Did you feel the chill in the air this week as the fog descended and fall made its presence known? BRRR . . . I pulled out a heavy black overcoat and threw it on prior to heading out my door to the Educate Our State luncheon in San Francisco, where I anticipated the weather would be colder still (it was). That dusty coat has been idly sitting at the back of my closet for months, thanks to our glorious California sunshine and fantastic autumn temperatures. (Hey, it's already snowing in other parts of the country. Give thanks.)
Here's the thing, I'm a gal who's all about the pockets and whenever I put on a jacket, I usually find a nice surprise (or two) tucked away, that has been long forgotten. On Wednesday, it was a handyman's business card (always useful), a fabulous lipstick (ohhh-la-la), and a twenty-dollar bill. Eureka! "Candy-coated popcorn, peanuts and a prize . . . that's what you get in Cracker Jacks". Don't you love these kind of surprises? (Yes, I do.) On the other hand, there are those kind of surprises that are far less welcome. Fortunately, with respect to Real Estate, many of these "glitches," such as poor inspections or ambiguous easements, can be somewhat anticipated AND corrected before they turn into ugly negotiating issues down the road. (Don't wait for the Buyer to conduct inspections once in contract. Do these proactively!) However, some surprises aren't so quickly accommodated or rectified. This week, Brady Thomas, of LaSalle Financial, popped by The GRUBB Company's Tuesday morning office meeting to give us a little POP QUIZ on personal credit scores; the significance of them to you - the borrower - and how they are established and managed over time . . . (Think of these as your own personal, grown-up SAT'S!)
And for those of you just wondering: a "Perfect Credit Score" is 840 points; 760 is considered "excellent;" 720 is "on par;" a score below 700 becomes much more difficult and costly to the borrower; and lastly, a score below 640 doesn't stand a chance of finding legitimate funds anywhere in the banking world. (How's your relationship with with your mother?) So there you have it. Your Credit Score might not be the most exciting topic on which I've ever spoken, but it's likely to have the biggest impact on your ability to borrow throughout your lifetime. Protect your credit score, nurture it, and honor it, the way you would your children. On second thought, protect your credit history MORE; your children will have to find their own way eventually. In fact, maybe it's time for them to establish their own credit and get on with it. Now where'd I put that twenty-dollar bill? I'm going to need it to pay for parking in SF . . . (For more information on credit clarification, click here!)
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Thankfully the BIG BASH is behind me. Can I just say, "I'm bushed!"
Every few years I decide to open my home and my garden to clients and friends, AND clients who have become friends, AND friends who have become clients, AND potentially new clients, AND . . . (well, you get the picture). It's both an opportunity to personally thank my network for all their unwavering support, and a reminder that I still exist! This year, I specifically targeted families with young children as I had decided to rent a GIANT move screen for a private showing of Pixar's, The Incredibles at my first ever - Camp Gardner Starlight Cinema. Unfortunately, I had picked a weekend jammed packed with other conflicting events here in town, including a tri-school fundraising party, so the "no's" were coming fast and furious with barely a "yes" among the crowd. "Nobody likes me," I complained to my twin sister over the phone, "I don't think anyone's coming to my party and I'm way too old to feel like I'm not one of the 'popular kids' in school . . ." (Really? Someone call this girl a whaaambulance.) Jill politely listened to my high-octane neurosis for a few moments and then compassionately (but firmly) said: "Drop the rock, get out of your way, trust the process, and have faith in the outcome . . . it will be fine; it always is." (Jill's ALL about tough love. Maybe she should consider a career in Real Estate?) Mind you, this isn't just good advice from one sister to another, it's good advice for life - and as it so happens, it's really good advice for Real Estate - in particular. In what is, truly a unique marketplace; one where sustained disappointments are often part of the drama (believe me, multiple bidding wars aren't the norm in Dallas, Texas) TRUSTING in the process and believing that everything will work out in the end, can be very difficult to master. Or as another friend so eloquently put it, "If it's for you, it won't get by you." (Okay, I LOVE that kind of faith and certainty.) Whether you are "Zen" enough to truly embrace such a philosophy is another matter altogether (admittedly, I'm often NOT), but I have learned that when I let go of expectations, it takes a tremendous amount of anxiety OUT of the equation and opens up a whole new world of possibilities. (What a relief.) AND although the market has definitely favored Sellers as of late, it doesn't necessarily follow that Sellers are immune to feelings of anxiety as a result. In fact, I might argue that Sellers actually often exhibit MORE anxiety than do Buyers, especially if they lost a great deal of equity in their homes over the past several years and are now counting on this much-improved marketplace to make them whole once again. (Depending on their level of debt, this may or may not be possible.) The truth is, that while Buyers tend to feel gratitude for their agent's guidance - no matter the outcome - Sellers can, and often do, feel far more conflicted as they struggle to let go of "the dream", even when the result has positively outperformed their expectations. (Drop the rock.) "Trust the process - everything will be fine; it always is." As it turns out, my anxiety-producing shin-dig ended up being far better attended than the RSVP's would have lead me to believe, and WAY more fun than I had possibly imagined (Whew, I'm still recovering). It was a joy to host friends, neighbors, and colleagues in my home for a change and to share what turned out to be a truly magical evening under the stars. In a word, it was simply "Incredible." Thank you to those of you who came and to my faithful sister Jill, not only for her emotional guidance, but for all the physical help by way of cooking, cleaning, serving . . . (I owe you MORE than one.) Maybe I'll make this an annual event (that's just crazy talk) but whatever the function, whatever the challenge, I will ABSOLUTELY try to have more faith in the outcome. Isn't it just easier that way? How can I help you? It's only taken me 22 years to get Thanksgiving right, but I think at long last, I finally did it . . . not the turkey and fixin's part, mind you (although that too, took several years) but the concept of "Thanksgiving" as a whole. You know the part where one is truly grateful for all they have, all they have been given, and all they have to share? (Yeah, that part.)
Instead, I have wasted far too much time anguishing over what I felt was required of me, resenting the burden of a too-LARGE gathering, and losing sleep over the unrealistic expectations I placed upon myself to achieve "perfection" at the table. Between moving furniture, setting tables, polishing the silver, and ironing linens, I always managed to work myself into quite a frenzy. No wonder I really dreaded the Thanksgiving holiday altogether. It was a ton of work and ultimately a BIG let down, primarily of my own foolish making. (Help!) If that isn't a recipe for disaster, I don't know what is. This year I took an entirely different approach . . . "Let go with both hands," a good friend reminded me as the holiday approached (a tough concept for one who craves "control"). "Who cares if everything is 'perfect?' You're guests are coming for the company and the stuffing anyway." (An "ah ha" moment!) And the miracle for me at least, is that I actually listened to her advice and as a result, had the BEST THANKSGIVING EVER ! (Thanks.) Perhaps it's the tryptophan in the turkey, but it's amazing how well things fall into place once we let go of our expectations, give up on "perfection," and adjust our intentions (this works with our children as well). Once we let things fall where they may, life has a way of working out for the better - even when it isn't necessarily the outcome we might have planned, designed, or even desired. (Wow!) What's this got to do with Real Estate? you may be asking. In a nut shell (a pecan shell, a chestnut shell . . .) let go of "perfection." It doesn't exist at any stage of the game. If we spend the bulk of our time looking for the flaws, we are bound to find them. That doesn't mean throw caution to the wind, but for those of you who can be more flexible and open to the journey, you'll undoubtedly have a much better result in the end (certainly, you will have a more pleasant one). OR as my friend Dan wisely says, "Cease fighting everything and everyone. It's all going to work out one way or another." (Dan lives on a much higher plane.) For the rest of us mere mortals, sometimes this kinder, gentler, philosophy requires Herculean efforts, especially when we enjoy a rip-roaring debate, followed by a good fight so very much (who doesn't?). "It's not the money, it's the 'principle,'" my best-intentioned (and smartest) clients have been known to say. To which I can only reply the old adage, "Do you want to be 'right' or do you want to be 'happy?'" With "happiness" in mind, for those parties interested in resolution, rather than conflict, some give and take must usually take place in order for the goal to be achieved (aka: "compromise"). When we let our egos drive the event, that's very likely, "a recipe for disaster." No matter how "personally invested" we are in our homes or in the hunt, when it comes time to buy or sell, we need to leave room for the unexpected to occur (and then we need to let it). Having "faith" at such times can be difficult to come by, especially if we don't have a clear idea of what we are moving towards, or when we are disappointed with the results thus far. I get, it. I do, but sometime, it's the sheer possibilities that provide the most magical moments in our lives. When we make room for new opportunities to occur, life can surprise us in wondrous ways. (Wow!) When I stopped trying to control Thanksgiving (and everyone involved with it) redirected my intentions more selflessly, and focused on the meaning rather than the result, a miracle took place: I was rewarded with untold joy! From the Turkey Trot here in town, all the way through to the pumpkin pie at my house after the evening's feast, the day could not have delivered more enjoyment. Does life really get any better? (No, it doesn't.) Who knows what next year will bring? (It's anybody's guess.) BUT today, I can give "thanks" and be incredibly grateful for all that I have, all that I have been given (except for the ten extra pounds the stuffing and desserts invariably bring) and all that I have to share . . . . And thanks to all of you for making my year so complete. I look forward to continuing our journey together. I hope your Turkey Day was every bit as loving and memorable. Now if I could only carry these feelings through Hanukkah and Christmas. More turkey anyone? (I swear it's the tryptophan!) Happy Holidays! "Hey honey," I enthusiastically said into the phone, "What time does your plane get in?"
"Uh, I don't know, I'll figure it out," Case replied, distractedly; his head still in his classes at school. There is tremendous satisfaction in sending one's kids off into the world, but it's also reassuring to see them returning home for the holidays. Case is in his sophomore year at the University of Arizona and he's pretty much got the rhythm down. As is appropriate, he's grown incredibly independent. Me? I'm still struggling with parenting l-o-n-g distance - I can't seem to help myself. I want assurances that Case has booked the shuttle bus to the airport, has checked in online, and has his ID in his wallet. I suppose it's a mother's prerogative; I reserve the right to "mother" my boys (or was that smother?) In any event, my elder son will be home this evening and that's cause for celebration. Of course, this is the season when the concept of "home" resonates like no other; when celebrations tend to dominate our social calendars and why shouldn't they? Traditions are a wonderful thing. In spite of the challenges the world is facing (or perhaps because of them) Thanksgiving aligns our priorities and sets the stage for the very, "merry" season that follows. Along with the merriment, I find it fitting to pause and acknowledge the many gifts, for which I am truly grateful today - Our younger son, Tristan, is coming off a fantastic football season his Freshman year at Piedmont High; my husband, Cliff, continues to work at what he loves, still makes me laugh, and remains dedicated to us all; and Case has adjusted beautifully to college life, while diligently navigating his studies (or so he tells me). As for me, I've enjoyed my most successful year to date with a busy 2012 spring season on tap. I was reminded just how lucky I am at a good friend's chili cook off last weekend (just a small gathering of more than 125 emphatic Cal and Stanford football fans! ) and was pleased to know so many people in the room; grateful to have carved a place in our picturesque community and happy to call Piedmont "home." It couldn't have been a nicer evening - in spite of the rain (now that's a great party). Moreover, the chili was unbelievably tasty. BUT it was catching up with new and old friends alike, and the lively conversations that ensued, that truly made the evening resonate - even days later. (I'm all aglow!) It's turkey time again, and it would be remiss of me to not to give THANKS for all that I have and all that I've been given. It's been a truly worthwhile year, largely due to all of you, to your support, and because of your referrals, your friendship and your belief in me. (Did I say "thank you?") Thank you. I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving with family and friends and I wish you all a joyous season. Gobble, gobble. Happy Holidays! I'll be sending out the Perspective every other week, as I do this time of year. There's are fewer introductions to speak of and we all tend to get very busy. It will ramp back up come February, when the Spring Market begins to bloom. I slowed to a stop at the corner as the young boy wobbled up the small hill on his shiny new bicycle. Helmet and elbow pads in place, the little boy huffed and puffed, a big smile on his face while his dad drove slowly alongside him in the family Volvo, making sure other drivers on the road gave his son the right-of-way. (You gotta give this kid credit - it's not easy learning to ride a bike in the hills of Piedmont).
Waiting for him to pass, I flashed-backed to my own protective mother teaching me to ride a bike many years ago on a warm summer evening in Sacramento. She ran beside me, her steady hand on the seat and handlebars of the Schwinn until she felt I was secure enough to let go. A gentle push and I was off - until I tried to make a sharp turn and . . . CRASH! A few tears, a skinned knee, a quick hug and some assurance from my mom and I was up and pedaling once again, pigtails flying in the wind. When my turn as the parent came, I taught my kids exactly the same way, trying to navigate the delicate balance between holding on and letting go. I've been thinking a lot about that balance of late. My older son, Case, left for his sophomore year of college at the University of Arizona six weeks ago and since then, I've spoken to him only twice - and both times I initiated the contact (no surprise there). "How's it going? I cheerfully asked. "Fine," Case answered. "How's the new house and the roommate situation?" I pressed. "Good," he replied. "How are your classes?" (C'mon Case, throw me a bone.) "They're okay. I gotta go now mom." CLICK! (Other knowing parents tell me I'll have better luck if I "text" him. I'm questioning just how much I'm paying for college!) I think back to when I moved down to Los Angeles at the tender age of nineteen with little more than my dreams, a futon, and a dance bag crammed into my used Toyota Celica. Rarely did I ever phone home. (Sorry about that mom and dad.) I'd left college to pursue a dance career - foolishly and fearlessly perhaps - but my parents hadn't tried to stop me. I was the fifth in a long line of children and they'd already mastered the art of letting go. After running alongside buyers and sellers - often times for months - there comes a moment in every transaction when we have to simply surrender to the process and "let go." It's a point at which the outcome is no longer ours to steer. That's when suddenly the idea of selling and leaving a home you've loved and cherished for years (or decades!), OR buying one that's in need of major work, OR changing towns, OR changing jobs, OR changing lifestyles - can literally be overwhelming. At these moments, there's often a natural push back, when strong emotions begin to surface and second guessing comes into play. If we don't carefully reign in our objections or expectations with respect to the buying and selling process, this tipping point in negotiations can literally "crash" the deal. The truth is that even the most reasonable of buyers or sellers are likely going to have a moment of doubt as the finish line approaches and it's important (necessary even) to acknowledge and honor that process. A good night's rest, some thoughtful introspection, a great deal of careful consideration, and a bit of understanding about the stakes involved, and buyers and sellers are generally back up and pedaling once again. With a steady hand, a gentle push and some keen guidance, the ride gets easier with practice! I'm officially two-hundred! Wow, that's kind of amazing when I stop to think about it. With fifty-two weeks in a year (except for a few vacation breaks each summer ) I suppose that means I have been penning "The Piedmont Perspective" for a little over four years now. (Don't I look good for my age? AND more to the point, just why haven't I been discovered by Hollywood yet?)
Along the way, I hope I've made more friends than I've lost. Perhaps the greatest compliment is when I meet readers for the first time who declare, "You don't know me, but I know all about you!" (That's a gift.) It's true, I've poked, prodded, and pulled my family and friends into the column on more than a few occasions (often without their permission) and have used this platform to work out a few issues of my own (a revelation I suspect, doesn't surprise any of you). "The Perspective" hasn't only been a sounding board for all manner of Real Estate topics, it's also served as my therapy and master class as well (albeit a whole lot cheaper). Gratefully, I am surrounded by friends and family who support and nurture me, but more importantly, have the ability to laugh at themselves in turn. If you've found yourself in a column or two, consider it the ultimate compliment (you've inspired me!) OR as my husband Cliff is quick to point out, "If you're speaking with Julie, you've effectively waived your right to privacy." That's not entirely true (I hold your confidences sacred) but it is true that I do tend to see a real estate analogy in almost every opportunity (and admittedly, I borrow liberally). Still, there's an important distinction between what should and what shouldn't be shared with the public, and I hope I've done my best to respectfully honor this fragile line. Rarely, and regretfully, there were a few observations that may have caused offense. When I did so, you quickly and emphatically let me know. Thank you for your astute observations and willingness to be equally vulnerable in the moment. You've provided me invaluable opportunities to grow - for which I am ever grateful. My goal first and foremost, has always been to make The Perspective interesting and compelling (why else bother?) and to that end, I've not only shared my truth, but a bit of my personal journey along the way. For those of you who wrote to say, "I get a lot of industry Blogs, but yours is the only one I read," know that you made my day - I can truly think of no greater compliment. While honing this weekly column, I'll admit that on more than one occasion, I have argued with my broker, rankled a few colleagues, and come up against deadlines I struggled to meet, but I also discovered that the more I wrote, the easier the stories came. Experience has provided an endless stream of material and you've shown me that personal anecdotes are more colorful and "graphic" than graphs will ever be. (People are complex - as is Real Estate.) After hearing from hundreds of you over the years, it's rewarding to know that it's the stories you connected to: "I loved the one you wrote about your son catching the ball in the outfield . . . my son loves baseball too . . .". Some of you "got me" right away, while others, took more time to warm up and still others, decisively hit the "unsubscribe" button with little fanfare and NO apology. That's okay, no offense taken - I'm not everybody's "cup of tea," but happily, enough of you read "The Perspective" on a weekly basis to encourage me to continue to voice an opinion that not only found a home but seems to be highly sustainable as well. (Subscribers have grown from 250 to more than 1300 and climbing - I'm honored.) While writing is a solo journey, publishing requires many eyes and ears. Many thanks to my bosses at The GRUBB Co., DJ Grubb and John Karnay, who started out as my harshest critiques, but proved to incredibly patient and astute mentors. To my generous colleagues, Karen Starr and Dana Cohen, who consistently offer fresh eyes each week as my proof readers, and to Tricia Swift who never fails to send me kudos and compliments every Wednesday (the definition of "grace"). You've been enthusiastic cheerleaders from the very start and I will be forever indebted to each of you. I owe my heart to my husband, Cliff, my boys, Case and Tristan, and my gratitude to my parents, siblings and friends (too numerous to list) who have willingly allowed me to peel back the onion on our respective lives in order to reveal lessons and humor from our collective pain and laughter. (No experience is ever wasted and luckily the boys rarely read their mother's writing!) They've supported me, indulged me and encouraged me with few exceptions and even fewer complaints (that's love). Finally, thanks to all of you, who have followed my ramblings week in and week out, debated my observations, played the trivia games when asked, responded to my questions, submitted events, suggested ideas, and referred friends and clients my way simply because I had managed to earn your TIME and your TRUST. (I can think of no more precious or valuable commodities.) So I ask you, "With support and love like that, who needs Hollywood?" Still, if you happen to know Darren Starr, please send him my way. I envision "The Piedmont Perspective" as the Real Estate equivalent of "Sex and the City" - except with no sex and no city. (Why let details get in the way ?) Cut to: a hardworking, yet very sincere (and also attractive) Realtor in a tree-line, picturesque hamlet (near a BIG city) who writes a compelling weekly Blog. She's busy typing at her computer . . . Hollywood, here I come. "What tree is that?" I asked my dad. "That's peach, " he replied
How 'bout that one? I said. "Cherry." "And those?" I asked. "Apple," he responded, matter-of-factly. Driving down Highway 5 in my dad's company-issued Impala, plaid thermos tucked cooly beside him, life seemed fairly uncomplicated to me at the time. My father was a good old-fashioned traveling salesman and his territory covered much of central and northern California. He left early Monday mornings and returned on Friday evenings - sometimes with surprise "swaps" he had made with other traveling salesman along the way. You had to be in kindergarten to accompany him "on the road" and this summer, it was my turn. I'd spend the next five days in the sole company of my father while he restocked the empty shelves and took orders for future shipments in small town pharmacies and drug stores throughout the state. He worked for Breck and his "trade" was shampoo, conditioner and hair spray, but his real trade was a familiar greeting, a friendly smile and a confident manner. When I got very lucky, the manager would treat me to a soda at the ice cream counter or offer up a coloring book and crayons to take back to the motel. Once settled, my dad and I would take a reprieve from the oppressive valley heat in the kidney-shaped pool and he'd catch me as I hurtled down the slide and into his arms! (Good times.) Occasionally, I would try to trip up my dad by pointing to the more exotic crops whose rows seemed to literally "run" on long legs as the car sped past. How 'bout those? What are these? "Do you know that one?" I'd mischievously prod. "Broccoli, cauliflower, artichokes. . ." he'd answer in turn and give my knee a friendly squeeze that resulted in peels of laughter. Having grown up in and around the rural areas of Davis at a time when agriculture was bigger business than the University, my dad learned early on the difference between a walnut tree and an almond. And he passed that knowledge on to each of his kids in turn on these highly anticipated road trips. Which did me absolutely NO good at all in Arizona last week. Driving past a field on our way back to the Phoenix airport (having successfully dropped our elder son off at college for his freshman year - whoo hoo!) my husband pointed to an orchard and said, "What kind of trees are those? (And no, they weren't cacti although there's LOTS of cactus in Arizona.) Quickly scanning the field, I could see that the branches were heavily weighed down, but was it a nut or a fruit? "It's too late for peaches or cherries and those aren't apple trees either. Citrus doesn't grow in the Southwest . . . hmmm . . . I'm stumped. I don't know that tree," I finally had to admit. Once in awhile, I run across a "tree" I don't recognize in Real Estate either. Many of us came to this profession well ahead of the sub-prime misstep and mortgage meltdown, thus we were forced to regroup and master new skills as the market shifted. Like my dad, we often responded with a familiar greeting, a friendly smile and a confident manner, while we quickly learned new strategies to cope with, and to adjust to, unwelcome realities in the marketplace. Along the way, we became better and more creative Realtors, as a whole. Still, when prospective buyers call me and sincerely inquire as to whether of not I can help them find a "REO" (that's a "Real Estate Owned" property or a foreclosure as it is more commonly known) I refer them (without hesitation) to another agent in the field who recognizes and understands that "tree" a whole lot better than I do; knowing full well that the client is better served with another professional. The same is true for commercial purchases/leases, investment properties and short sales. Each of these disciplines can be a specialty in and of itself. One seasoned agent I know deals primarily in foreclosures and it isn't uncommon for him to carry as many as 40 listings at a time (40!) In very few cases, do these properties actually end up with the "end user" (the homeowner) as opposed to an investor whose strategy often involves a purchase on the courthouse steps and a fast flip! That's truly the needle in the haystack - and you'll need a specialist to find it. I am also quick to refer the client whose geographical goal doesn't align with my area of expertise and knowledge. Need a house in Piedmont, Rockridge, Montclair, Albany or Berkeley? I'm your girl! Shopping in Alamo, Walnut Creek or San Francisco? Mmm, not so much. At the risk of being a crabapple, please let me pear you with another agents who is more familiar with those specific communities and can better serve your needs. At the risk of cherry picking, I'd hate to unwittingly squash the deal because I'm unfamiliar with the landscape. Orange you glad I care? (Do I hear a collective groan?) The most successful agents at The GRUBB Co. have deliberately carved out well-defined niches where they easily dominate the field. Having smartly rejected the idea that "one can be all things to all people," they have instead, finely honed and tuned their craft to earn the title of "neighborhood specialist!" (Hey, that works for me.) Sometimes, identifying the tree we don't recognize, is every bit as important as identifying the tree we do and I can state with absolute certainty that the outcome makes a difference to the buyer as well, in terms of getting a "plum" deal! (I'm certain there's a produce pun in some of you. Send one back and I'll treat you to a lattee at Mulberry's Market!) Slowly walking up the Martis Summit Trail last week with my husband, kids, and faithful Labrador, Buck, in tow, we breathlessly paused at the top to take in the glorious views of the lake and the verdant valley below while gliders and hawks soared above. Meeting up with a hiker who had easily passed us just a few minutes earlier, we began to chat (as I'm oh so prone to do)!
"So where do you live when you're not enjoying the wonders of Tahoe?" I inquired (a Realtor's prerogative and my natural curiosity taking over). "I live in Sacramento," he replied. "Really? I grew up there," I said. "Where?" he asked. "In Land Park," I responded (The Piedmont of Sacramento). "McClatchy High School?" he countered (this was starting to get interesting . . .). "Yes. Class of '78," I said. "Me too! I graduated in '78!" he responded. "I knew a few people at your school. In fact, Kathy Lalivier married my best friend. Do you remember her?" (Not really, but the name registered in the deep recesses.) And of course, there were the twins - Jill and Julie . . ." "I'M JULIE!" I interrupted. "I'm Craig!" (Click!) Craig and I last saw each other more than 25 years ago and we both had changed quite a bit in the intervening years. Still handsome and fit, Craig's hair and goatee are now more grey than black and only an expensive hairdresser is keeping mine from turning the same. I suspect that I am nothing like the young girl I was back then. We're both older but wiser I'd venture to say and we have both gone on to get married, send kids to college and build fulfilling careers in the interim. "Small world," my husband commented with some amazement on the walk down. "What do you suppose are the chances? How do you know him?" "Ummm, we dated a few times, but I left town shortly thereafter and we lost touch (the memories were starting to gel now.) Craig was such a nice guy, as I recall (still is) and Kathy was cute and flirtatious. She and I were both student representatives together." (The gates were fully unlocked and the memories were flooding in). Obviously, my future lay elsewhere - as did Craig's. I would meet the love of my life a few years later and Craig would go on to marry Lisa, a school teacher in Sacramento. They live in a house that's only about a mile from the home in which he grew up, he explained. Teasing him about staying so close, he explained unapologetically, "I've traveled a lot and people always talk about how great other places are, but I'm convinced it doesn't get much better than this." Standing there at the summit, crystal clear sky above and deep, cool water below, it was hard to disagree; indeed, it doesn't get much better than this. There's something inherently comforting and familiar about running into old friends - even those you haven't seen in many years. It's a sense of coming home, I suppose and an effortless connection. Craig, now a successful architect, designs houses and I (coincidentally) sell them. We're both in the business of "homes" which probably speaks volumes about who we are as individuals and what we value as people. While I'd like to embrace my "inner Nomad," the plain truth is, I'm more Martha Stewart than Robert E. Peary. Falling short in the adventure game, I'm slightly loath to admit that I covet the familiar more than I crave the exotic (which explains why I sell homes in the East Bay, instead of time shares in the Bahamas!) I'm only good for about 10 days out before I start getting restless and homesick. That's okay. Like Craig, I'm unapologetic about the fact that a sense of "home" is central to who I am and what I represent. So what's the moral of this accidental reunion? "There's no place like home?" (Yes, but that line's already been taken). "Home is where the heart is?" (I'm really plagiarizing now. I have no shame.) For Craig, "home" is in Sacramento and for me, it's here in the Bay Area where I've had extended stays on both sides of the bridge, and where both San Francisco and Oakland communities have claimed my heart - each for very different reasons. How about if you aren't lucky enough to own a home in Tahoe (or marry into one) make friends with those who are willing to lend you theirs? (True, but not really a moral now, is it?) Okay, let's try this one on for size - in life, you will often be required to climb uphill to reach the vistas and discover true beauty. (That'll do. I never claimed to be Hemingway; I'm just looking for some nuggets of truth here.) In Real Estate, as in life, the journey is often an uphill climb. Moreover, you are often struggling to get there (wheeze)! Take heart - that's as it should be. It's the climb that leads to the reward. Besides, you never know who you'll bump into . . . and that's when life gets really interesting! Trivia Time: Free lattes at Mulberry's Market to the first five readers who respond to this question: What did Robert Peary discover first and in what year? OR send me a moral that you've gleaned from this little "class reunion." (I'll print the best ones!) Bon jour! I have returned from abroad and at the risk of showing off my francais (parlez vous?) France was tres magnifique! This was my first time in the "city of lights" and Paris didn't disappoint. From the moment my sister and I landed at the Charles de Galle airport, we were off and running for the next seven days - and I suspect, so do the other 26 million people who visit Paris each year. Paris is the most popular tourist destination in the world and no wonder, it's tres jolie!
From Notre Dame, to the Musee d'Orsay, to the Jardins du Luxembourg, every stone edifice, every mansard roof and every marble statue is a stunning visual treat, or as one darling young couple we met on our night time Fat Tire Bike Tour succinctly put it, "In Paris, everything is a thing." Hey, it may not be Les Miserables, but Jill and I knew exactly what Avi meant. Great art surrounds you - everywhere. It's impossible not to appreciate the beauty and the history in all that you see. Renoir, Rodin, Manet, Monet, Pissarro, Degas - they all passed this way and left their indelible mark. Ooh la, la! With so much to experience and to see, we packed in as many churches, stained glass windows, historic monuments and artistic masterpieces as time allowed, ate gelato on demand, and made ourselves regulars at a quaint patisserie in the Marais District, where we rented a sophisticated apart-a-ment for the week. Accumulating dozens of miles and quickly mastering the Metro, we managed to navigate the city in fairly good form and yet, there is still so much we didn't make it to (not that we didn't try). Whew; I'm exhausted! (I could really use a vacation.) Our last day there, we opted to spend the morning at the more intimate Puce de Vanves (to us Americans, that's a fancy way of saying "Flea Market") instead of the bigger, better known Porte de Clignancourt just outside the city borders. It was highly recommended in our well-thumbed Rick Steve's guide book (the bible for novice travelers) and I was anxious to go. While I admire a well-tailored garment and a designer handbag as much as the next gal, a great pile of cast-offs is truly more to my liking. With dreams and expectations of really old collectibles yet to be discovered, we rose early, hit the ATM one last time and set off with a LARGE empty shopping bag (which I had every intention of filling). But with a few exceptions, what we found when we arrived was just a bit anticlimactic. With minature café latte finally in hand (French coffee is served in itty-bitty cups as opposed to Italy, where it is served in cereal bowls!) Jill turned to me and said "Wow, junk is junk the world over." (She gets a wee bit crabby if she doesn't have her morning caffeine.) To her credit, Jill was more game than I'm suggesting and a phenomenal travel guide to boot. Still, there were unusual trinkets of interest and a few real treasures among the booths if you looked closely and gave it some effort; like the original costume drawings for many of Paris' Opera and musical revues that we ran across in the last aisle, or the beautiful set of silver knife stands (yes, there is such a thing - who knew?) I spied halfway through, which provided mild successes. Jill bought two drawings while I hunted for a small framed oil of Parisian life and some fanciful sconces for my upcoming remodel (neither of which I found) but eventually purchased some petite toy soldiers for my youngest son, a Legion of Honor medal for my husband and a compass for my eldest to ensure that he "never loses his way," (which I hope to present to him before he heads off to college this fall, knowing full well that he will prefer the miniature Ipod cubed speakers much more that I picked up at the SF airport before we even boarded the plane. Sigh! You can't blame a mother for trying.) What's my point after this loooong travelogue and what's it got to do with Real Estate? Un, how could I not talk about he amazing architecture in Paris? If you have been, you'll understand its well-deserved reputation as the most beautiful city in the world and if you haven't, take my advice and book a trip "immediamont" (ok, I might have made that word up). Deux, the listing prices for Paris apartments make the East Bay home prices look like a real bargains by comparison. Trois, sometimes in life, you have to negotiate the "junk" before you discover what's truly worthwhile. Quatre, negotiating is an art in any language, but often worth pursuing. (I saved 5 euros on those knife stands!) Et cinq, if you stay open to the possibilities, you are likely to come across treasures you hadn't considered previously or even knew existed . . . Voila! (I took the scenic route but I finally got there.) And I finally traveled to scenic gay Paree as well, which I have literally dreamed of visiting ever since Mr. McAllister's 7th grade French class. He'd met his very Parisian wife while based in Germany and she once made the class garlic bread and escargot. I didn't like the texture of the snails but I sure enjoyed the butter (my family ate margarine which was all our parents could afford at the time). It was my first real exposure to butter and garlic (heavenly) and to the concept of a different culture - and I felt tres chic! A whole world existed outside Sacramento! Better yet, I got to share this dream with my twin sister, Jill which made the trip memorable. Life is tres bon! Sure, it took me another 37 years to finally make it to Paris but it was worth the wait, and the gifts I brought home (I'm not referring to the few sentimental trinkets and pretty caramels I squirreled away) should last a lifetime which is better than good - it's tres fantastic! N'est pas? Oui! Spying a friend on the street in her cozy pajama bottoms and slippers, coffee mug in hand, as she protectively hustled her kids onto the big yellow Piedmont school bus before the winter break, I couldn't help but smile. "Cute polka dot pj's." I hollered, as I rolled my window down and poked fun (and indeed they were - cute!) "Whatever it takes," she cheerfully responded as she lifted her mug in a toast, "You do the best that you can ."
Little did she know how deeply her friendly response would resonate with me - "You do the best that you can." (That says it all - doesn't it?) Attempting one's best is as important to me in life as it is in business. The fact is that whether you are a stay-at-home mom (or a stay-at-home dad) a lawyer, a doctor OR your friendly neighborhood REALTOR for that matter (moi !) doing "the best that one can" is a prerequisite for ANY job - at any level. I speak from experience, having worked from the bottom UP (truly). My father was a Real Estate Broker/Investor in Sacramento and from the time I was young, I learned how to clean, paint, wallpaper, garden and rent out vacant homes on the weekends - along with my four older sisters. While others took on paper routes, my sisters and I received "rental routes" along with our drivers' licenses. Yipee! (and yes, we grumbled). Everyone was expected to pitch in (and did) with the family business and I take pride in having developed a work ethic that serves me well to this day. Even so, I can appreciate just how difficult "doing the best that you can" is to achieve day in and day out. It's one thing to believe in good intentions and quite another to put it into one's daily practice - especially when our time seems so limited and our demands are so great. Still, I believe that "doing one's best" is a very noble endeavor as we progress, evolve and grow (even when our efforts fall well short of perfect ). So how to translate that simple but profound message as I look ahead to 2010? To do so, I started by drawing up a list of my goals for the coming year - both personally and professionally. Happily this list gets shorter and shorter as I grow to recognize that everything I truly need, I already have: healthy kids, good friends, a happy marriage, a stimulating career, engaging clients, a supportive work environment and a caring community all top my list of what I already have. Serving my Buyers and Sellers to the best of my abilities, seeing my older son off to college, turning 50 with flair, finding more time to volunteer, more time for friends, and balancing family, community and work more selflessly are goals I would like to achieve in the coming year. In short, focusing more attention in the service of others is my vision for what lies ahead in 2010. With your continued support, 2009 was my best professional year to date. In an economy where many struggled to hang on and many more moved on to other professions, I am truly grateful for your friendship, you trust, your faith, your referrals and your business and I hope to achieve even greater success in 2010 by supporting your success in return (there's truly enough to go around). That's one narrow definition of "doing the best that I can." (I'd love to hear yours as well). Happy New Year! A toast to you and yours (coffee mug or champagne flute alike) and here's to an outstanding new decade. |
AuthorJulie Gardner, has been writing The Perspective for 18 years and has published more than 750 humorous but always informative, essays on life and real estate. Categories
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