Thanks to the US Dollar, NYC Real Estate is Hot

Isn't New York real estate always hot? Now our dwindling dollar makes it especially appealing to people who don't live in this country.

Many worry that the real estate market in the US will never recover. However, if foreign businesses and private parties are dumping millions of dollars into New York properties, I'm confident that we don't have much to worry about. I'm more concerned with inflation after the hundreds of billions of dollars being pumped into our economy than I am about property values.

I don't get it. We have a very weak dollar, and the Fed tries to help out by making it worth even less? I've never claimed to understand economics because it's the most boring subject on the face of the planet of the complex concepts involved. So maybe someone can explain this to me--in simple terms, like "the Fed thinks that this ridiculous move will save the economy from crumbling," except with more description than that.

Even though the exchange rate is favorable for these NY purchases, firms in other countries wouldn't be buying them if they thought that they'd be completely worthless in a few years. Unless they want a big US tax deduction, that is.

Let me help some of these businesses that are so desperate to own a little piece of Manhattan. Here is beautiful, albeit tiny, condo (or apartment, as you East Coasters call it) for sale. For a cool $1.295 mil, this 822 square footer can be the pride of any foreign firm. Oh, yes, why rent at an exorbitant rate when you can buy for even more?

Come on! I never want to hear about the outrageous property values in Southern California again--ever! This is what you get for the same price on Coronado Island, where the most overpriced properties in San Diego County are located. At least here, you live right next to an ocean that you can enter and enjoy for most of the year.

So maybe some of those foreign companies should come out this way to escape the hustle and bustle of New York and the financial district. Manhattan could be their home, while Southern California could serve as their vacation location.

Unreality TV

My disdain for the media's slanted views has been revealed many times on this blog. It takes much effort to read or listen to a news article and then be forced to decipher where the truth lies. I need to pay attention to what the political views of the station or site owners are, the personal opinions of the journalist, what sources are used, etc, before I'm able to interpret the information presented to me. Usually, it's not balanced enough for me to form my own opinion. Does anyone else relate to this experience?

Anyway, when I did have television, I would watch everything reality. Don't be grossed out because, five years ago, reality TV was still in its infant stage. It took off right shortly after 9/11 and we stopped watching in the spring of 2003. It was such a unique and enthralling concept to me, so I started with "Survivor" and went from there. Now that I read about the various themes of these shows, I'm glad that I'm not tempted to watch because it's apparent that the art of reality TV isn't real at all. Series are sometimes loosely scripted, but, worse, the content is edited by producers to present any slant they wish. The network develops plots where, in real life, none existed. They manipulate situations to have us believe that there's a good guy and an evil antagonist. So it may be entertaining, but it's not real.

I suppose there have been many "reality" shows about real estate, too. I've read about some that involve flipping, redecorating, building, and so on. I haven't seen any, but I did hear that the one about flipping highly misrepresented the money being made and the exact events that took place. It doesn't matter to me because the last place where I'd want to learn about real estate is on a reality show.

Well, it seems that the downturn in the real estate market hasn't slowed the production of these real estate shows. I wonder if the 2:00 am infomercial with the guy sitting in front of a video of the ocean in a Hawaiian shirt is still playing--it would be a little out of sync with the shape of the economy right now.

It seems that television execs feel that flipping houses is still a relevant and timely subject matter for a show:

"Flip That House" will become more reflective of the economy, said Brant Pinvidic, TLC's senior vice president of programming. Not every "flipper" gets rich quick. The show will make sure every time at the end to clearly outline how each investor did, he said.

"If the programming reflects the attitudes in the community and what people are feeling it will do better than if the programs feel outdated," Pinvidic said.

Newsflash: It's outdated already! Someone needs to tell this guy that, except under ideal circumstances, flipping has gone the way of the dinosaur right now--unless you consider a 7-10 year hold/sale a "flip". It'll be interesting to see if this show portrays the real "reality" of the market conditions. Why don't they have a show called "Flip This Stock"? Wouldn't that teach viewers practical lessons on how to invest?

I'm still watching this market. If I had the money to invest, I probably would have bought another rental by now. However, in conjunction with the rest of the economy, I'm trying to figure out where sale prices and rental rates will be in the next six months. I only see sales headed downward and, for me, that's very exciting. I just hope and pray that I won't need to sell anything in the next few years. It's like the difference between watching a rain storm while inside of a house versus while changing a flat tire. Sometimes it's just more comfortable to be an observer rather than a participant.

It seems a stretch for reality TV to try to mirror this chaotic economy, especially when shows are traditionally taped many months in advance. By the time they're ready to air, it may be a whole new ball game. Then maybe the series could be labeled a comedy instead of "reality".

Adventures

"An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered."--G.K. Chesterton

A few weeks ago, friends invited us to vacation with their family in Yosemite National Park. Since I'd rather die a slow and painful death than camp--especially in the freezing cold--we decided that we would go in together on a cabin rental inside the park. My family was excited because we had never been there before.

We drove together in a 15-seater van, which barely fit the 13 of us and all of our necessities and food. Snow clothes are bulky. We left on Thursday for the six hour drive northeast. Four adults and nine children. Nine hours later, we finally had arrived.

It was after midnight and we quickly ran through the four-level cabin that was built on the side of a mountain surrounded by towering sequoia trees. There was plenty of room, but, unfortunately, there were plenty of flying carpenter ants, too.

The next day we all went skiing. Technically, I didn't ski, but I stood around for hours watching the baby eat snow and routing for everyone in our group. That was fun (actually, I use the baby as an excuse not to ski). The weather was nice and, in the middle of the day, those of us who bundled up for snow found that it was quite warm, especially my four year old, whom I had forced to wear a snow suit fit for blizzards in the North Pole.

About 15 minutes before the lifts closed, my snowboarding teenager and skiing husband switched gear. My son flew down the mountain about four times before my husband was able to strap his other foot into the snowboard after jumping off the lift. As the workers started to break down the barriers and line ropes, my husband lay in the snow at the top of the hill unable to get the snowboard to work for him. He'd stand up and fall down. My son skied up and down the mountain a few more times and noticed that my husband hadn't made it once, so he went up to help.

I was so relieved, but, unfortunately, he wasn't much help. I saw the ski patrol zoom up, but they just passed right by him, kicking some snow in his face. Then the lift operator walked over to him as he lay sprawled out on the snow to return a walkie-talkie that my son had lost. My husband asked him if he'd give him a hand, but he was already gone. Finally, after the mountain was deserted and my friends, the kids, and I were shivering cold, my husband flopped himself to the bottom of the slope and we went home. He was sore.

That evening, we decided that the giant flying and crawling ants were too much to take on a vacation, even though it reminded us of home. Our friends, who had made the arrangements, called the management company. The rep said that it's common for the wooden cabins to be infested with carpenter ants. Thanks for letting us know. They offered us another property, so my husband and our friend scoped out a couple and found a suitable replacement. So, on the second night of our vacation, we had to pack 13 people spread onto four levels and move. That was not fun. But the new location proved to be cleaner and not infested.

On the last full day there, our friends, who have been to the park several times before, took us on a hike. That would have been the perfect time to wear our snow clothes, but, since it had been warm the day before, we didn't. On our way to the trail, we stopped here at Bridalveil Fall . . .

. . . and at a lookout where you can see the rock formation of El Capitan (in the left center) and the (tiny) point of Half Dome (in the background on the right center).
Some of the park was closed because of all the snow, but we were able to hike to Vernal Fall. This is a picture of the stream at the start of the trail. The scenery, rock formations, and incredible views of this 3,000,000 acre park is rivaled only by the Grand Canyon. The sheer number and size of the trees can't be compared to anything else that I've ever seen in California.

By Sunday, it was time to pack up, yet again, attend Mass at a church in a nearby town, and head home. We started to experience car problems as we descended the mountain, so we stopped while our friend tried to arrange for a replacement rental, but there were no other 15-seaters available in Fresno. Just as we were about to opt for two mini-vans, our mechanical difficulties seemed to have worked themselves out. We popped into a shop to get it checked out, and were told that it was safe to continue home. Between all the potty, eating, gassing, and coffee stops, we arrived at our house 13 hours after we started. No complaints from anyone (except the baby who screamed for much of the way--I think I lost the hearing in my right ear).

We were sorry to see our adventures end and so thankful to our very patient friends, who planned such a great getaway. It was so peaceful in the park, especially since there is no cell phone or internet service. But it was time to get back to reality.

The kids were so exhausted that some of them slept until 10:00. It's almost 4:30 and they're still sluggishly plodding through their school work. I, on the other hand, have my own tasks to perform. Neither of the rentals had a washer and dryer, so this is the mountain that met me this morning:

Unfortunately, I still had bags of laundry to open, but thought I'd take a break and snap a picture of what I had collected so far.

My husband's birthday is coming up this weekend, so I need to shake off this post-vacation fog and figure out what I'm doing. If anyone has any suggestions, please share.

First, though, we need to pick up 13 more egg-laying chickens. These actually lay eggs, unlike our egg-laying chickens that don't. They're from a friend who's moving, and I've bought her eggs in the past, so I know these little birds can produce.

Anyway, it's back to the daily routine for me. I think next time I'll plan a vacation after my vacation.

Having a Housekeeper Is Overrated

As I ran around the house throwing things under beds and into closets, my options for hiding our junk were limited. You see, I was getting ready for the housekeeper.

No, I wasn't embarrassed that the housekeeper would see a mess in my home. I would put items in their places (or at least out of the way) so that she would be able to do her job. I didn't want to pay someone to "neaten" up my house. I needed someone to clean it. So, I made sure that the beds were made and the toys were put away.

When we actually had money, we hired someone to clean our house every other week. For many years, we had a housekeeper who was extremely competent and loved what she did. When she moved, we found that her positive attitude and pride in her work were rare attributes of other domestic workers who we hired. Try as we might, we were never able to replace her quality of service.

We decided to try out a variety of new housekeepers to see which one did the best job. Since we didn't know any of them well, I was forced to stick around for the six hours that it would take them to complete the work. (That's for a flat fee. Somehow it would take longer if we paid them by the hour). This necessitated the kids and me to hide in other rooms as they moved throughout the house. I dreaded the days that my house was being cleaned. I would be exhausted from neatening it up and stressed from doing my best to keep everyone out of the way.

When our longtime housekeeper would be done, it would look like we lived in a well-kept hotel. I would take for granted how sparkly and new it felt. No dust. No crumbs. No hair on the floor. It stayed that way for about 45 minutes until the kids would mess everything up again. Sometimes I would delude myself into thinking that we could wait a whole month before we had her return in order to save money, but, after 15 days, and an inch of dust, it was obvious that two weeks were my limit.

However, once she moved and I couldn't find a satisfactory replacement, the house didn't look so great after the cleanings. I was left with streaked mirrors, dirt on the floors, dull looking appliances, towels that weren't folded into thirds, and no little crease on the end of our toilet paper roll. So I had to wipe, vacuum, and, well, clean, after the housekeeper left. Not to mention that everyone else we hired was way more expensive than our favorite.

Our rentals were a different story. We used services to perform the move-out cleanings after our tenants left. Considering what it looked like to start with, they did a pretty decent job. Yes, it costs three times as much, but it's worth it.

Maybe I would have been more satisfied if I had kept the house messy before our cleaner arrived, just like in the rentals. After making the beds, picking up a few toys, and placing them where we'd never find them again, I'm sure it would have appeared that they did a great job. Then I would have felt that I got my money's worth.

It's up to us to keep our house clean now. There are times when I miss having someone else take the time to do what needs to be done. But then I remember the hassle of having a housekeeper, and I rationalize that it's better this way.

I'm taking a break for a few days and hope to be back on Monday, at the earliest. I'll fill you in on what I've been up to then.

Why Are Mortgage Rates Jumping?

I sit here staring out my window and appreciating the flowering plum trees in full bloom. It's so green here because of all the rain this season, but the flip side of that is the overabundance of weeds--everywhere. I haven't noticed if any of the foreclosures in town are suffering from too much overgrown grass rather than the pervasive yellow, dying lawns. I'm hoping that someone will buy them soon and transform them back to integral parts of a neighborhood again.

I don't have much time to appreciate the whispers of spring right now. I'm busy writing and editing other projects, so my post is short today. I found this article about why mortgage rates seem to be increasing, even as the Fed keeps lowering them. Hope you find it as interesting as I did.

Throw Aways

Rarely a day goes by that my baby doesn't throw something of value into the trash. It's our fault. We never can resist the urge to teach our toddlers where the "trash" is. It's easy to pick up a piece of wrinkled paper left by one of my older children, hand it to the baby, and say, "Go throw this away for Mommy, please." They gladly run over to the trash and, on tiptoes, watch it fall as they drop it in.

Unfortunately, they don't stop at real trash. Everything goes in the can: silverware, plastic cups, toys. It never ends. We catch most items before the bag goes out to the curb, but our forks and spoons do tend to suffer from attrition at the time our toddlers are about a year and a half. I hate to see something useful turned into trash.

As I watched her try to throw away the top to a sippy cup yesterday, I flashed to the foreclosed homes that I've been reading about. Not only are they constantly highlighted in news articles, but bank owned homes are everywhere we go. Mostly unkempt, empty, with windows like hollow eyes staring back at gawkers like me. Houses that were once the excited dream of buyers--who put every last penny into upgrades and furnishings, hoping that it would be worth the cost one day. Now they're just throw aways. Trash. Something that had value, at least to one family, is nothing more than a shell that now litters nice neighborhoods. How sad.

I love real estate, especially single family homes. I love them for who was once inside. The lives, the characters of the people, the laughter, the struggles, the pitter-patter of young life, the dreams that house contained are what make it so special. When I walk into a home, especially when it's vacant, I can almost hear the sounds that it once held--echoing through it's now empty halls. I like to guess why the previous owners chose the interior colors and decor that they did. Much focus and contemplation must have gone into those decisions. Much design and heartache must have been poured into the planning and construction of the elaborate landscaping.

Houses speak to me. But I ignore what they tell me because I'm able to look at them objectively as investments and nothing more. However, every house has a story. That's why real estate is so appealing to me.

And that's why it's so sad to see a home that's been taken by (or, in some instances, given to) the bank. Throw aways. With all the money lost by the owners and now the lenders, houses have no value. No financial value, that is. Ask children what their home means to them. I doubt they'd describe it as a "good investment" or an "equity barrel." They'd tell you that they like their house because of the tire swing hanging on the tree in the back. Or because they could climb over the fence to visit their best friend next door. Or because, on the window ledge outside their bedroom, there was a nest of robin's eggs. Or because pencil marks on the wall in the hallway mark the progress of their growth since they were twenty-four inches tall. Or because their hand prints are permanently affixed to the cement laid in the side yard.

How is a child supposed to react when that's all gone? Some parents may not tell their children of the impending eviction until the day before, or when they start packing to move. Others may warn them as soon as they miss one payment. Is it easier either way? I know that families move everyday for other reasons. Usually it's for a better job, bigger house, military transfer, to live closer to relatives. Even though it's still hard for a child to leave under those circumstances, overall, it's a happy occasion or one that offers something to look forward to.

Many of those who suffered a foreclosure may buy another house one day. But, in the mean time, families have been robbed of memories that may never be reclaimed or, worse, that may be too sad to ever think about again.

I wax poetic about this issue because, until the day that both of our apartment complexes were sold, we could have been in the same situation. We never missed a house payment, but we knew that, within a month of two, we would. As a matter of fact, my husband and I, as we attempted to save what little equity we had left in the properties, were also planning for the worse. Where would we live? What would we tell the children? Will they miss it here as much as we will? We determined that, as long as we had our faith, health, and each other, it didn't matter where we lived. But it was just a rationalization to the loss that we would feel once we were forced to move. As it is, it didn't happen and we never became a statistic.

Thank God.

VeggieNet

(My eleven-year-old thought of the title of this post when I told him what I wanted to blog about.)

Well, we've finally entered the 21st century. I now have a faster Internet connection! I'm not sure what it's called, but it goes through our cell phone service provider. It's cheaper and faster than satellite. My husband and son attached a little cell phone-looking device, called a "card," to my computer and now it's so much faster than dial-up. I have to use a new browser, though, and I'm trying really hard to get used to it. I had my old one for many years, so this is tripping me up big time.

The speed at which it loads videos is amazing. What would take our dial up four hours to load, takes only seconds with this service. So, if I'm offered a video while reading a news story, I've been tending to click on it. I've resolved that I've missed absolutely nothing for the almost five years that we've gone without a TV hookup.

The other day, I was reading a story about a reunion, of sorts, for the cast of the 70's show "One Day at a Time" on the Today Show. It was one of my favorites back then. (Why is it that I can't remember what I had for breakfast this morning, but I have total recall of the words to the theme songs of every show from the last 30 years?). Oh, look! There's a video! At first, I watched intently to see what the stars from back then look like today, but after about three minutes of the 10 minute clip, I had to exit. What a royal waste of time! I can't sit here all day and watch old people reminisce about fictional characters and how they "impacted" society 30 years ago. I'm raising the future generation of this country. The ones who will make a real impact. This video addiction (which just started) must end! (OK, I won't watch anymore--except for that teenager who sings like a pro on American Idol.)

That was the "Net" part of my title. Now for the "Veggie." We planted our little vegetable garden yesterday afternoon. We have two acres, but our garden is about 4' X 8' or so. We had to make it that size because that's all the good chicken wire we had left, plus the planter is already primed and irrigated next to the house. We just had to pull all the weeds and place the fence around it.

We had been preparing the site for days (because the kids are "helping," it takes twice as long just a teeny bit longer). Yesterday, the boys and I started digging holes for the plants. They were out getting a tool for me when my leg started stinging. I didn't see anything below me, so I stared intently at the ground under my foot. Sure enough, the dirt was moving and I knew that I'd hit an ant hill. So much for my completely "organic" garden. I had to eradicate them before the kids jumped back over the fence. I tried to keep it contained, but starting off the enterprise with pesticides is probably not going to get me my Organic certification. What's the attraction to having ants crawling all over my produce, anyway?

As we continued to dig, I started to break a sweat. It was so cold in the house and so hot in the backyard that I felt as though my yard was just south of the equator and my house was up further north. Anyway, I digress. We planted tomato, broccoli (my kids are addicted to it raw), red onion, and celery plants. I hate celery, but I thought it was parsley when I bought it. One of my sons was perusing all the little plant containers after we brought them home and asked, "Mom, why did you buy celery?" I looked over and said, "Oh, honey, that's not celery, it's parsley." He said, "Well, the sign says 'celery.'" I thought that the store had made a mistake. I tasted what looked like parsley leaves to me, and, sure enough, it wasn't.

Then we put down cucumber, bell pepper, green onion, and snap pea seeds. We kept the strawberries (we're up to five berries a day now) and four other tomato plants in the pots on the table with the bird netting. One side of the planter is exposed to the yard, the other butts up against a wall. Gophers are able to get in through the yard side, so I planted the celery closest to that spot (maybe they'll hate it as much as I do--or eat it first, anyway). I planted my personal favorites--tomatoes--back by the wall, and everything else in between.

Let the race begin . . . who'll enjoy the "veggies" of our labor first? The rodents or us? I bet on the little furry nuisances.