?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Landlord Issues

Posted on July 29, 2005

Earl is a landlord, and most times the job runs smoothly. But when it hits a snag, it hits a big one. Case in point: a tenant in one of Earl’s apartments who has overstayed not only his welcome but also his security deposit. There are laws about these things, so when this particular situation began to rear its ugly head, Earl sought legal counsel. That was a month ago.

Currently, the situation is wending its way through the courts, because tenants have certain rights that must be respected. I’m not sure that landlords do. However, the end is in sight, because if the tenant in question isn’t out of the apartment by August 8, then Earl can arrange for some legal authority to go in and physically remove the tenant’s contents from the apartment. How sad that it comes to this.

Earl and I lead our lives according to our word and expect others to do the same. The tenant he is dealing with said he would be out of the apartment on July 15, but since then things have gone from bad to worse. It’s not appropriate to elaborate here, but suffice to say the tenant’s word is truly suspect. Which is a lesson for landlords everywhere.

And it is this: At the first sign that a tenant is not honoring his word, then that is the time to begin stringent action. Don’t wait, don’t be nice, don’t give in. Earl, kind person that he is, did all of these things. But it will be the last time.

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Children

Posted on July 28, 2005

As I get older, I love my two sons more. I don’t know if other mothers feel this way or it’s idiosyncratic to me, but what I’ve discovered is that I take greater pleasure in their accomplishments and progress than I did when they were little.

Maybe it’s because little children are so needy, so that for every accomplishment there is an obstacle to overcome. Maybe it’s because little children are so much more dependent. Or maybe it’s because I never related to babies the way I related to teenagers and young adults. I like children who can flush their own toilets, cut their own meat, and generally hold their own in a conversation. Children who challenge me.

And both of mine do, although not necessarily intentionally. Kevin, my older, challenges me to be more intellectual by his voracious appetite for reading and debating. Keith, the younger, challenges me to be more contemporary by his allowing me to be a vital part of his growing online business. Now I am the one who is learning from them, not the other way around.

And I love them for it. I love the opportunity to grow and, by doing so, keep connected not only with my children, who are now in their thirties, but also with the world at large.

Thanks, Kevin and Keith.

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Ireland

Posted on July 27, 2005

“What time of the year would you like to visit Ireland,” Earl asked. It wasn’t a question out of the blue, since Ireland is on our list of places to visit together.

“Summer,” I answered. “I’ve done March and it wasn’t particular pleasant weather-wise.” For the record, Earl has done November and didn’t have major complaints.

His question brought back memories of my trip, which was in 1980. My parents, my husband of the time, my children, and I went on what was supposed to be a wonderful family vacation. In many ways, it really was.

As a family we got along relatively well, although I remember a feeling of pins and needles about the prospect. I wanted my children to behave, my husband to be charming, and my parents to be gracious. For the most part, given who we were, we managed.

But Ireland itself seemed problematic to me. We arrived when there was still chill in the air, the grass was not the legendary emerald green, and the skies were more often rainy than sunny. For some reason, this truly disappointed me, for I thought the land of shamrocks and leprechauns was eternally verdant. After all, it is the land of my ancestors.

Which is why I want it to be green, green, green when Earl and I return. I want the sun to gleam off the grass, and I want the old monasteries and castles to glint. I want warm weather where I don’t have to worry about caps and gloves. I want to completely obliterate the photos I have of my family in 1980 wearing wool hats and mittens.

In other word, I want to go home.

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Details

Posted on July 26, 2005

I’ve heard or read that the devil is in the details. I’ve also heard that God resides there too. I guess a project I’m currently involved in will reveal the truth.

That project is a total remodeling of the two full bathrooms in our house. By today’s standards they are old-fashioned; in fact, they’re about the only thing left in the house that we haven’t brought into the twenty-first century.

So we’ve decided to gut down to the studs and start over. We’ve also decided that I will be the organizer of this project, the one who runs around and gets dimensions and prices and delivery dates. The one who gets permits and hires subcontractors and who does what when. Just call me the GC.

Demolition of the current bathrooms starts Monday, October 3; and I hope to make the transition from old to new inside a month. I’m told this is ambitious, but I suspect that the more detailed I am at the front end the easier the back end will go.

So my decorator and I have begun a tour of Home Depot, Lowe’s, local bath and ceramic tile outlets, etc. I’ve put a life-size model of the footprint of our bathrooms on the floor of our garage with different colors of masking tape. I keep my tape measure in the car and a notepad by my side.

And indeed the details are innumerable. There are vanities and sinks and faucets and drains and showerheads and tile and commodes and lighting and flooring to contend with. And each of these specific things has a myriad of options from which to choose. Then there are knobs and pulls and towel racks and toilet paper holders and towels to color coordinate. All this for the smallest room in the house.

As if that isn’t enough, we’ve decided the master bedroom needs a makeover too, so that it doesn’t look shabby along side its new master bath. Which means there are paint colors and moldings and window treatments and bedspreads to consider.

Even though we’re not starting to tear out the old until October, it’s clear that we have to have an idea of what the new looks like if we are to meet our month-long remodeling deadline. So I pursue the details, down to what kind of nails will keep the cove molding in place. I’ll let you know if I meet the devil or God at the end.

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Car Names

Posted on July 24, 2005

When I was the age that a new car turned my head, the Detroit automotive manufacturers were into animal names. There was the Mustang, the Cougar, the Impala, and the Colt. There was the Jaguar too, but that was a car of a different breed altogether.

Then there seemed to be a period where auto manufacturers were taken with the heavens. We had the Saturn, the Taurus, the Mercury, the Lumina, the Windstar and the Stratus. Some of those are still popular too. Next came references to the Old West: the Renegade, the Cherokee, the Laredo, the Silverado, the Ranger, and the Caravan.

But today’s most prominent trend is toward words that indicate bigness. Words like Expedition, Explorer, Maxima, and – my personal target for unbelievability – the Tundra.

Excuse me? The Tundra?

Who can relate their four wheels and steering column to a rolling barren plain usually associated with Siberia or arctic North America?

I understand the marketing perspective on calling vehicles by names that make the driver and passengers feel as if they’re on an adventure of the greatest magnitude. That their choice of transportation is superlative to the nth degree. That’s how cars are sold. So I can only imagine the marketing pros wanted to convey that the Tundra would go anywhere, but it just doesn’t work for me. If I had wanted to make the message clear, I would have called it the Camel. I would also re-tool it to get 40 miles to the gallon.

Given today’s gas prices, that could be a winner of a name.

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Phone Phrustration

Posted on July 23, 2005

I had occasion today to call my credit card company and complain about an item on my recent bill. And I found the experience akin to visiting the dentist and having a tooth removed without novocaine. In other words, painful.

Oh, we got the dispute handled. That wasn’t the difficult part. What was difficult was connecting with a human being with whom to communicate.

I’m an intelligent person. I read a bill pretty well. I can find my minimum payment and the date it’s due. I can also tell from my online banking when my previous check to the same company was cashed. So I never call a credit card or a utility or a department store to get information I can ferret for myself. But a lot of people must do that, because when I called Visa I was immediately presented with a vocal menu that was prefaced with “Please listen to all the prompts, as our menu has recently changed.”

I’ve heard this recorded message before, and it makes me wonder if the real message is, “Please listen and choose the appropriate button to push because we are tired of routing calls to the wrong place.” Then the automated voice told me where to go to learn your balance, your minimum payment, and its due date. I, however, was calling to dispute a charge; and, of course, this was not an option on the menu.

I’ve found over the years that pressing “O” for about ten to fifteen seconds frustrates the automated system and almost guarantees that you get a human fairly quickly. But not before hearing the disclaimer that “This conversation may be recorded for quality or training purposes.”

I was under the impression that conversations could not be recorded unless both parties agreed to it, but I’ve learned that as long as both parties are “aware” of the recording, it appears to be all right. But it’s not all right with me. So once I actually reach a human, I usually say, “I know this is out of your control, but I object to being recorded. And I know that my objection is also being recorded.”

It doesn’t change anything, but it makes me feel better.

In this case, I finally reached a human who was pleasant and knowledgeable, rather than one who was surly and eager to transfer me to another department. That person handled my dispute in markedly less time that it took to reach her in the first place.

This was a pleasant surprise, and it made me wonder why telephone operators have gone the way of dinosaurs. I mean they were often the first contact someone had with a company; and, for the most part, they beat the automated menu hands down.

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Perspective

Posted on July 22, 2005

If you read yesterday’s blog, you know that I went to Arlington Park Racecourse as part of a group of realtors from a local Michigan real estate office. We traveled by luxury charter bus; and I must say it was a wonderful experience. Not only the bus, but also the entire day.

It’s the bus, however, that intrigued me most. First, it was the most luxurious bus I’d ever been on. Oh, I’ve traveled Greyhound and other less prominent carriers, but I’d never been party to chartering a fancy bus before.

The seats were comfortable in more than one position. The windows were large, tinted to deflect the sun’s rays, and equipped with shades to pull down in case one’s side of the bus was toward the offending sun and the tinted windows weren’t strong enough for the job. The chrome restroom beat those on trains and planes, hands down.

But what I noticed most was that passengers sat high, as if they were riding in a large SUV. For someone like me who drives a small Neon, the view from the seat was very different. For instance, as we whizzed by on various expressways, I could look into truck drivers’ compartments at eye level, at smaller cars from an above-advantage, and at the road ahead without obstruction. I found the truck drivers’ compartments the most interesting.

What struck me most was how many couples there were in the driver’s seat. We saw several women behind the steering wheel, keeping pace with traffic, while their husbands (or, if not husbands, then certainly male driver companions) snoozed on the passenger side. At the same time we also saw men driving while their women slept.

I never thought about this before; but, perhaps in this day and age of expanding gasoline prices, the best way to make a living as a trucker is to be part of a team, a team whose other member is your mate.

Another thing I noticed was how courteous truck drivers and bus drivers were with each other. I am not sure the same courtesy is extended between big vehicle drivers and other cars like my Neon. But it was nice to see where courtesy does come into play. Finally, when I waved at the truck drivers from the same height, either male or female, they responded in kind. They do the same thing when I’m in my Neon, but it was comforting to see that they do it across the board. Maybe that’s the sign of a true trucker!

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Off to the Races

Posted on July 21, 2005

Today the real estate office where Earl is an associate holds its first annual (Is that an oxymoron?) Day at the Races. We’ve chartered a bus and are going to Arlington Park Racecourse for the day. There’ll be eating and drinking and betting and laughter and probably a sad loser or two. There’ll be door prizes and snacks and camaraderie. What there won’t be is work.

To be successful in real estate, you have to work night and day. Literally. If you’re a residential Realtor®, you show property to potential homeowners when they’re not at the office; which means nights and weekends. You get to do your paperwork during the regular work day. If you’re a commercial Realtor®, it’s the opposite. You show your listings during the day but catch up on the paperwork at night and on weekends.

It’s difficult to get away for an entire day, but in this age of cellphones it is possible. I’ve no doubt one or more of the office associates will try to do business as we’re rolling toward Chicago, but once we reach Arlington I hope everyone puts their business lives on mute. It isn’t asking that much.

Besides, getting away for a while helps one return to the work at hand refreshed.

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The Supreme Court

Posted on July 20, 2005

I went to Google® to put substance behind some of the comments I’d heard about Supreme Court nominee John Roberts. While I didn’t research his background (That will come.), what I did do was research some interesting facts about the Supreme Court; and, in doing so, I understood better what impact Roberts might have.

The comment was made that, at age fifty, Roberts could expect to serve on the high court for thirty-five years. At first, I found that farfetched; but it isn’t necessarily so. Justice Sandra Day O’Conner was fifty-one when she joined the group; she is now seventy-five. Had her health held, she could have continued indefinitely. Chief Justice Rehnquist, for example, has served thirty-three years so far.

The longest serving justice was William O. Douglas who served over thirty-six years. For the record, John Rutledge (same initials as the current nominee) had the briefest Court tenure. He was appointed Chief Justice and served for four months, at which point the Senate rejected his nomination.

I also learned from Google® that the Chief Justice’s salary was $4,000 in 1789, while associate justices made $3,500. But those were the days when serving one’s country was felt to be an honorable and not necessarily a profitable thing to do. By 1997, however, the Chief Justice’s salary was $171,500, and associate justices received $164,100.

So here are some questions for which I’m still searching my own answers. 1. Do I want someone on the court for a possible thirty-five years? Few elected officials serve that long; and the president himself (or herself, in the future) can only serve ten years at most. Supreme Court justices have the best tenured positions in the country. 2. Do I think $164,100 guaranteed for the rest of one’s life is fair? 3. Why did President Bush choose the person he did, above the standard rhetoric that he was the “best qualified.” 4. What do I personally think of the nominee?

For the answer to that last question in particular, I’ll have to dig deeper.

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John Roberts

Posted on July 19, 2005

It’s out in the open. President George Bush’s nominee for the upcoming vacancy on the Supreme Court is Judge John Roberts. I must admit that I wish he had chosen a female, even though I’ve been told that Bush considered Roberts the most qualified among the candidates he considered. I’ve heard the candidates represented a broad spectrum too.

I assume President Bush had a list of qualifications in mind for those who made the short list; however, I haven’t read or heard anywhere what those qualifications – the litmus tests for his choice – were. Nor have a read what the President means by a “broad spectrum.”

If I sound like a liberal, it’s because I am one. But I’m also a cynic, so I’ve decided NOT to make my decision about Judge Roberts on the basis of either the liberal or conservative press, politicians from each party, or spin doctors.

Already my email box is filling with partisan warnings about this nomination. I’ve read them all and am amazed that in less than a few hours after the public announcement, people are lining up behind the L word and the C word. Only the actual word that comes to mind is ‘abortion.’ In fact, abortion may be the real litmus test of Judge Robert’s nomination and confirmation hearings.

I am saddened that the wrangling has begun.

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