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If you didn't see the article bashing Piedmont in the SF Chronicle (and reiterated in the NY Times), you're probably better off. This is the kind of reporting that falls short of facts, and instead, relies on sensationalism designed to divide.
Listen, I rail against inequality. I stopped shopping at Target when they abandoned DEI. I avoid Amazon. I drive a hybrid. I recycle, and having spent the last 36 years married to a man who represents the indigent on Death Row, you might guess (and you'd be right) that my politics align FAR left. But the article not only unfairly singles out Piedmont, it completely misses the point . . . .
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On Wednesday morning, I dropped my dog, Riley, off at the veterinarian's office on College Avenue for teeth cleaning and minor surgery. We'd been monitoring a small tumor at the top of his left ear for the past several months that had proven to be benign, but continued to grow. Better to remove it now while it was still pea-sized, until waiting for the lump to get really gnarly.
Thank goodness for pet insurance. Unfortunately, I've seen too many houses where small problems were allowed to fester — sometime for years — to the great detriment of the home (and the Homeowners). And while ongoing maintenance undoubtedly requires a financial outlay, left unattended, the damage can balloon into thousands of dollars that might be better spent on anything but the house (like a Hawaiian vacation). Last week, I suffered a fender bender when another driver and I backed into one another in the parking lot at Village Market. (Those groceries got a whole lot more expensive.) Upon hearing the fateful CRUNCH, we both jumped out to view the extent of the damage. (It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it wasn't insignificant either.)
“It’s a brand new car,” the other driver wailed, clearly flustered. “I’ve only had it a few weeks, and I was distracted by my kids . . . I’m so sorry." (Truth be told, we were both to blame. Those "blind spots" are real.) Forty-eight years ago I made my stage debut as Porky Pig in "The Bugs Bunny Review" at Great America. The following year, I was promoted to the lead role as Bugs (I was the headliner!) Back then, the park was owned by the Marriott corporation, and was not only known for its vast array of rides, but for its sparkling entertainment which included our fun-filled Looney Tunes show, a more serious song & dance review, daily parades, marching bands, barbershop quartets, a country band, a swing band, a dolphin show, an I-Max theater, a discotheque, street characters, and a full-blown circus with a flying trapeze!
It's been a toasty week with temperatures in the 80s here in the East Bay. That's not exactly record breaking, comparatively speaking, (lots of cities worldwide are currently under EXTREME heat waves), but because much of our aging, Piedmont housing stock isn't equipped with AC, the hotter temperatures can be a bit uncomfortable, especially when trying to sleep.
About a decade ago (about the same time hot flashes set in), Cliff and I retrofitted our current home with air conditioning, and while we don't often need it, when we DO, I'm grateful for the investment. Other ammenities in our home include: a beverage refrigerator, kitchen pantry, powder room, outdoor kitchen, built-in potting bench, landscaped gardens, remote-controlled driveway gate, outdoor lighting, solar panels, dual-pained windows, earthquake retrofitting, insulation, stone countertops, renovated bathrooms, remodeled kitchen, Tesla battery walls, EV charger, drop-down movie screen, detached garage, rain collection system, security system, and a legal ADU. What we didn't spend money on was . . . "I think you should write about artificial intelligence," Sarah's email said, and then she sent me the following, which ironically enough, was written by Open AI . . .
"Artificial intelligence has become an incredibly useful tool in real estate. It can analyze thousands of sales, recognize pricing patterns, and generate estimated values in seconds. These algorithms are excellent at identifying broad market trends and comparing objective data such as square footage, bedroom count, lot size, age, and recent comparable sales. What AI cannot fully evaluate are the nuances that often determine the true market value of a home. Do you have any plans for the summer?" I asked Jamie as he finished examining the foundation at one of our upcoming listings. "Gonna do a little hiking?" I added wryly. (Jamie doesn't do a "little" hiking; this guy tackles mountains.)
"Yes," he enthusiastically responded. "In fact, I'm off on a 9-day solo backpacking trip next week." "You're going alone?" I asked. "Is that safe?" "I'll have a GPS locator,' he said, "but my friends no longer join me. They know I like a good hard challenge." (Sounds grueling.) Alas, today I put a fairly new pair of shoes into the donation bag. I've only worn them once, but every time I try them on, I'm reminded of how painful they actually are. Having had zero luck at "breaking them in," OR making them more comfortable, OR turning my feet into triangles (what's with pointed toes anyway?) I'm raising the white flag. The shoes have got to go, along with anything else in my closet that's too small, too large, too old, too itchy, too threadbare, or simply, never worn.
There was a time, in the not too distant pass, when I would have suffered for a "memorable" moment. In fact, in my 20s, I waited tables, and danced the night away in heels much higher than these. (What compels us?) However, that time is long gone . . . now it's all about the "fit." The reality is that I prefer comfort over style — in shoes, in dress, and in my home. (Yes, I'm officially old.) While I haven't given in to Birkenstocks, I'm definitely rockin' the penny loafers. Cliff and I have an inside joke (albeit, not a very funny one). Whenever we drive up HWY 50 to Fallen Leaf Lake, as we pass the BIG green "Sushi" billboard near the summit, Cliff points and says, "Should we stop for lunch?" (He thinks he's hilarious. At this point, I just roll my eyes.)
I should preface this by saying that Cliff doesn't eat sushi, so not only is the invitation entirely disingenuous, but given that the restaurant is nowhere near a fresh fish source, he knows the answer is going to be "no." (AKA: "the empty magnanimous gesture.") In 36 years of marriage, Cliff has joined me at a sushi restaurant only a handful of times, and he almost always orders the chicken teriyaki. (If you imagine the palette of an 8-year-old boy, you've pegged Cliff.) I flunked a test last week.
Granted, it was with the oral hygienist, and admittedly, I hadn’t been to a dentist office in nearly three years, so I was WAY overdue for a cleaning. My previous dentist suddenly sold her practice, and somehow, I’d slipped through the cracks between "new management" and COVID. As FEAR and dental work are irrefutably entwined in my delicate psyche, I’d conveniently let this triannual chore go by the wayside, hoping that flossing regularly, thorough brushing, and practicing good oral hygiene would be enough. It wasn’t. |
AuthorJulie Gardner, has been writing The Perspective for 19 years and has published more than 850 humorous but always informative, essays on life and real estate.
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