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.