Independence Day

Finally, I can say the accidental business is more or less closed. Eventually there will be an official looking letter coming from the courts telling us the same, but from what I understand that is just a formality. So, for all intents and purposes, this adventure is over.

I like to write. I am going to continue to write as we pick up the pieces of our financial ruin. In fact, I have started a new blog. It will pick up where this one left off, as we rebuild our lives. But this blog, just like the accidental business, will be closed.

If you opt not to follow along, I certainly understand. Thank you for reading it at all. If you want to join me, come on over. I haven't exactly found my voice, but hopefully with a few more posts I will figure it out.

Here is the link.

And finally, thank you, to all Three-ish of you for your friendship and support though the years it made this adventure more fun.

S--

Recovery

I was watching the news. They played a sound bite from a graduation speech Oprah had recently given. She said something along the lines of if you need to ask everyone else's opinion about what you should do, it isn't time to make a decision. If that is the case, spend time determining what is right for you first. These are words for the young twenty-somethings, but in many ways they are a reminder for the late 40-somethings too. Quiet is good.

A lot of my reflecting lately is where do we go from here? "We" is everything ranging from my family, to business, employment and finances. The last few years took everything, leaving me emotionally drained. I am realizing how drained I was by how not drained I feel now. This is progress!

We are starting over. Rebuilding our lives. It is humbling. But it takes quiet. This last year has been more about my personal emotional recovery and less about reflecting on what happens next. It has only been very recently where I was at a point where I am ready to move forward--though I still don't know what that looks like. The fog is still there, but the sun has come out.

We are almost done.

Just a Happy Post

Bliz and I are currently discussing the coconut trade in Madagascar. It is a text conversation. There is no real reason for this. And to explain the back story would take up more room in cyber space than necessary. But it makes me smile.

One of the happiest elements of my accidental business is talking to Bliz more often than not. Bliz friendships are rare but awesome. Everyone should have one.

It's All Good

As part of our closing of our accidental business there have been some unintended consequences. Yesterday we had our car repossessed. It isn't the end of the world. We knew it was happening. In fact, the tow truck driver told me he wished most people in my situation would be so nice. He even let me keep it long enough so I could drive across town to my nephew's birthday on Wednesday. We have alternative vehicles so we aren't having to resort Uuber.

The world is changing. That's just the way it is. I am ready to be done. Very soon.

Random Memories of Another One Gone

We bought this house at the time Marty's little sister was dying and my own mother was close to death. It is an odd way to remember a house, but sometimes memories are connected in odd ways.

Mr. Wonderful Tenant lived here. He owns a CPA firm in that town, but his life was in transition. If I could have cloned one tenant in the last 14 years, it would have been him. Even when he moved out, he still paid the rent until I found another tenant--but that isn't why I would have cloned him.

Ms. Shirley lived here too. If you want to know how, as Ms. Shirley told me, ALL, African Americans think about Rich White Landlords, go talk to her. She will give you an earful how evil I am just because of my skin color. Good riddance to her. The house was too good for someone with such an ugly disposition.

One time, an Oscar-nominated, and Grammy-winning song writer lived there, because his wife had a better divorce lawyer than he did. He is the one who once told me you see the same people on the way down that you saw on the way up.

Mr. 114 lived next door with his immaculate lawn until his life situation changed. Mrs. 114 and their two beautiful girls are still next door.

We lost this house a few weeks ago to the bank. I haven't checked to see what it went for. I could ask Kirby, but like all people who don't want to be part of a sinking ship, he has distanced himself from me. I am ok with that. I still like Kirby quite a bit. Don't judge him, please. People are human after all. Perhaps I will cross paths with him again. I hope so.

This is the house that Flunky and I had fought over the security deposit recently.The result was me ending up with the money that was owed and removing the Flunky-cancer from my life. Property management chemo.

One time, when it was empty, I camped here when I came to Birmingham. Mr. and Mrs. 114 loaned me pans and a sleeping bag. I was awoken in the middle of the night by the smoke alarm telling me the battery was near death. That wouldn't have been an issue except that some genius put the smoke alarm on the 20+ foot high vaulted ceiling. I solved this issue, by buying two more smoke detectors and putting them lower, and just letting the battery die on the unreachable one. It probably still has a spent battery.

This was one of my favorite homes. If I could have kept it I would have. It was easy to rent, and I got top-dollar. I like the neighborhood and the neighbors. The floor plan was a little quirky, but not in a bad way. Most homes don't have a catwalk under the 20+ foot high vaulted ceiling leading from one end of the upstairs to the other. However, loosing this one is also part of our closing the accidental business. It is my true hope there will be some family who will love this house and living there will bring them lots of happy random memories.

Finding Peace

Someday soon I will be able to write that the accidental business is officially closed. Not yet, but the day is coming. There are still hoops to jump through. All sorts of thoughts have festered in my brain over the past few months, as we prepare for this day.


Am I sorry? Sometimes, but not for trying. Fourteen years ago, I would have still aged fourteen years even if I hadn't ever started an accidental business. In fact, in countless ways I am grateful for this experience. I have knowledge that makes me a better real estate agent, property manager, business person, wife, mother, friend and human being. I have learned compassion and humility in ways I never thought possible--nor in ways did I know might wish to learn. I have made friends along the way I never would have met. I have learned to find enormous gratitude in small, inconsequential acts. I have been touched by others' experiences and that has made me who I am--good and bad.


I still struggle with this as a personal failure, from time to time. But as I look back, I know that isn't necessarily true. There are those armchair critics who seem to know my accidental business better than I who have given me the "you should have" post-crisis advice. "You should have never gone into Alabama." "You should have paid cash or not bought when you did." "You should have never partnered with Mr. Partner." "You should have gotten out when the economy crashed." "You should sue this person or that person for wrong-doing." "You should... (fill in your own judgement here--I have probably thought it or heard it)." None of those people walked my shoes.


I can say with a clean heart that every decision with the accidental business I have made has always been with an eye towards doing what is right at all times. I am fairly sure I can stand in front of St. Pete and have a clear conscience. I haven't defrauded people. I haven't stolen or cheated. There are times Marty and I purposefully chose to sacrifice for the good of others. Most of the times it came back in ten-fold. Those times were personal and the rewards were greater than the sacrifice. The times it didn't work out made great blog fodder, would you not agree?


I have run a clean business, even when others didn't. For that I can stand proud. If my choices which didn't work out made me a failure, so be it.


Soon, we will be rebuilding our lives. I am looking forward to that, actually. I am almost 50 and starting over with virtually nothing to show for it. What a great adventure that will be. There is a saying in the South, "It can only go up from here." How true.


Will I start another accidental business sometime down the line? Maybe. Right now, no. I have my hands full just closing this one and rebuilding. But I am not against it.

The Martin Home

I didn't write about loosing the Martin house. Last year when Mr. Partner and Mrs. Roebuck were going back and forth, I offered to let Mrs. Roebuck move in as a guest until she could find a better deal or until the bank took the house away. The bank came in March and I wished Mrs. Roebuck well.


In this house lived three or four sets of folks. It was the first house Marty and I bought in Alabama without Mr. Ex-Partner. At the time, Mr. Ex had annoyed me about something so I cut him out and didn't tell him we were buying the place. For the most part, it was a good rental. It always cash-flowed and the neighborhood is still good. 


Mrs. Gray lived here. She was a hoot. When she found out I was going back and forth to Birmingham on a regular basis and not stopping by to see her, she went ballistic and turned into an outraged grandmother on me. By the time she was done, I had so much guilt all I could say was "yes, ma'am" and "no ma'am." When I finally did meet her I wasn't disappointed. She is an amazing woman.


Mr. Gray was a bit unusual. One time there was a leak in the roof. It was in the process of getting fixed, but not quickly enough. He called me to announce it was going to rain. He basically suggested I stop what I am doing, fly out to Birmingham, run over to Home Depot, buy a tarp and stick it on the roof in the next 30 minutes. When Mrs. Gray found out about his outrageous suggestion, she had him call me back and apologize for bothering me.


She was in the back, while he was on the phone, giving him a what-for, "How dare you call her with this. You get off the phone and drive yourself to Home Depot and get a tarp!" "Who do you think you are? She's a mother, for crying out loud she has her own children to put up with! She doesn't have time to run your errands..." And interspersed between his apology to me was several "yes ma'ams," to Mrs. Gray.


I let the Grays stay longer than they should have. It was a rough time for everyone. The economy was in tough shape. Mr. Gray was out of work. Mrs. Gray was working two jobs. When heard about this I knocked a few dollars off their rent. I was still covering the mortgage, but barely. They offered to move and the third time they offered, I let them.


On holidays I often hear from Mrs. Gray with a text message wishing me a Happy Easter/Christmas/Arbor Day. They are top-notch people and I am glad I met them.

Diamond Jim Update

Diamond Jim's son never got back to me. I now have a good friend seeing if she can locate him through means I don't have available. I just had a chat with Diamond Jim where he insisted we never talked yesterday. I did that stupid thing where I tried to jog his memory--yes we did, here is what we discussed--instead of just saying, "Oops! You are right. What was I thinking?" It was as if the more I insisted, the more he dug his heels in. I knew better, but I am new at this with Diamond Jim. I really hope I find Diamond Jim junior soon, or he finds me. 


Update:


I found Diamond Jim Junior. It was a difficult conversation, but he knew everything I was saying was true. He and I don't have any answers. I did make it very clear, this absolutely needs to be his last tax season.

The End is Near

I spent several maddening hours in the attorney's office this week going over paperwork, which will allow us to close up the accidental business. There are a lot of i's to dot and t's to cross. If that wasn't enough, she gave me a stack of paper that probably came from a small rainforest somewhere for Marty and I to review and look for changes. I found a few changes and have my small rainforest-sized stack, complete with mark-ups and sticky notes to hand back to her. This coming week, I will meet with her again to finalize everything.


Not to jinx it or anything, if all goes well, we will be heading into the home stretch.

I Need to find this Owner's Blog

So I found this.


Here's a snippet of the story:




“Upstairs apartment cannot be shown under any circumstances. Buyer assumes responsibility for the month-to-month tenancy in the upstairs apartment. Occupant has never paid, and no security deposit is being held, but there is a lease in place. (Yes, it does not make sense, please don’t bother asking.)”

Tooltime Tim Was Finally Given the Wall Compound

This used to be stuffed with Alabama stuff.
Now it is condensed into the bottom two
drawers of the cabinet on the left.

Marty Sunshine and I spent the weekend cleaning out the garage. We have been in our home 14 years, and I am pretty sure nothing in the past 14 years has voluntarily left the garage until this past weekend. Of course, over time, lots of things have made their way into what we euphemistically refer to as the "room of requirement."

This weekend project wasn't brought to you by some sort of marriage retreat organization, which sends unsuspecting couples into their garages all over the world, with the idea the couple will have a loving bonding experience as they sort through kid-roller blades, real estate open house signs, kitchen gadgets, tools and a plethora of half-used plastic bottles with names like, "ant killer," "Draino" or "Rainex." Though I have to tell you, if there is someone reading this that happens to run a marriage retreat and is thinking "what a great idea!" please call me first before you add such a project to your curriculum because I promise you, there are many other ways to have loving bonding experiences that don't require spouses to spend 20 minutes debating whether or not we should keep a 3 gallon container of wall compound and 473 flashlights.

This weekend project was brought to you by the folks in Alabama who have destroyed our company. You see, we had to drain our savings account before we close down our accidental business. Our last major purchase was commissioning Tooltime Tim to build a palace shed in our back yard. As Tooltime Tim was planning the shed, I had a philosophical discussion with him about how I don't want to put an adorable wraparound porch on the outside of the shed. Nor do I want specialized rooms on the interior. I just wanted four walls and a roof. What I ended up with was Tooltime Tim's rendition of a shed. But the great news is it is painted the same color as my home and it is sturdy enough to survive a zombie apocalypse.  Anyway, this weekend, we cleaned out the garage, moved all of our worldly garage possessions to the trash, thrift store or the indestructible 12 foot monument in the back yard.
 

For the past gazillion years, the records for the accidental business have lived in two filing cabinets and two fireproof strong boxes. Over the years there have also been banker boxes, and lots of other storage places, which also took over a good portion of the garage. Last year, I took--and I am not making this up--21 banker boxes to the shredder. I was finally given permission to get rid of old files. This weekend, I was able to take care of even more. All of our Alabama stuff is now condensed into two drawers in the large, metal cabinet. In a few weeks I am hoping I can toss another round into the trash heap.
 

The best part of the garage clean up--other than I can now possibly park two cars in there--is that it signaled to me the beginning of the end. Extraneous Alabama business stuff is gone. Pamphlets I passed out to lenders during a few meet and greet Alabama trips I took years ago were found and dumped. Marketing materials, old home inspection reports and other needless papers I have been required to keep were tossed or shredded. They are gone. Forever. And that means we are almost ready to close.

Quiet Enjoyment

Tammy called me. She introduced herself as a real estate agent. Then she started doing that thing people do when they have something unpleasant to say. You do know what I mean. They pause between sentences and always enunciate the last word, putting the other person on notice. In Tammy's case it went like this, "How are you..." long pause "The reason I am calling..." longer pause. "You see... I have listed a house... and I wanted to make you aware..." super long pause.

So, here's the gist, a few months ago, I was the responsible agent involved in renting out a six bedroom house. You Three may remember the story, if not, you can read about it here. Take your time I am not going anywhere.

For those of you allergic to hyper links, the Twitter version goes like this: I rented out a 6 bedroom house to a family of 12 adults. The owner approved the lease. They moved in with marginal drama but calmed down. The end.

Well, it was the end. That is, until Tammy called. You see, Tammy is the listing agent for the house next door to this six bedroom property (it is now a seven bedroom property, as they turned the rumpus room in the basement into another bedroom). Tammy called to tell me that her clients (the next door neighbors to the house I rented) have observed that there are many cars out front and "people coming in and out at all hours of the day."

I asked, "is the place unkempt?" No. "Are there loud parties after 10 p.m. every night?" No, in fact, these people are quiet and keep to themselves. "Are they parking in front of your clients' house?" No. They park in the driveway and in front of their own rental home. "Is there a strong 'herbal' smell wafting from the back yard?" No. "So your client has noticed no illegal activity?" Correct.

But me checking to see if there was no illegal activity didn't mollify Tammy. As soon as I went through my checklist, Tammy abruptly informed me her clients know how to reach the owner of this house and it is just a formality that they called me first. And by the way, sweet and professional Tammy was now a cross rabid zombie. When I explained there are 12 adults legally living at the house--and the owner has approved this--so there was nothing anyone could do, I could tell through the phone her eyeballs were popping out of her head.

And then, I asked this innocent question: Did Tammy's client--the next door neighbor to these folks--walk on over, ring the door bell and ask them not to park in front of their home? At that point, you would have think I called this woman's (hypothetical) child an ugly raging brat. But the answer was obviously no.

I did remind Tammy that the tenants, who are doing nothing illegal, have the right to quiet enjoyment. That is, they can live there as long as they pay the rent and behave themselves and there is nothing anyone can do. They are allowed to live in the home. They are allowed to park their cars on the street--and the street belongs to the City of Mesa, not to her client. And, unless Tammy could point out some illegal activity or any lease violation, I was out of reasonable options. I did tell her, these these folks are the nicest people anyone could meet, and perhaps her client could just go over, introduce themselves (optionally bring a banana bread of a plate of cookies) and explain that somehow coming home at 1 a.m. was keeping buyers away. And while her clients were at it, maybe they could explain to these nice renters they want to sell their home and please don't park the cars legally on the street.

Hopefully Tammy's clients' house sells soon for these tenants' sake. I sure wouldn't want neighbors as ugly as Tammy's clients.

Missing the Point

Diamond Jim had a tough tax season. I mentioned this to a few people, who inquired about our tax saga. I didn't blog about the serious and significant details. I will tell you three it took until 8 a.m. yesterday to get my accurate taxes. Most people who hear how long it took just say, "find someone else to do your taxes," as if that were my true issue.

The issue is Diamond Jim. He had a tough tax season. He was confused. A lot. And scattered. And not himself. And all sorts of other strangeness that tugs at my heart. His children aren't nearby. Through the advice of another Dear Friend Jim, I believe I found Diamond Jim's son on Linkedin. I sent a message. Later today, I will probably have a painful conversation with this perfect stranger about his father.

Yesterday afternoon, Diamond Jim and I had a very real conversation about the medications he is on. He is part of a disconcerting group of people who just take whatever the doctor says as the Gospel Truth, instead of doing any research or being empowered to take matters into their own hands. I don't understand this. My peers don't understand it either. But we know there are those out there who do it.

When Diamond Jim and I talked about his medications, he said he thought there might be some drug interaction that was causing the problems he has been experiencing for the past few months. He said he mentioned this to the doctor a month ago. He didn't bring it up at this weeks' appointment, but he would say something next month.

No, I replied. Call the doctor right now and ask for this list. Tell him he has until close of business Friday to get this to you. "Can I do that?" he asked me, astonished one could be so bold. When we ended the call, he said he was going to immediately call the doctor. I hope he did so.

Diamond Jim has been with me for 14 years. He isn't only the guy who "does my taxes." He helped me shape my accidental business. He has become my friend. I eat breakfast with him twice a month. My kids call him "Uncle Jim." Polly cleans his house. He calls me when he needs a ride to the airport or to take care of an inpatient procedure. Marty and Buckaroo went with him to Oregon a few years ago and drove a moving truck filled with all of his worldly possessions and brought them back to Mesa.

Sure, someone else can do my taxes. I am certain Diamond Jim isn't planning on doing taxes any more anyway. That isn't my concern. My concern is only Diamond Jim.

And Another Thing

The other reason I am frustrated about our taxes not being done is that I cannot begin the process of closing our accidental business until I have turned in my taxes. I cannot get on with my life. Alabama is still there. I want to be done. I am ready. I want to start a new season in my life.

Taxed to the Max

My taxes aren't done. It is a long story and it boils down to MY TAXES AREN'T DONE. I don't need to hear, "well take them somewhere else..." I get that. With severing a business half way through the year--something I consulted experts to make sure was doable--it makes the tax situation very tricky. It is better if I stick with where I am now. If I started over with my taxes I would have to explain to a new accountant everything and it would probably take longer than what I hope is a short-term issue. With any luck, my taxes will be done tomorrow.

My expectations were such that I expected them to be completed by the end of February, because I purposely gave all of the 8 x 10 colored glossies, receipts and spreadsheets to Diamond Jim before President's Day. Then my expectation was I would have them one of the twelve times he told me I would get them. Then my expectation was I would get them by Tax Day. Last week, when I picked Diamond Jim up from the airport, my refreshed CPA told me "Friday, at the latest." Friday morning at 7:10 he left me a message saying, "Wednesday at the latest." I countered back with MONDAY.

Today, for those of you who don't have a calendar nearby happens to be said Monday. I did see him. I even spent an hour in Diamond Jim's office, chatting merrily and going over everything because getting downright pissed doesn't get these taxes done any faster. But, for the sake of disclosure, let's just say, my stomach lining is burned through. He now promised tomorrow night. I told him 11 tomorrow morning. At 11:01 tomorrow morning I better have taxes or a jury of my peers.

I am not angry at Diamond Jim. Frustrated, yes. He is 14 years older than when we started this accidental business. This tax season was difficult on him. He forgot things he shouldn't have forgotten. He asked me questions he had the answers to. He made strange and questionable mistakes I truly don't understand how he could make. I have watched him as I helplessly realized age and mobility are catching up with him. A few weeks ago I tried contacting his son to express my concerns, only to find out he doesn't have the same cell number any more. Diamond Jim isn't the only person in my life in his situation. I see it more often than I want to admit. If nothing else, it makes me love and appreciate my older friends, so much more.

Today in his office, we discussed him "cutting back" which is a fancy, flowery way of saying "retiring." He tells me he doesn't know what to do if he cuts back. I tell him to travel to his kids' homes, visit the grandkids and great-grandkids. Take a month or two off and enjoy himself. Please. But first, finish my taxes.

My Daily Dose of Humble Pie

I still think Barbies are stupid. 

The process of closing an accidental business is a humbling one on many levels. Though our livelihood isn't tied to the accidental business (thank goodness--though I have to wonder if we would have made other choices had it been), our credit is. And therefore, as we are in this season of our journey, we have new challenges.

I understand there are those who have less and struggle more. I promise, I understand. I was the kid whose family the community adopted every Christmas. I really did get a macrame Barbie toilet paper cover for Christmas one year from some generous stranger. Marty Sunshine grew up even more impoverished, but for different reasons. Essentially, we have struggled. We aren't struggling the same way now. For that, I am grateful. Marty has employment. We have a personal residence. We have cars. Our kids are clothed and have never missed a meal. For the most part, they have outings, though Polly tends volunteer to fund them for her and her brother these days, and that is greatly appreciated.

What has changed is how we spend our money. In fact, as part of the closing process, we were required to drain our savings. Yes. Really. There is a freaky feeling of how will I pay for some small disaster that might happen. I found it caused a bit of PTSD (because I remember these issues all too well from childhood), when the air conditioner and the refrigerator died on the same day last month. That was fun. In the past we had savings to fall back at best, at worst a credit card to fall back on. Now, if something like that were to happen again I would be relying on the kindness of a trusting family member.

During this process, I am not to work. That isn't terribly practical. Unfortunately, we are finding that it really does take both Marty's and my income to pay the bills in this day and age. For the first time we are having to prioritize what gets paid. In addition to to the usual, one of our family members has had several doctor appointments that are not covered by our insurance (and it would have been nice to know this upfront, because we were told this doctor was covered. We are fine by the way.). But now those doctor bills are on payments. Additionally, I called my insurance agent the other day and negotiated a partial payment for something I would have normally paid off completely. That was new. It also doesn't change the fact that the rest of the car insurance money is still due in June and that payment is hanging over us like Damocles' Sword.

The big stuff, the electricity, water, phone, etc. is paid partially when necessary just to make sure we are still able to function. I haven't seen my tax bill yet (yea, still not done), but I am pretty sure I owe. I am not sure how that payment will be shuffled around because I don't see Uncle Sam being as sympathetic as my insurance agent.

Silly, inconsequential things, such as baseball are affected. A Diamondbacks rep has offered me free tickets to any game I want. In exchange he would like me to sit through a presentation on what ticket packages they have. I have explained there is no money in the budget for such luxuries right now and I can't, in good conscience, take the free ones. For that matter, the budget for the Diamondbacks on television is about to go as well. Marty is letting me hold on to that for now, but I know the end is near. Maybe I can find an empty sports bar that will let me occupy a seat once a week for the cost of a glass of water.

Please don't think I am whining. I am not. I have lived through much worse. This was a choice. It was a consequence of tying our credit to an accidental business. I accept my fate--though I wish it was over. We will be through this soon (I hope). There is no official closing date at this time, so "soon" is all I have. Once we are over this hurdle, I hear the rest is smooth sailing. But in the meantime, humility and I are becoming good friends.


Side Note: I remember this when she said it. I looked for a clip, but the story will have to suffice. In the interest of brevity, you only have to read the first two paragraphs to get to the punchline. At the time I thought her comment was funny. It still is, but it is truly all a matter of perspective. 

The Diamondbacks Are in First Place--And Other Random News

Buckaroo's Drawing

All is in order.

The Arizona Diamondbacks are tied for first place (go away, Colorado and let us have our 15 minutes of fame). Polly's Arizona cactus drawings won first place in the Maricopa County Fair last week. Buckaroo's Falcon drawing won second place (I think his picture should have been first place as well--but I am his mother). The kids are home schooled again, which means they are getting more sleep and the house is messier than it has been in six months.

Polly's Drawings
(I did not take the picture,
otherwise you would be able
to see both drawings)

I haven't heard from anyone from Alabama, friend of foe, in a week or more. Life is quiet. We lost another house last month--eventually I will write about that too. We are loosing another one next month.

Mr. Waterford tells me he bought a house and will be out in June. That's awesome. I told him to sell the refrigerator in the house he is in now if he wanted, so they had a little moving money. The refrigerator is mine--or his now. That house isn't on the foreclosure block just yet.

Diamond Jim has not finished my taxes. I gave up two weeks ago trying to get that done. My taxes are complicated this year. The IRS allows for extensions. I probably owe, but it wouldn't change anything if I knew it now or later.

I am hoping we can close the accidental business in the next few months. I am ready for a new normal. I am ready to live with calm and peace. Chaos is overrated.

Happy Birthday Carolsue

I want to wish a great shout-out to Carolsue who just happens to have a birthday today. For those of you who aren't familiar with the characteristics of Aries, we are ornery critters--especially if you put more than one of us in a room together. That can be taxing, but it can also be good. We also gravitate towards each other, which is probably how I found Carolsue.

Carolsue was a former renter who became my hired boots on the ground and then my friend. She has been invaluable in her experience, wisdom and ass-kickery. It is very true we never would have gotten as far as we did in our accidental business without her. I forever will be grateful.

Most of my memories of Carolsue are wonderful. They are intangible and it would bore you to tears to recap them all, especially because they are so ambiguous--you had to be there. But do know, there has been a lot of laughter. The time she almost got us arrested is probably the memory I would like to forget. But in all fairness, it happened in Moody--which is like a suburb of Leeds. So think of it as "redneck light."

Happy Birthday my dear friend. You are the big sister I never had.

The Jumping Cow

Flowers from Reader #3.
They are so beautiful,
I wanted to share. 

The five stages of grief aren't linear. As far as this accidental business goes, there have been many times I have been stuck on anger and bargaining. And, like the old-fashioned LP record players some of you might remember, my needle gets stuck. Much to the detriment of anyone who will listen I would repeat, and repeat, and well, repeat my frustrations.

Lately, I have been vacillating between indifference and peace. I would like to transition completely to peace. It might be after we are all said and done, but eventually I will be there.

Today I read a snippet from a priest I follow. He said his great grandfather was supposed to have been on the Titanic. He worked on it and was granted free passage on the maiden voyage. On April 10, 1912, he was riding his bike on the way to start his new life in America. Instead, he wound up hitting a cow and missed the ship. The man who tells this story said he wouldn't have even been around if that cow hadn't jumped in his great grandfather's way. Imagine, how Great-Grandpa's  world changed with that one event.

A few years ago, a rinky-dink bank in Birmingham--for no discernible reason--called a second mortgage due on one of our homes. After fighting with them for six months the downfall began. The bank probably regrets their decision. Sometimes I regret their decision too. But today, after reading about Father's Great Grandfather I took a different look. What if the bank was the cow that got in our way? Maybe this is the beginning of something new and wonderful? For the first time in a very long time I felt hope.

It may sound silly to you three, but it has taken me a long time to see something good on the horizon. "Oh course life will go on!" you may say. But you may not understand! I have defined myself by this failure. It has eaten at me. It probably will again sometime in the future (remember the 5 stages of grief). But today, all I see is a cow that jumped in my way.

Happy Ending

Today started out tough. Not from the old accidental business. I certainly don't long for the 6 a.m. phone calls with lame excuses as to why rent will be late. Today started out tough because of a myriad of reasons that have to do with the emotional trauma related to closing an accidental business and the subsequent aftermath to every aspect of my life.

In case nobody told you, the five stages of grief aren't linear. Anger and pity come and go. Sometimes they rent space in my head and stay for a few days weeks. They remind me of what a failure I am and other things that I know are simply not true (partially because you three readers tell me on a regular basis). Hindsight truly is 20/20. In the event I forget this a week from now, I did everything I could. My conscience is clear--though that is not how I feel right now.

My day did get significantly better when I followed up with Mr. Waterford. He is currently a guest in my home. I wanted to make sure the errant property management company sent him his security deposit back. This should have been done six weeks ago, but I guess the property management company wasn't ready to let go of me or a few hundred dollars.

Mr. Waterford told me he did get his money back. I told him to make himself comfortable. He replied, "Why are you doing this?" He didn't mean let the house go. He meant, why was I letting him stay.

I am letting him stay rent-free because I want some good to come out of this mess. If it can't be good for me, I would like it to be good for others. He isn't my only guest right now. Maybe, if this is the only good that can come from this, it will be enough for those who might need a hand up, but not a hand out.

Never A Dull Moment

Well, this isn't exactly accidental business related, but kind of fun to share anyway. Yesterday, I got a call from a client of mine. He is--and I swear I am not making this up--85 years old. He is also spry and a good conversationalist.

He has one teeny tiny Achilles heel. Mr. Client is married, yet estranged, to his current wife whom is about 30 years old. Actually, I met his current wife first, many years ago, helped her out on something and (I guess) did a reasonable enough job she sent me to Mr. Client. Anyway, in the time I have know this man, he has been smitten and angry and smitten with Mrs. Current Wife. The last time this was going on, which was a couple of years ago, I figured they would last a week longer and one of them would have the good sense to file for divorce. Apparently that didn't happen because either they like the drama of fighting every day or... never mind. They like the drama.

Anyway, he called me yesterday. I hadn't heard from him in more than a year. He is ready to buy a home again. But in order to do this, he needs his taxes done. So, he needed me to call the current estranged wife and tell her to be at the accountant's office on Saturday morning at 9 sharp.

There is absolutely no way I was going to do this. But he wasn't hearing anything I was saying anyway. So, I just made a few non-committal noises and told him we would talk later in the week. If he asks if I called her, I will just make joke and say, "Oh? You were serious when you asked to do that? I thought you were kidding."

But... that's not the only time real estate and true love haven't mixed.

One time when I was in the office of my old company a couple came in. They couldn't keep their hands off of each other and were ready to buy a home. They met on the internet and both had come to Phoenix that weekend to meet. She lived in Yuma, he lived in New York. He told me, in front of her, that she is "the one" and it is time to take the next step of moving to the area and living out their lives together. Anyway, we looked at a few properties, and then he went back to New York and she to Yuma, both promising to do this again in two weeks.

Precisely 10 days later, the man sends me an e-mail telling me to please call his girlfriend in Yuma and tell her there will be no house hunting. He's done. Yes, he wanted me to break up with her for him. And no, this isn't a bad tween show plot on the Disney Channel.

Ah... but there is more. The same man called me the next day. It turns out he will indeed be in town when he said he would. But this time when he went house hunting he would be bringing along his new friend, Cathy, whom he met on the internet and already lives in Phoenix.

I don't know what happened to the guy. He did put two offers in on homes, went back to New York, where he got lots of wonderful real estate advice from all of his friends. His New York friends convinced him he could do better than with me and Cathy and sent us both on our merry way.

Today's Gem

"Even with all that others were offering me, 

I realized along the way that ultimately no one could make me happy.

I felt comforted by my family and my faith, but peace is different from happiness.

At first I thought stubbornly that the only thing that would make me happy was for my life to look like it did before the accident.  

But no one could give that to me, and no one else could make me happy.  

Happiness is my choice, and though it is hard won, I am the only person that can stand in the way of it.

As I gradually accepted my responsibility in choosing happiness every day, 

I rediscovered the beautiful life I had always wanted.  

The amazing thing is the more I make the choice to see and feel joy, the more joy there is to see and feel."

(taken from Stephanie Nielsen's memoir, "Heaven is Here")

Stephanie Nielsen was in a small plane crash in Northern Arizona several years ago. She was burned over 80 percent of her body. She is a mother of five. If you google her you can find parts of her story. It truly is amazing.

He'll Have a Crow Sandwich with a Side of Shhhugar.

So, Mr. Ex-Partner wrote an e-mail to Bliz and the Sunshines today. Of course, he only addressed Bliz and I. He didn't include Marty in his greeting, though he was CC'd on the e-mail.

He wrote to tell us that a check for Bliz's business cleared his bank account recently. The e-mail insinuated (and knowing how Mr. Ex-Partner happens to think), that somehow Bliz and I conspired, somehow hacked into his bank account and stole a piddly amount of money, because we could. His note was rude, obnoxious and solidified why I don't want to be in business with this man any more.

What really happened was that when we broke up the business, Mr. Partner owed some money to Bliz. He sent her a check. There was a major remodel at Bliz's house and the check was found this weekend. She then cashed it.

When I got his note, I decided anything I wrote back to Mr. Ex-Partner would have been as obnoxious and aggressive as he wrote to us, so I was sitting back, biding my time for Marty to do it. Meanwhile, Bliz and I were chatting. She pointed out if he reconciled his checkbook once in a while he would have noticed this prior. She even used a few swear words, which I thought was hilarious because Bliz just doesn't say those kinds of things.

In the end, Bliz wrote Mr. Ex-Partner back, explaining the oversight and gently reminding him he had written this check months ago (and no we did not conspire to steal from him). She wrote it so diplomatically, I was absolutely impressed. Of course, after knowing Bliz 30+ years, I read between the lines and totally got "Bless your heart" from the subtext. Hopefully Mr. Ex-Partner will too.

Thus far no apology from Mr. Ex-Partner. Perhaps he is too busy eating his words.

And for those of you who think Bliz should have contacted Mr. Ex-Partner sooner, maybe--I don't think so--but I am always going to stick up for my friends who are treated wrong. 

On a Super-Positive Note

Carolsue is a Grandma today! Congrats to your daughter and son-in-law for their new arrival.

Slacking

When this accidental business finally closes ("when" is still up in the air), I would like to look back at this time with some positive and happy feelings and not the overwhelming cloud of doom that seemed to follow me around for the past few years.

That said, when I started out with the idea that I would write 40 happy posts I didn't take into account some of the happiest things that happened to me running an accidental business are personal and private and I just don't want to share. Let's face it, the good reading comes from the mishaps along the way. Or, as I was once told, no good story starts with, "I was eating a salad one day at lunch..."

I am committed to 40 less-than-miserable posts, which has worked so far, as I the longer I am away from Flunky, the happier I get. But please bear with me as life has gotten in the way lately. I'm not done. I promise.

Tenant Craziness

There was a six-bedroom home about a mile from me that my broker, El Jefe, asked me to list and rent out. I originally didn't set the price, as the owner (who lives in Austria) knew more about renting out his home in my neighborhood than I did. After a month on the market with no bites, I told El Jefe what the price needed to be. El Jefe lowered the price $1,000 and didn't tell the owner. However, now it was at a reasonable amount.

The next month I started getting calls. Though six-bedroom homes are not desirable by all, there are definitely those who have a need or a want for them. They all began calling. And calling. And though January isn't exactly moving season around here, there was a plethora of activity on this house.

It is fair to say if a rental home is on the market for any length of time around here it is usually for one of two reasons: 1) applicants have applied and either weren't approved or changed their minds or 2) it is a dump and/or the landlord is crazy. In the case of this house, it may have been a little bit of the first and a lot of the second.

It took several weeks but El Jefe (with me pushing it) urged the owner to paint the faux-painted green and teal room. Additionally, the owner finally agreed to get the electrical issue resolved, because I made it very clear I, nor anyone I showed this home to, would be turning on the bathroom light until it was fixed. And while we were on the subject of deferred maintenance, perhaps the owner could hire someone to take care of the pool, clean the place and pick the citrus that was turning the back yard into a rat all-you-can-eat smorgasbord. Which reminds me, the owner needed an exterminator.

Anyway, with the rent lowered, all the repairs and painting done and the critter control taken care of I went out to rent the house a second time. If I told you about the kinds of people looking to rent a six-bedroom home that raised an eyebrow or two, you would be reading this blog for the next hour. So, I will just skip to the applicants. Perhaps at a later time.

The first applicant was a single woman with one child. She worked from home and wanted an office. I have no idea why she needed the other three bedrooms, but she swore the house was just right. Unfortunately she had been evicted from several properties in the past four years. She also possibly has a credit score lower than mine--possibly. At any rate, the owner rejected her on-line application.

When El-Jefe broke the news, she screamed discrimination and said she would sue me, El Jefe and the owner. You see she is a minority. So, I guess she felt that meant she was entitled to the house no matter what. I do know that El Jefe and I follow Federal Fair Housing guidelines. I had no say in her application. El Jefe never met her and I guarantee the owner is too cheap to fly back from Austria to meet her. So our consciences are clear. Incidentally, she wrote me weeks later asking if the owner had changed his mind because she really needed to move.

The second family who applied were a blended group. The husband had a felony. His 16 year old daughter's 24 year old boyfriend would also be living at the home. Was that a problem? I believe he meant for the owner. It was a huge problem for me, but I am not the owner. There would also be a wife and two other minor children. Anyway, they made it through the approval process (even with the felony) one Friday afternoon. Then they didn't hear from El Jefe. So they called me on Saturday. I suggested they would probably hear from him on Monday, as it was the weekend. And yes, the house was theirs. I had the key and I was taking the next two days off, so nobody was seeing the place. They need not worry. Saturday night they called me again wondering where El Jefe was. This time I gave them El Jefe's phone number. Sunday they called me yet again, still complaining they hadn't heard from El Jefe about the lease. This time I called El Jefe and lit a fire under him. El Jefe called them back, explaining it was the weekend and the lease would be over Monday.  Monday they didn't even bother to call to say they were backing out. Instead, I got an e-mail saying El Jefe was unresponsive and that "bothered" them. I pointed out it was a weekend, they were approved and he did call them Monday. No matter, our company was obviously awful.

The last applicants were a family of--and I am not making this up--12 adults. All of the kids were grown and living at home. Two were married. One of the married couples even had a child. These were the nicest folks I have ever rented a home to. But I have to tell you, when you have 12 opinions it takes more than an hour to show a rental. Plus, the matriarch of the family had to see it three times. The third time I was car-less (she knew this but still "needed" to see it), and I walked over.  It took them a week to put in the application. It took 15 minutes to get them approved. It took them two days to show up at the office to pay their deposit. And it took them four hours to sign the lease--I know this because Mrs. El. Jefe was e-mailing me every ten minutes from the office saying "they are still here, why??" (and by the way, they were sent a copy of the lease ahead of time to read). Marty Sunshine comes from a big family. I have seen these dynamics it drives me bonkers. So, I knew "why" they were still there. I also knew for my own sanity, I wasn't going anywhere near the office that day.

Anyway, there was more considerable drama for me, which took place prior to 7 a.m. one day. Now the place is now rented to a very nice, yet large, family. El Jefe is very worried if they are this much of a pain when it comes to filling out an application and signing a lease, what will they be like when they are living there?

I suspect they will be silent. My experience tells me that folks who squawk loudly at first, tend to calm down once they move in and live out their lives. I am betting this will be the case.

Mine.com

In other news, we won a fight for our web site domain name. We weren't using it at the moment and it was up for grabs. However, I like the name and I wanted to keep the rights. I found out yesterday it is still ours--at least for the next few years. There is some company in Australia who wants my name and domain name if I am through with it. Maybe in three years or so, I will be.

Or, maybe by then I will need it again.

Positive-Ish

Today I am supposed to get my tax returns. Which means Mr. Ex-Partner will also get his tax returns. I am hoping this will end this chapter or our relationship. That won't be at all bad. A few weeks ago I asked him for some relevant data so that I could have Diamond Jim finish up the taxes. He got back to me this week with the absolute wrong information. No matter, I had already dug it up a week ago because I didn't want to wait any longer. That pretty much sums up my relationship with him.

If I wrote everything I wanted to say, I would sound like I am dogging Mr. Ex-Partner. I would rather not remember him this way. I learned a lot from him. Without him we never would have had the experiences we have had, nor this accidental business journey.

I recognize he is who he is. I also recognize our value systems simply doesn't work well together. Besides, I adore, simply adore, Mrs. Ex-Partner. She, as well as being the most patient spouse ever, is just a wonderful and loving human being.

Marty pointed out this post does not belong in my Lenten Positive Blog space. And to be fair, I deleted a lot of what I wrote and condensed it. However, I maintain this is the most positive I can do at Mr. Ex's expense at the spur of the moment. Perhaps with a bit more time, I can find something else to write about him. But for today, my Lenten Positive Blog space will just be, "Mr. Ex-Partner will soon be out of my life."

The Haunted House

We didn't loose one home yesterday. We lost two.

We bought the house in Grayson Valley with Jack, my former real estate agent. He approached us in 2008 and asked us to partner with him. We agreed, and it went wonky from there. We bought a home, splitting the closing and maintenance costs in half. However, at the time interest rates and loans were more complicated. Our payment was high. Jack was unwilling to pay the costs to refinance, so we didn't. When the home needed an AC, he wanted to finance one, which made no sense, but whatever. Meanwhile, Marty and I paid our share of the maintenance and insurance.

And, a few years into this, I presented Jack with a bill for his share of the expenses. This wasn't a shock to him, as he knew it was coming. But what was a shock was his reaction. He gave us the house. So, to put this in perspective, he owed us $1,400 for his share of maintenance and insurance and he walked away. I still don't understand. It wasn't the money, I know he had it. He just wanted out. As a coincidence, Marty and I were thinking about asking him if we could buy him out, as he didn't seem all that interested in continuing on, but he just gave us his share instead.

One of the more weird aspects of this home was, for the first four years, we had a different tenant every year. I had begun to swear the place was haunted, as the tenants were out at exactly month 12, without looking back. That kind of tenant turnover is rare. It wasn't hard to rent, as it was in a nice neighborhood and backed up to some woods and a golf course. The back yard flooded when it wasn't maintained. Also, there had been several outdoor snake sightings there, which meant I would never, ever live there. But all in all, it is a nice house.

The most unusual story I have about the place is when Jack and I owned it, he was showing it once to this woman. She walked in, asked where the attic was, looked up at the scuttle hole (as there was no ladder, she couldn't look in the attic), and then said it was "perfect" and she would take it. She didn't look at the kitchen or master bedroom. Needless to say, we didn't rent it to her.

Incidentally, once Jack was out of the way, we refinanced and we were cash-flowing. In fact, this house was extremely profitable. If I didn't have to lose this house as part of our closing our accidental business, this is one of the few I would have held on to.

Another One Down

It was the second to the last house I bought. I looked for a picture of the Fultondale home, but I didn't find one. Apparently Google Earth hasn't bothered to get a car with a camera to drive by. The best I could do was see an aerial view with a car in the yard, parked some place cars don't go and a trampoline in the front.

Alice and Tyrone lived here first. Ms. Alice still contacts me once in a while to say hello. They were sweet people and I am glad to have known them. I was sorry to see them go. 

Artie and Candy lived here too. Artie, according to Carolsue was "beautiful man." I don't think I ever met him, but I have a vague image floating around my head, so who knows. He was a man of impeckable character and was a great tenant. Candy was his girlfriend who wanted to play house. On occasion, she would call me, asking for me to bargain with her and not tell Artie she didn't have the rent money. Heaven knows why she called more than once with this favor. I said no every time. 

At one time there was also so woman whose random family member kept dying and she had to use the rent money to pay her funeral expenses. You would think she might mix up the excuse once in a while, but no. She wasn't that original. When does a funeral cost $950? 

Mr. and Mrs. Fultondale called this home for the past several years. Mrs. Fultondale is a bit OCD, and kept that place immaculate--at least on the inside. Last month I told them the unfortunate news. Mrs. Fultondale raised all kinds of hell, but it was too late. The damage was done: I was losing the house and it would impact their future--no matter what she said to me. I know Kirby tried to find her another place to live. I don't know if he succeeded or if they are still living there. I kind of hope they are still there, but I don't really have a reason to want this, other than I just hate to displace someone. Mr. Fultondale grew up in the neighborhood. He told me more than once, as a kid, he used to camp about where this house was located. They wanted to buy the home from me someday. I wish they would have. 

This is also the home where Carolsue announced I painted like a "rich white girl," though I have no idea what that means or how one accomplishes that. Speaking of Carolsue, she and I once went to a yard sale on that street where the person running it innocently asked if Carolsue was my mother. I said yes, before Carolsue could answer and then quickly got out of the way. 

Today it sold to someone for $25,000 less than I owe on it. I hope it makes someone a nice, pleasant home. Or maybe whomever bought it will keep it a rental and let Mr. and Mrs. Fultondale stay. 

Calling it In

All is good. All is great. Happy Lent.

I have nothing today. But I will tomorrow. 

Some Wonderfulness

Less you think my life is one dismal cloud of sadness, it isn't. This blog that you three visit is only a sliver of what happens around the Sunshine homestead. Unfortunately, this blog tends to cover (lately) a lot of ugliness. Sorry about that. Life happens.

I thought I would give you all a reprieve and share some fun stuff today. First, in case you didn't get the memo: BASEBALL SEASON IS BACK. My team is the Arizona Diamondbacks. Their record in the past several years (with few exceptions) has been about as cheerful as closing an accidental business in Birmingham. However, as Bliz's father (my official baseball pen pal) has so aptly pointed out to me, "bad baseball is better than no baseball." True stuff.

Then there is this item. My father was a union electrician until he retired in 1999. During the 1970s, my childhood, there was little work for such a vocation in the Phoenix metro area. From the time I was in first grade until he was laid off while I was in sixth grade, he worked various jobs, mostly out of town. Depending upon where he was working he would travel home for the weekends (when he was in Holbrook, AZ) or once every three to four months (when he was in Texas). He worked in California, New Mexico and Nevada as well as throughout Arizona. Sometimes he would be home for a couple of months. It wasn't stable money, but he did what he thought was best and we didn't starve.

In his spare time, he and my mother took up stained glass. It was a hobby. Mom made small sun catchers and Christmas ornaments, that still decorate my tree. My father designed and made windows. He is 79 now and I have the last window he ever made embedded in my front door. When I move, it will go with me.

Around 1980, Dad had been out of work for quite a while. But then again, for those of you who remember such times, a portion of America was out of work. We had two extended family members living on our couches, which brought our crew to seven mouths to feed. Our neighbor at the time, knowing all of this approached my father and asked him to design and make a stained glass window(s) in her farmhouse door. He was paid $650 for this project.

A few weeks ago, I was driving through the old neighborhood, reminiscing about my childhood. There was where the vacant lot we played in--which turned out to be a superfund site. There was the Britt's house. There was the Keatley's, the McCloud's, the Apodoca's homes. I went by every one of those houses. And there was the farmhouse door, on Mrs. Brown's old place. I was surprised actually, because it wasn't the first time in 35+ years I had driven by, but the first time I actually saw it. I cruised the neighborhood twice. The second time I stopped in front of the house and took a picture.

After mulling it over for two days, and with the encouragent of a couple of cyber-pals, I sent the current owner of the door a letter, just letting him know who made the stained glass windows in his farmhouse door. I asked him to keep my number if he ever decided he no longer wanted it. I would love to take it off his hands and would be happy to replace the farmhouse door with something else.

Then I fretted. I heard nothing, telling myself I was silly to even write such a letter to a perfect stranger asking for his front door. Truly, who does something silly like that?

Finally, I dismissed it, chastising myself for getting all worked up about a silly door. When I finally let it go is when the phone rang. The man on the other end, a perfect stranger, was the owner of the house and told me I could have it.

We settled on an amount (the cost of his new door). I found someone to install it (on a Sunday morning) and the deal was made. I found a place in my home to display the door, because it won't fit where a door would traditionally go. In this case, it would be a piece of art and it would be in my living room.

My 79 year old father and his new front door. 

Then I started to fret again. What if I was wrong? What if the stained glass door wasn't the one my father made and I was just silly? After all, it isn't like Dad made every stained glass window in Phoenix. So, at our breakfast Friday I asked. I showed him the picture I had taken and then sat back and watched his eyes.

As a whole, my father's baseline isn't happy. Content, yes. Grumpy, usually. But truly the only times I can say I have seen him happy is on three occasions: each time he held his new grandchild for the first time. However, when I showed him the picture of the door and told him my week-long saga I saw a different man. I told him I had managed to acquire this from the now-owner of Mrs. Brown's old home. His face filled with pure joy. His eyes just lit up. He said, "I was going to replace my front door anyway. This will be perfect!" Of course, that wasn't the final place I had originally planned for this door. But that's fine. Even better, actually.

Dad now has his door back. It is more than just a silly door. It symbolizes, at least to my brothers and I a time in our lives when the very act of living was difficult, even as kids. Our parents were truly down and out. But Dad found jobs here and there. To Dad, working was what made him a man. Because happy or not, in his mind, a man isn't a man if he isn't supporting his family. Getting this window for him in the twilight years is a culmination of the fruits of his labor. It is his. I am proud to have done this for him. It is Some Wonderfulness for all of my family. It is also proof whenever we don't take that chance, we will never know what can happen.

A Small Moment

I closed my business bank accounts this week. The very same accounts I opened years ago, when the great unknown reigned supreme. I chose the bank I did because they had branches in Birmingham and their fees weren't as crazy as some of the bigger banks I had found. At one point, I became friends with Gina and I even helped her with some real estate stuff along the way.

Gina isn't at that branch any more, though we still keep in touch. Shawna, Tanner and Gabriel are there now. When I went in this week, Gabriel helped me close everything out. He gave me a whopping $5.11 that was the sum total of one of our accounts. When I went to leave, Shawna came from the drive-through to the lobby  to say good-bye. She said to come back when we were ready. Gabriel stuck out his hand to me and I shook it. Then, he gave me a big smile and squeezed my hand. He told me not to be a stranger.

There are small moments, like this, which seem silly in the grand scheme of closing an accidental business. But in some ways they are as profound as the bigger, grander events that define the end of our company's life.

I am chronicling this today because some day, when I am ready to look at this blog again, I want to remember the small moments too. They count.

Attorney Flip's Sage Wisdom

When the Late Attorney Jon passed away, I had a chance to meet Attorney Flip (and Legal Owl), who had been assigned by the BAR to close Jon's files. That experience you can also read about in the archives of this blog. But what I wanted to mention was something Flip said to me two years ago when I went to Birmingham. It made all the difference in the world and got me going on this path I am on today.

The day before I met with Flip and Legal Owl, I had just spent a great deal of time looking at my completely trashed and unrepairable home in the mountains. This was the home with the wrap-around porch, two acres and the pond in the back. It was my favorite home and the one I hoped to someday retire to. Seeing it, without windows, doors and ceilings greatly affected me. In a quick calculation, I figured there was at least $40,000 worth of damage, and I knew insurance wouldn't cover all of it. In my mind, the damage was personal. How dare someone not love this house! So, you can imagine how beaten down I felt.

Anyway, I was meeting with Legal Owl, and in walks Flip, to say hello. Legal Owl filled in the gory (gory, I tell you!) details about this house. And Flip walked over to me, sat down and looked me in the eye.

He stated gently and tactfully,  "C.S. Lewis said, 'Pride is the greatest of sins. All other sins stem from it'. Everyone knows the condition you and your business are in, you aren't hiding it." Flip said it in such a loving and kind way and it stuck in my head.

I think of this now and then, especially when I start getting angry of the way things should have been. "Should have" is never the same as "are". Attorney Jon should have lived. I should have never met Flip. My home with the wrap-around porch in the mountains should have been loved. There are so many other shoulds. If all my shoulds had happened, I wouldn't have heard Flip's words, which changed the direction of my accidental business and my life.

A Moment for Jon

Some of the amazing people I have met in this accidental business will forever leave imprints in my memories. Some of the people I knew before this accidental business who have held my hand, poured my amaretto or just let me vent will forever leave imprints in my heart. Either way, I am grateful for all of them.

One of those (of many) who made a difference in my accidental business is the Late Attorney Jon.

I have written volumes about him in this blog and there is nothing new really to share. He was a good man, father of five, married to his college sweetheart. He was kind and humble. He had his own demons--demons which went away permanently on a July day in 2011.

Jon came from a modest background. Maybe that's why I liked him. I would like to think that may be one of the reasons he liked me. He helped me a great deal in my early days, finding investors in 2007-2008 when we were looking at expanding and growing. He gave me introductions to people in Birmingham I wouldn't have gotten otherwise, including but not limited to Legal Eagle, a loan officer who introduced me to Kirby and Jack. Jack, my former business partner, once said he wouldn't have taken me seriously if I hadn't used Jon's name. It wasn't my intention to name drop, I was just stating a fact. I had gotten Jack's name from Late Attorney Jon.

Many of those people I met through Jon went away after his death. That's ok. Maybe they went away to distance themselves, maybe they went away because our business model was changing once again. Maybe because that season of their's and our life was complete.

The Unexpected

One time at my home in Leeds Mrs. Winn called me. There had been a big storm. Apparently the tallest tree in the neighborhood happened to reside at my Leeds house. And, sadly, the storm knocked over this huge tree. Unfortunately it landed right smack dab on top of their pick up truck. Mrs. Winn told me the truck was totaled. I braced myself, wondering what my liability was here. What would my insurance cover? But all she wanted to tell me, and the true reason for her call, was to ask if I wanted her to plant another tree.

Beyond the Bless Your Hearts

My experiences in the South is nothing if not informative. After all, to do business over there, one must speak the language. Forget "Might I inquire may I could possibly find a restroom where I could powder my nose?" Nobody anywhere says that anyway, unless you happen to be reading a poorly written self-published romance novel set in the 1930s. As we all know, Alabama is practically its own planet. Here are a few Southern catch phrases one must know to get by on Planet Bama. Please understand, in the South, subject-verb agreement and the usage of appropriate verb tenses are optional.

"Y'all": you. Singular

"All'y'all: all of you. Plural

"I'll tell you what..." a phrase uttered right before the person is going to tell you what is on their mind. This is usually either the prelude to some ridiculous true story, involving an alligator or other extra-large reptile or a stupid feat some teenage boy attempted. It is also preceded as the punchline for said true story. For example, "I'll tell y'all what, me and Bobby Joe thought for sure that two-headed gator was gonna eat us. But, I'll tell you what, he slinked back into the wild."

"It can only go up from here." A phrase that means your day can't possibly get any worse.

"A spell" an indefinite amount of time that sounds shorter than it really is.

"In due time" a longer spell.

"Roll Tide": 1) an appropriate greeting, salutation and good bye only in Alabama. Everywhere else it is the weird words to the University of Alabama's (or Alabama State University--I never remember) fight song. 2) a secret code to let others know you are not an Auburn University fan.

"Fixing to", verb. Translates to about to perform some act or thinking about performing some act. "I'm fixing to go to the swamp to see if I can find that alligator Bobby Joe and Bubba were talking about to all'y'all."

"Good Lord," exclamation that roughly translates to "good grief," "oh-no" or "holy cow."

Coke: noun, any indiscriminate carbonated soft drink that can be derived from any number of beverage distributors. Not to be confused with the stuff of the same name with the red and silver label (though the name can be used interchangeably).

Sweet Tea: A horrible concoction of leaves brewed in water saturated in sugar.

Tea: a tasty drink, never drunk by a true Southerner but enjoyed by the rest of us Yankees who prefer that our beverages don't knock us into a diabetic coma.

Buggy: noun, shopping cart.

Country: 1) a part of Alabama where people live that isn't Montgomery, Mobile or Birmingham. 2) adjective, description of person, place or thing to suggest someone(s) is an unsophisticated buffoon. "Don't worry about those folks fitting in that neighborhood in Leeds. They are as country as the rest of all'y'all."

Citified: adjective. Someone, some place or something that isn't country.

Redneck: someone who is country, but worse and doesn't care. Not necessarily an insult.

Give me a shout: phrase which translates to "contact me at your convenience."

Holler: can be exchanged for shout, such as "give me a holler."

"The Game": any University of Alabama sporting event.

"If the creek don't rise": A phrase which translates to if nothing unfortunate happens. "We will be watching the game tomorrow, if the creek don't rise."

Reckon: To acknowledge truth. "I reckon the I-20 is the the best way to get to Atlanta, if you are citified."

Bless your heart: An all encompassing phrase that means anything along the lines of, "that is truly unfortunate" but more likely translates to, "up yours." "Oh, I see you regularly cut people off in traffic and drive like a crazy person. You aren't from around here, bless your heart."

God love you: A qualifier inserted after "Bless your heart," to let the recipient know you mean no ill will.

The Civil War: an unfortunate event in US history where the Northern states were fixing to get some funny ideas, Bless their hearts.

TV voice: someone who does not speak with a Southern drawl. The first time I heard this was from my friend Jeanne, who shared with me a story about a clerk in Southern Alabama telling her she had a "TV voice." But I have since been accused of having such thing myself.

E-Housekeeping

Today's positive post borderlines the "non-accidental business victory" line, but only slightly. Perhaps a year from now, it will be in full non-accidental business victory territory.

I cleaned out my e-mails yesterday. I had 1,651 in my in-box. Most were related to this and that from the last several months. There were Mr. Partner crazy questions, real estate stuff, baseball stuff (lots of baseball stuff), a few jokes sent to me by a dear friend, vacation planning e-mails from Uncle Sunshine, teacher e-mails and way too many obnoxious e-mails from Flunky. I was happy to see Flunky's e-mails go.

Currently there is one e-mail in my inbox. It is a response from a Mesa City Councilman, replying to my letter last week. I will write him back later today when I figure out exactly what I want to say to him.

Cleaning out electronic clutter was cathartic. I am ready to let go.

Security Deposits

Mrs. Briscoe and Mr. Waterford, who happen to be guests in my homes, were sent their security deposits this past week. Hopefully that will help them in their fresh start. It is my desire that them saving on rent the past couple of months, will also make a difference in their lives. We started this accidental business with the mission of helping people--giving them a hand up, not a hand out. I would like to think we will go out the same way.

Mr. Kirby

Kirby was a wonderful gift from Heaven. Back in 2009, I had just fired a property management company after one month. It was too bad because I had interviewed just about every property management company in Birmingham and they had come out on top. That just goes to show you everything that shines isn't worth picking up.

Anyway, the day I fired them I had an issue. In fact, the reason I fired them was my issue. You see, the former property management company had gone to take possession of the house. The tenant said, "I'm not ready to leave." and the broker said, "Ok, well, call me in a month when you are ready." Except the tenant wasn't supposed to be there at all and had just gotten permission from the broker to squat in my home.

The day this all was going on, a loan officer I am acquainted with called me. I was in a bit of a tizzy and he sweetly said, "Is there anything I can do to help you?" Actually there was. Did he know a property management company that wasn't full of buffoons? The loan officer just happened to share office space with Kirby, who was just getting his feet wet in the whole property management business. And thus, a business arrangement was made.

That day, I gave Kirby two properties to manage. It doubled his business. A year later, he was managing a good portion of my homes and had bought some other company's portfolio. I was still one of his biggest clients, as I had a gazillion homes, but he now handled about 200 homes.

I learned with Kirby that when he was busy and had no news, he said nothing. That is absolutely frustrating to an owner. And it makes the veins of us Type-As pop out of our forehead. But he was fair and honest--which seemed to be a rare trait in property managers.

In 2013, Kirby sold his property management division and started an HVAC service. It is more profitable. He still handles real estate too. Entrepreneurs tend to have more than one stream of income. When he sold off, he told me I had been his favorite owner and to keep in touch. And we have kept in touch.

Kirby handled my AC issues until I stopped having AC issues. He handled my real estate sales (though unsuccessfully, unfortunately) until I gave up. But mostly Kirby is one of the two people over there I can go to when I need to bounce some obscure Alabama detail off of someone. He has gotten my back on numerous occasions when he didn't need to.

He has a dry, deadpan sense of humor that I really appreciate. One time, while I was visiting Birmingham, Kirby made a true but unprofessional comment about one of my tenants. I said, "Look behind you, that's your realtor hat that fell off." He turned around and looked at the imaginary hat and said, "That 'ole thing?" When I told him I was closing down, he said, "What took you so long?" He promises me freedom is just around the corner. I hope he is right.

He will be one of the handful of people I will truly miss when all is said and done. Kirby is also one of the handful of Alabama people who I am blessed to know.

Validation

Today's cheerful post is brought to you by Joe the cryptic stalker.

You see, Joe has tried a new approach. Not only did he approach me on Linkedin, but he found Kirby. Apparently the two of them know each other--which doesn't surprise me in Alabama. That state is like the biggest small town on the planet. Anyway, as part of Joe's stalking techniques, he found out that Kirby had represented me in a (failed) real estate transaction sometime in the past. So Joe reached out and asked if Kirby would give me a shout.

Kirby did. I told him if Joe had anything substantial to tell me he should do it and stop leaving these weird half-messages because nobody in their right mind would respond to that. I also told Kirby from the way he is presenting things Joe is looking for me to sign over my one year right of redemption. And if Kirby thought otherwise, would he kindly shed some light, because I could be wrong and Joe doesn't seem to be going away.

And here's the cheerful-happy part. Kirby agreed with me. He said Joe is ok, but he hangs out with an "a-hole investor" (direct quote from Kirby the true Southern gentleman) and I am probably right and if it were up to Kirby, he would just ignore the guy.

Hopefully She Won Big

So once, in the early days I got a call from (as CarolSue called her) the "Chick from Calera" who lived at my Waterford home. She called to tell me her home just got struck by lightening. But everything is ok. She just wanted me to know.

About an hour later, she called again. The home had been struck by lightening a second time. Once again, everything seemed to be ok. She just wanted me to know, just because.

I told her to buy a lottery ticket.

40 Days

Tomorrow is the first day of Lent. For those of you three readers who were unaware, I am a practicing Catholic. Lent is a time for reflection for the purpose of growth. It isn't really about "giving up candy", but really about preparing for Easter and reflecting on what Easter means to us. (If you would like a more theological explanation, give me a shout). Incidentally, Easter is my all-time favorite holiday.

Given this blog has been kind of depressing lately, as I chronicle the end of our accidental business's life, I thought I would take the next 40 days to reflect on the good stuff. Who knows, maybe I will throw in a few fun stories just for grins. At the moment, I am optimistically hoping our business will be scheduled to close right after Easter, so for me, this is a time to remember what good came out of the last 14 years.

To be honest, I have absolutely no idea if I can come up with 40 positive tid-bits (or at least less depressing tid-bits), much less write about them. But I thought I would give it a try. Attitude is everything, right?

Stay tuned.

The Persistence of Small Town Southern Folks

This guy Joe is getting kind of pesky. He has tracked me down via the internet, sending me an e-mail. Though my e-mail isn't absolutely secret--I do sell real estate after all--it might have been nice if he mentioned how he got it to begin with. I know if I am going to contact a perfect stranger in an ultra-personal kind of way, I might want to suggest how I found them to begin with. But that is just me.

In addition to the e-mail, which basically said he is trying to get in touch with me and call him, ok? He also left me another cryptic e-mail asking me to call him. I would be getting marginally creeped out if I had put in more energy to digest it all than just writing this blog.

Today I got a letter from some law firm in some small town in Alabama. They sent me a quit claim deed for this particular home in Moody Joe mentioned. They told me to sign it and send it back to them immediately. I might have paid a heck of a lot more attention if they had actually used the word, "please" somewhere in their letter. They didn't.

Neither the small town law firm nor Joe has explained why I need to sign a quit claim deed for a home I don't own. Is this the new foreclosure method? Just sign over the title and voila! the home is no longer yours? Until someone can give me a good reason why I need to address this, because so far nobody has bothered to tell me what this is all about, and possibly if they ask nicely, I will just blog about it.

I Only Get about 17 Letters a Day

A few weeks ago, someone called me from Alabama. As anyone who has ever closed a business under uncomfortable circumstances and/or had their credit spiral into the Great Abyss can tell you, the very first action one does in these circumstances is not answer their phone if they don't recognize the phone number. That goes double for me if the caller has a 205 area code these days. So when I got a call from a 205 area code a few weeks ago, that person had to leave a message. He said something like, "Hello. This is Whatevermynameis from SomesmalltowninAlabama. I work for SomethingthatsoundsremotelylikeIsellrealestate, and I want to ask you a question. Please call me back."

Now, I know all of the big real estate sales gurus everywhere say, when leaving a message for a prospect, always say something cryptic, like "I want to ask you a question." Allegedly it will pique the recipient's interest and they will be just bursting with curiosity and immediately call back. Actually it doesn't. If I didn't already get about 54 calls and 325 emails a day, had reasonable credit and wasn't closing an accidental business, I still wouldn't be the least bit curious. But that's just me and everyone else I know.

But back to this...

So, today I got a call from someone named Joe at a 205 area code. His voice sounded like he might have been the same guy who called a few weeks earlier. He said something that sounded like he sells houses for a living and he has a question for me. This time instead of just letting it hang, he added. "I have a title question about a house in Moody," and then asked me to call back.

I no longer have a house in Moody, Alabama. But at one point in my life I did.

Asking a title question under the circumstances would be a reasonable reason to talk to this gentleman. And, it even piqued my interest somewhat, but I didn't call him back. If he has questions about the title of the house, that is probably LegalOwl's department, but I don't want to pay her $300 to find out. I would think somewhere in the title paperwork filed with the county, her name would have been on there. He can pay her $300 instead of me if it is truly important.

Also Alabama has this funny one year rights of redemption policy. That is, within one year of a foreclosure, the former owner has the right to get their home back if they pay the bank what the bank says is owed on the property. By the way, the rights are transferable. As the Late Attorney Jon once explained, rights of redemption can be sold for a case of beer and fishing bait. It is possible this Joe dude could be calling to sweet talk me out of my rights of redemption. But I may never know because I am not going to answer my phone.

It stands to reason, that the best course of action for this guy, if this is a legitimate issue of some sort, would be a letter outlining his reason for calling. It might even include something I am willing to cooperate with. But not likely.

Daddy's Girl

I had breakfast with my 79 year old father yesterday. In a moment of vulnerability, I told him what Brother #1 and #2 have been urging me to tell him for the past 8 months. Our business is dying a slow painful death. Of course, the reason I hadn't told him up until now, is because he reacted the exact way I knew he would.

He scolded me, for I am really 11 years old.

My father--and please don't judge him, he is who he is--began to tell me all the things, in his mind, I had done wrong that caused our downfall. Of course, he knows absolutely nothing about our accidental business. The reason he knows little about it is because he believes to his very core that business owners are the enemy. We are greedy scum only looking out for ourselves. I grew up hearing versions of this. It is ingrained in who he is. I don't believe it. I accept he does.

Owning a business has been a conundrum for him. He is proud of me and he is astonished I would do such a horrible thing as participate in capitalism. So, the business failing in his mind is a relief. And it is also a reason to get on me about all the events I caused in the past fourteen years that brought me to this point. I stopped him twice, reminding him I did not want to hear what he had to say. There is nothing he can possibly add to what is going on in my life that will be the least bit productive. I also reminded him his response is the very reason he has been kept out of the information loop about what is going on with Marty and me.

It took three versions of the above as well as me reminding him I will be the one to pick his nursing home in order for him to stop talking. ("That's what happens when you don't hire a property management company and you have out of state rentals..." "But Dad, I had a property management company..." "Well maybe, but if you had managed them yourself, you wouldn't have had these problems..."--yes, this was really part of what was said). But eventually he allowed me to successfully change the subject and the rest of what he has to say about my mistakes he can relegate on my brothers. They have been warned.

Certifiable

Thursday I wrote and sent three certified letters to the former property management company. I cc'd several people on them, including Diamond Jim, my Arizona Attorney and a couple of guests residing in my home. Not everyone was CC'd on every letter.

Because it was true, each letter started with the phrase:

THIS IS MY THIRD ATTEMPT TO GET THIS RESOLVED

The first two letters explained that the property management company was to release the security deposits to the former tenants immediately. There is a touch of irony here, as I was insisting on a former tenant's security deposit only a month ago. And that set of maddening conversations is ultimately what made them decide they didn't want to manage my homes any more. It also made me decide they were incompetent baboons who knew little about Alabama real estate law or their fiduciary responsibilities. I didn't want them managing my homes, but they beat me to the punch.

The third letter proved to me they knew even less about accounting principals than they knew about real estate. They have made a huge mistake on my 1099, which they submitted to the IRS. For those of you who aren't privy to 1099s, it is basically the document they submit that tells the IRS how much they paid out in rents to me for 2016. Their mistake is a doozy too. I only wish my rents were as high last year as they said they were.

Diamond Jim knows how to fix the situation and square it with the IRS on my end if these nincompoops don't bother to correct it. However, it is in their best interest to do so. Because if they don't, the Internal Revenue Service will flag them anyway. This is not a mistake they should overlook lightly.

Mrs. Fultondale

The guest in the home in Fultondale has finally gotten mad--as she should be. She is about to be homeless.

At first, she was gracious as can be. After all, she isn't paying a dime to me. But now the reality has set in. This week she called the bank to see about buying the house. She didn't go about it through the proper channels, instead she talked to someone who was obviously confused as to who this woman was. As a result, Mrs. Fultondale informed me that I was to immediately give the bank authorization to let her talk with them them about our situation. Of course, she would never have given me authorization to talk to a financial institution about her finances, but she didn't see it that way when I politely declined her request.

What I did tell her was if she wanted to purchase the home, call Kirby. He would walk her through the process before it was too late. My feeling is, it is probably too late.

Next, Mrs. Fultondale or one of the other Fultondales in the house realized something every person in this situation finally realizes. Where has my rent money gone if I am summarily being cast out of a home I am renting? I sent her a string of BS words that I threw together that sound official but have no bearing in reality. Fortunately she didn't ask for further explanation and instead said, "Ok, Gotcha." The true answer is complicated and legal. I would have told her to talk to my attorney, but I wasn't giving my attorney any more authorization to speak with Mrs. Fultondale than I was giving the bank. And frankly, Mrs. Fultondale truly did ask a fair question.

I also have a fair question for Mrs. Fultondale, who just happens to be one of my worst culprits in recent times of paying rent late. Remember all those times you didn't bother to pay the rent because you had other expenses come up that were more pressing? Like Christmas and birthdays? Remember all those times you thought it was no big deal if you got two or three months behind on the rent? Why should I have cared, right? What bad could possibly come from Mrs. Fultondale not bothering to pay her fair share?

Guess what? This is the bad that happens. It isn't all her fault. I certainly own most of the blame for the stupid choices that got us to this point. But she did help it along.