Monday, May 29, 2017
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.
Thursday, May 18, 2017
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.
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.
Monday, May 15, 2017
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.
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.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
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.
Tuesday, May 09, 2017
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.)”
Sunday, May 07, 2017
Tooltime Tim Was Finally Given the Wall Compound
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| 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.
Friday, May 05, 2017
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.
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.
Thursday, May 04, 2017
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.
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.
Monday, May 01, 2017
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 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.
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
My Daily Dose of Humble Pie
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| I still think Barbies are stupid. |
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.
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
The Diamondbacks Are in First Place--And Other Random News
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| 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.
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| 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.
Friday, April 07, 2017
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.
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.
Thursday, April 06, 2017
The Jumping Cow
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| Flowers from Reader #3. They are so beautiful, I wanted to share. |
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.
Friday, March 31, 2017
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 fewdays 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.
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
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.
Thursday, March 30, 2017
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
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.
Tuesday, March 28, 2017
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
On a Super-Positive Note
Carolsue is a Grandma today! Congrats to your daughter and son-in-law for their new arrival.
Monday, March 20, 2017
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.
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.
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