted out. I know this because Mrs. Waterford told me. But, also because I called the technician (who could have been her brother-in-law or cousin for all I know, but I holding out hope this isn't isn't the case) who also gave me a longer and more technical version of "the garage door opener shorted out." Based on the history of the home, there are a few mitigating factors that made this a plausible explanation to me. The truth is, if the garage door opener is broken, I need to fix it.

At any rate, Mrs. Waterford acknowledged she was "surprised" at the cost of this installation. She was surprised? I was flat-out astonished. Mrs. Waterford's last communication to me had a trace of defensiveness to it. Like "I know I did this and you are going to pay for it." This doesn't make me happy. But, she is right. I am not going to fight over the garage door opener.

However, Mrs. Waterford strikes me as smart enough to know this won't happen twice. Because it won't. And, Mrs. Waterford has been told this. Although I appreciate her taking charge, it has been explained to her, that it still would have been quite appropriate to let me know so that I could have gotten a second quote--which may or may not have been less expensive to fix the garage door opener contraption. Because at the end of the day, I decide how I want to spend my money.

The Four Corners Rule

While at a restaurant in Alabama, our server was taking our drink order. "We have tea and Coke," she said. I promptly ordered tea.

My dining companion understood more than I did, politely inquiring, "What kind of Coke do y'all have?" The server then listed off Pepsi, Sierra Mist, Diet Pepsi, etc.

What I got to drink wasn't anything I call tea. Instead, it was something more syrupy than an '80s ballad: sweet tea.

The language barriers I have encountered working with people in the South have often been an interesting challenge. There are phrases, such as "tea" that have a very specific meaning to me. Just like Coke means any carbonated drink.

Language barriers aside, it is more the cultural barriers that I find to be just as challenging and usually more tricky. In most cases, just keeping my word will go farther than a written document. But, not always. Even the South, a culture that prides itself on tradition still has pockets of areas where written contracts are the better course of action.

For example, when the Waterfords moved in, I didn't have a garage door opener for the tenant. When I say opener, I am referring to the $20 hand-held piece of plastic kept in one's car and used for the purpose of opening a garage door. There was indeed a contraption--also called a garage door opener--installed and fully operational at this house.

When Mrs. Waterford asked about the missing remotes, I told her to buy them. I may have even told her they cost about $20 at the local big box hardware store. And, I know I told her to send me the receipt if she buys them so I could reimburse her. And, for all you legal-types out there, you can wince now: I did not put this in writing.

Imagine my shock when a receipt was faxed to me for the installation of the new contraption which opens the garage door along with two new hand-held remotes to operate the said contraption. This tenant efficiently followed up with an e-mail, explaining she needs to be reimbursed right away because she needs the money to pay rent.

After the smelling salts and EKG paddles were administered, Marty Sunshine and I discussed this. Do we pay for the language barrier, cultural barrier and my stupid not-in-writing mistake? Or, do we go back and fight with the tenant? If we fight back, what is the likely outcome? Any reputable attorney will tell you never to fight on principle.

The most likely outcome will not be a note from them saying, "oops, my bad." Instead, I can expect either a response e-mail note, sucking up their mistake, but causing ill feelings based on a complete misunderstanding or they might withhold the cost this installation from the rent and say "you said garage door opener." (and, I may have specified remotes, but I don't remember any more).

If the tenant chooses to withhold the cost of the installation from the rent, of course, I start the entire eviction process. If they fight me on the eviction process, it could take several months (for example, Mr. Smith, had he shown up for his court date he probably would have stayed in the home at least until Christmas). All this fuss for less than almost one third of their rent, and more importantly, content and compliant tenants.

In either of those situations, it will cost me a lot more than the replacement of one garage door contraption. Sometimes money isn't the only cost. Bad tenant relations can be more costly than an eviction. And, an eviction isn't cheap either. Just ask Legal Eagle's Harvard-bound Eaglet.

Early on in my real estate career, I was told the four corners rule: "If it isn't printed between the four corners of this piece of paper, it doesn't count." In this case, I don't have an e-mail or anything in writing to counter this innocent mistake. Yes, I suspect it was a naive mistake on the part of the tenant--who had never owned a home before. But, it was a very foolish and costly mistake on my part. Language and cultural barrier aside, I know better.

Alka-Seltzer Logic

The really yucky part about being a one person business is that when that when I am sick the rest of the company related business still needs to function. There are still people who want the keys so they can move into their new homes (Ms. Robin) and vacant homes need to be cleaned up (Mr. Smith's former home) and lots of other minor details that still have to happen.

Though, most of it can pretty much be on hold for the duration of my illness, some things just have to be done. Those minor details are now stacked up in my office, daring me to move them. And, when I am finally recovered I will do just that. Move them.

But, the good part about being the ill one person-run business is that when I am too sick to do anything, I can think. Sometimes thinking is the best thing. So, today's blog is brought to you buy the after-affects of the over-the-counter remedies I took this week.

In no particular order:

In January I went to Birmingham and met with investors, business development people, an and SEC attorney. My mission was to grow our company. Right after that, things for the company started getting worse. I think the state of the economy hit me and my little company before they hit the Birmingham economy. Right now, January's trip seems like a life-time away.

In June and July, when my company's revenues were at its absolute lowest, the Birmingham economy was starting to get bad. I don't know what this means for the future, but now I have something to use for projections. June seems like yesterday.

I have supportive business partners who are committed to long-term success. Sometimes I need to be reminded of this. If I write it down, maybe I will remember it more often.

It is possible to be friends with people who rent homes from you. But, I don't recommend it. If you do make friends, don't let it ever cloud your judgement or theirs.

I finally feel I can say this: The vacancies and non-payment challenges I faced this past summer were out of my control. There is nothing I could have done, no choices I could have made that would have changed this. This includes Mr. Smith. Had I not waited the few weeks I waited to get rid of him, it would not have changed the outcome. In fact, knowing what I know now, it might have made it worse because his reaction is to attack when he is blind-sided. Knowing he had to leave--even if he wasn't willing to do it on my schedule--might have saved me from finding ready-mix concrete in the septic system.

Wayward had to go. I started the process as early as I could--May. It took until August. Getting rid of Wayward was liberating.

Those professionals who were with me in January are still on my side in November. I am grateful for all of them. Even the ones I am slowly paying back.

While leaning against the trunk of my rental car, while waiting in the back of the vacant parking lot last Wednesday morning for Ms. Betty to come and give me her rent money so I could give her keys, a big burly man approached me. He said he saw me alone and was concerned I needed help. He wanted to know if I was ok or needed anything. It occurred to me not only would I never have gotten out of my car in that same scenario in Phoenix, but I also would have immediately have driven away as he approached me.

People in Birmingham are a lot more friendly than people in Phoenix. We really do have that big-city apathetic thing going on here.

There is no such thing as good Mexican food in Birmingham--even if the locals swear there is. But then again, they think they have bad traffic too.

This bad time our company is going through will make us stronger. There is no doubt we will survive it. I realized this week that I have never thought of failure as an option. I still don't. Treading water isn't drowning. And, a piece of driftwood floating by can make a difference to someone treading water out in the middle of the ocean.

This bad time our company is going through will make us stronger because we now have scenarios we never realized could happen, happen. Next time (Heaven forbid!) we will know how to handle it.

Frequent flyer miles are wonderful.

Nobody should run a business if they don't know how to read financial statements.

Nobody should start a business if they are afraid of failure, change or growth. Nobody should go into business with a partner who is afraid of the above.

Contracts aren't for the good times. They are for the bad times.

The unusual idiosyncrasies I write about in the people I meet don't bother me. Most of the time I am just amused. How often does one run across a former hell's-angel-turned-carpet-guy? If they were dangerous (or hadn't already paid their debt to society), I wouldn't be using them.

My ultimate goal is to do right by my family, partners, vendors and tenants. I keep this in mind at all times.

My business degree has nothing to do with my company. No amount of formal or structured education could have prepared me for this. There is no text book that talks about how to handle the tenant situation where you are pretty sure they have had a run of bad luck and really aren't stringing you along. It is all gut and experience.

There is nothing wrong with having high standards for potential rental candidates. There is nothing wrong with wanting tenants who speak fluent, concise English, have decent social skills and don't own dragons as pets.

Blizdom

"Ok, when you are sick, don't e-mail people who owe you rent money."

--Bliz, on Monday, when I stupidly send an incoherent e-mail to a tenant while battling something akin to the black plague.

Out of the Clear Blue

I got an e-mail today from Mr. 114. You remember him don't you? He is the nice neighbor next door to Trusted's former home.

Mr. 114, who has never been convicted of murder, has a penchant for nicely manicured lawns. It turns out he is now mowing my new tenant's lawn. She thought he did a better job than her former lawn guy. Anyway, he just wanted to say hi and let me know about his latest side job.

On a completely unrelated blog note: Happy Birthday to my favorite legal-eagle-in-training, dear friend and loyal reader.

All I Need

A friend recently commented about how I managed to coordinate the things I need to get done from far away. Until she mentioned it, I hadn't really thought about it much. Mainly because I coordinate these folks in my network solely out of sheer preservation.

I am friends with the car leasing agent at the Birmingham airport, who always gives me an upgrade. The hotel I stay at remembers me and asks for recent pictures of the children. In my cell phone directory is a plumber, a bee keeper, a carpet guy, electrician, two attorneys, two process servers and Carolsue. And now, I have included an appliance repair person and Boo. I even have Jack on my speed dial.

And to think, I have the hardest time finding a handyman in Phoenix!

Wrapping up a Few Loose Ends

Yesterday, long after my plane had left back to Phoenix, Ms. Robin went over to her new house to check out the progress. She looked over Carolsue's work and is now happy. I am happy too. Carolsue worked very hard.

However, it came to my attention this week that Wayward did scrape the copper piping for the washing machine and ice maker. Those are being replaced today or tomorrow. At which time, I will take the bill for this and send it to Lana, who can give it to Alpha Boss. How this was missed when Alpha and his flunkies walked through that home is beyond me.

Ms. Robin was somehow under the false impression I was letting her move in on the 8th and then then allowing her to pay on the 15th. I am saddened, as I had such high hopes for Ms. Robin. She acted so much more together than to pull this armature stunt. Instead, I just told her, "I am sorry if you somehow got the wrong impression" (that I would be so stupid as to let you move in for free and then pay me later). Come on! When is any of us allowed to pick up groceries and then pay for them a week later?

Carolsue tells me there are two ghosts at the home. She said one pushed her yesterday. "Is there any chance you just tripped?" I asked. Carolsue assures me there was no chance. She is even sending me a picture of the bruise on her leg to prove this.

I have been concerned about how the ghost(s) would get along with my new tenants and if Ms. Robin had noticed any strange activity. She hadn't. But Carolsue, who is knowledgable about such things, enlightened me. Apparently, if one isn't in tune to ghosts, they may never notice them there, with both parties peacefully co-existing. I guess I tuned out.

Boo Too

Andy, my new convicted-murderer-lawn-guy, lost the key to the house in Leeds. I am not sure why he had the key in the first place.

No matter, Boo, who runs the cash-only gun shop and lock smith services behind Augie's bar in downtown Leeds, graciously help me out.

Victory

Mr. Smith didn't show. So, I won by default. Too bad, because I really wanted to call him an idiot. At any rate, I had a lovely morning with Legal Eagle and she got to see Michael Smith's home (yes, Smith is really his last name) and Wayward's former home.

It appears Mr. Smith is in the process of moving out anyway. Too bad he couldn't have done this months ago and saved us both a huge headache. Because he didn't leave, nor did he show up to defend himself, I now have a financial judgement against him.

Even the Hotel Computer System Can't Grasp Deadlines

Gotta love the Southern ways. My scheduled wake-up call for 6:30 this morning came at 6:53. All in due time.

Fortunately, I was already awake.

Should I be Concerned?

Eaglet--who is quite adorable and very well behaved--was wearing a Harvard t-shirt yesterday. Fashion statement? Or was Legal Eagle giving me a subliminal message?

Just Your Average Boring Sunday

I woke up today, completely lost as to my surroundings. That usually doesn't happen. After a moment, the fog lifted. Duh. I was still in Birmingham. And, today is my free day. With the exception of tonight, the errands today are mostly my own.

Tonight I am meeting Legal Eagle and her Eaglet for dinner to discuss tomorrow's hearing. I am glad she is bringing Eaglet. I miss my kids so and any substitution is fine by me.

But first, as I was getting ready, I played my "election hell game." I set my timer on my phone, turned on the television to a random news station and timed how long it took to hear someone utter one of the following words: McCain, Palin, Obama or Biden. I did this four times, with longest time being 14 seconds, the shortest being two seconds. My game didn't last very long.

After a quick trip to the grocery store to find bottled water, oranges and peanuts, I headed out to check on some of my homes. I even took a few pictures that I may eventually post. I drove by seven of them. There would have been an eighth, but I couldn't find it.

On my way out to Leeds and also to see what Mr. Smith was up to, I called Bliz who gave me a quick pep-talk/therapy session about tomorrow's court date. (Come to think of it, Bliz has been my therapist since I dated Mark Rivas my Junior year in high school.)

The house in Leeds is still standing. Jack's for sale sign was in the trash can. I heard one of the neighbors had moved it to his trash can earlier last week and Carolsue had fished it out and planted it back in the yard. I guess the neighbor was just too lazy to walk the sign back across the street. This time I took the sign and moved it to my trunk. Real estate agent signs aren't cheap.

Apparently Ms. Betty has made herself welcome, because there was a UPS package waiting on the doorstep for her. She isn't moving in until Wednesday. I made sure to hover around the home for a while, hoping one of the neighbors would come out and say hello. I really have a few things to say to the neighbors. Unfortunately, they didn't show. Cowards.

Speaking of cowards, I drove by Mr. Smith's soon-to-be-former home. The front door was wide open and I could see a Mr. Smith-shaped silhouette in the living room. As I drove past, I saw his brand-new shiny pick up truck parked around the back yard, tailgate down, loaded with items. I also saw a very full trash can along the side too. I would like to take this as a very optimistic sign they are moving out. But, I won't. Not yet.

I then went to meet Carolsue at Ms. Robin's soon-to-be new home. Carolsue has done quite a bit to the place. It is almost ready. Carolsue tried to get Ms. Rose to come out. And she swore she saw a shadow at one point. I did not. Nor did I hear the footsteps Carolsue heard. And, I did hear a noise that I was able to identify as the ceiling fan in the kitchen. My arm did get suddenly cold for no reason. Feeling like a fool, I talked to Ms. Rose, explaining how I am sorry for Wayward and hope felt the new tenants would be much nicer to her home.

I also gave the same speech to one of the neighbors who had a few opinions they wanted to share with me about Wayward. It was suggested I come back tomorrow and give the speech a third time to Wayward's next door neighbor as well. I am not sure about that. I can handle Ms. Rose, but when it comes to Wayward's former neighbors, I am feeling like a coward.

Business Trips

Years ago, when I was immersed in my 20s and had a professional office job. I thought business travel was fun. This lasted about two trips. The first trip was such a novelty to be elsewhere that I didn't realize how much it stank until the second trip.

The second trip was a trade show I ran at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville. Every waking moment was spent in the convention center of this gorgeous green house-turned hotel where I was to schmooze, smile and pass out brochures to get others interested in our product.

During the week I was there, I went outside once, desperate for a walk and fresh air. In the hour I was gone, the senior vice president of our company made an unexpected visit to Nashville--and more importantly to my booth. In my defense, there were three other people manning the 10 by 10 booth space--all qualified to speak on our product. He didn't care. It was my head he wanted.

Business trips became a thing of the past when I started working for myself. Then I started managing rental homes in Alabama. And then, I had to deal with Mr. Smith. So, this trip is brought to you by my court date on Monday, where Mr. Smith can explain to a judge why he refuses to pay or move out of my home.

The Alabama business trips are slightly more fun than the trade shows and sales meetings of my past. At least I get to see some friends I have made along the way. I am usually busy, but get slightly more down time than the Nashville trade show.

But what I really hate most of all about business travel now is how much I miss my family. And, Mr. Smith making me have to go to court means I won't see my daughter's choir performance tomorrow. I have to miss "lunch with the grandparents" at my kids' school on Monday, where my son is taking his Pop-Pop for show and tell. My husband has to take over all of the things I usually do--and like to do. I don't get to kiss my kids good night. I don't get my normal life, all the things I volunteered for. And, it is all because this man will not leave my home.