 My neighbor has a pot problem. I’m not talking about marijuana (what you do with your free time is your business), I’m talking about the small terra-cotta clay pots that seem to multiply and line his pathways, nose up against the fence line, and creep down the sidewalk as if they were reproducing on their own . . . like hermaphrodites. (They’re not.) I'm no therapist, but this man is clearly addicted to pots. ’(I'm wondering if there's a 12-step program for that?) I'm guessing he’s the guy that can’t pass up the “FREE” sign when neatniks (as opposed to beatniks) set these often-neglected plants on the curb.
Don’t get me wrong, pots have a place in this world, although I’m not sure it’s on the city sidewalks where every manner of pathetic geranium and common weed has taken root. I'll be the first to admit that placed strategically on a deck or patio, a kitchen counter or a front porch, potted plants can fill in the missing landscape, provide a pleasing place for the eye to land, and add a living element to the scenery quite beautifully. In fact, all things considered, I'm decidedly pro-pot! (That's not a political statement; it's a pragmatic one.)
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After weeks of lukewarm drinks, the repairman finally showed up last week and replaced the ice maker in our freezer. The iceman cometh! I can't begin to say how happy that makes me (but VERY!) and I'm so grateful for this small, but significant improvement (ice is my thing). Since I'm a gal that drinks ice tea throughout the day, obviously, that requires ICE and LOTS OF IT!
Now that this long-overdue repair is off of my "To Do" list, I can begin to tackle the other things that tend to pop up every fall. I'm guessing that for many of you these tasks will ring a bell as well.  I spent last Wednesday afternoon at the Oakland DMV applying for a REAL ID card and California Driver's License - the WHOLE AFTERNOON! (DMV is the great equalizer; no matter who you are, it's gonna be a s**t show.) Even with an appointment, I waited in line behind a slew of others who, not surprisingly, had also booked their appointments weeks in advance. As my license had officially expired on my birthday in July, I spent the past six weeks hoping I wouldn't be pulled over, driving on borrowed time. (That's never a good thing.)
Luckily, I wasn't stopped (although I was denied a rental vehicle) and I've now got a "temporary license" in my glove compartment until the new ID arrives. BTW, getting a "REAL ID" requires you to jump through more hoops than securing a home loan (well, almost) but at least now I should qualify for the "TSA PRE" line at the airport, right?  I'm headed to Tahoe next week for Labor Day and thought it appropriate (and timely) to invite my COMPASS colleagues, Nicole and Jamison Blair of Team Blair Tahoe to speak about vacation-home ownership. While I don't usually feature other writers (because, why?), I loved how Nicole captured both the pain and the pleasure of owning a second home. Nicole and her husband, Jamie, are my "go to" Agents in Tahoe and this article points out why. Please enjoy.
Falling Out of Love? It’s always love at first sight, until you can’t stand the sight of it anymore. (I'm not talking about your boyfriend, I'm talking about your second home.) Owning a vacation home can sometimes seem like an exotic romance as viewed on a perfectly-manipulated HGTV reality show; (Uhhh, where's the "real" part?) however, things can quickly change when the cameras turn away and moonlit walks on powder-white sandy beaches are replaced with traffic-congested commutes to get there, yellow pine pollen EVERYWHERE, snow-covered roofs & driveways, bears upsetting your trash cans, endless loads of sheets and towels, and untidy friends and family. “Who left this mess in here!?!” (The bear.)  "Good morning," I said to the mother and her son, as they walked past my garden. "First day of school?"
"Yes," his mom said with pride, "Zachery's starting kindergarten." "Good luck," I said to the sweet young boy as they walked on, his new Spiderman backpack disappearing around the corner. Which reminded me that even though it's only August, school is formally in session and as my house sits en route to the local elementary, I happily get to watch the parade of darling children (and their helicopter parents) walk by each morning, while my dog, Riley, barks hello. These young kids (and their parents) are excited, nervous, anxious, hopeful and uncertain . . . kind of like your average Buyer or Seller.  I'd spent 20 minutes on hold listening to elevator music and still no answer. The reason for my call? A puddle of water roughly the size of Rhode Island I'd found on my kitchen floor. It seems the freezer had malfunctioned overnight and melted everything inside, including a 5 lb. bag of ice. (Anyone who knows me, knows I'm all about the ice.)
Mr. Kim is my tried-and-true East Bay appliance repairman and he's great, but I'd been told that if anyone other than a "certified Kitchen Aid consultant" serviced the refrigerator, it would void the warranty on the coolant system; thus, the call to an 800 number and the loooong wait.  While out on rounds last week, I stopped at a lemonade stand and bought, perhaps, the worst glass of lemonade I've ever had. Fizzy, warm, no ice, out of a can, and not much flavor, but that's beside the point. I NEVER pass up a lemonade stand if I can help it, having both manned such booths myself as a little girl in Sacramento (of course I did), and then helping my boys and their friends much later on, when I had kids. Lemonade is about the principle, never mind the product.
The thing is, these little girls didn't stand much chance at success even if their lemonade had been the BEST I'd ever tasted as their stand was in the middle of the block on a quiet residential street in Berkeley. Had they been thinking strategically, they would have moved their table down a few houses and placed it in front of their neighbor's listing on Brokers' Tour, thereby acquiring a highly-captive audience. (I'm not the only Realtor with a soft heart and an open wallet.)  Jill's away on vacation in Marblehead which leaves me manning the store alone. Even on holiday, she couldn't resist sending me a photo of a charming seaside building she spotted while out on a walk with her girlfriends. It makes for a good Instagram Post to be sure, but as your Realtor, I wouldn't recommend such a purchase unless you're ready to take on a major "fixer.'
Zoom in and it's not nearly so charming after all. I don't mean to be judgemental (uh yeah, I do) but someone needs to replace those windows and power wash the shingles, post haste! While Jill collects seashells at the seashore, I've just put a darling young family into contract on their first home in Alameda. It's a bit of a "diamond in the rough" so it's no surprise that it comes with a few issues that require attention, some of which are immediately apparent (dated kitchen and bathrooms) and some which are not (dry rot, galvanized pipes, termites).  I'm not a fan of the current administration, much less the inappropriate behavior displayed by so many of our political leaders, on either side of the aisle, so imagine my surprise when the President's protestations of "fake news" actually hit home last week and I had an opportunity to experience the concept of 'false claims' up close and personally.
Say what? For the last month and a half, my COMPASS colleague, Sarah Abel, and I have been marketing a beautiful property here in Piedmont and we were thrilled when it went into contract on schedule with a professional young couple buying their first house together. We were less thrilled when we received an email 10 days later from their Realtor, saying that the Buyers had decided to back out of the purchase based on an engineering report that recommended substantial improvements to the seismic and drainage systems of the house, adding up to a fair amount of additional costs. (Who wouldn't pause and take note?)  "No!" the instructor screamed at the flustered woman who had unknowingly volunteered for the afternoon's literary exercise and was struggling to figure out what - exactly - this New York literary agent was asking?!?
"I'm not interested in hearing how your character's mother felt about it. I want to know how Lottie feels" he said. "Do any of you care what I had for breakfast?" (Not now, we don't.) |
AuthorJulie Gardner, has been writing The Perspective for 14 years and has published more than 500 essays. She is also a frequent contributor to the Sound Off column in the Real Estate section of The San Francisco Chronicle. 
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