The Muse

Showing posts with label log home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label log home. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 8, 2022

You Don’t Know What You Don’t Know


And neither do I.

 


 

 

“Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. On the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies — “God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”—Kurt Vonnegut.

 

 

What if we go about spreading goodwill? Many people are holding on by their teeth. I got a punch about this week after reading The Cabin at the End of the Train, A Story About Pursuing Dreams, by Michael V. Ivanov.

 

And here’s a study tip for students: 

Stand up and stretch.

Take a walk

Go to the airport.

Get on a plane.

Never return.

 

I was tempted.

 

Yesterday I passed my Real Estate Broker’s licensing test. (Called Real Estate Agents in other states.)

 

I thought I would be exuberant upon passing. However, after the test, I felt wrung out and spent the afternoon in my car cocoon with the heater jacked up to womb temperature and read a novel. 

 

After reading Oregon laws, I would say, if you’re a Vet, move to Oregon. The Oregon Veteran’s Administration actually loans and services their loans, which is a great advantage in acquiring a low-interest loan. (Only four other states do so).

In all other states, the Vet’s Affairs only insures loans. 

 

Taking the Real Estate Course has little to do with actually selling houses. It’s like a doctor must go into residency to actually perform an operation.

 

I have little experience selling as an agent, but I have abundant experience with houses, having flipped one, built one, and bought seven, sold six. 

 

While reading over Contractor Laws, I realized how fortunate I was with the contractors working on our Marcola Log house. The house that Dave built, I called it for every Tom, Dick, and Harry was named Dave. Dave, the finish carpenter; Dave, the roofer; and Dave, the tile guy. All were artists.

 

I remember the day Dave, the roofer, got a call from his daughter. I heard his voice and saw his hands shaking. Oh my. There had been a shooting at his daughter’s school. Criminy. Dave’s daughter was physically safe. I don’t know what emotional damage that does to students. 

 

If you are working with logs, hire a mountain climber. That was Dave, our finish carpenter. He knew about ropes and pullies, and he installed a 12-foot header log over a strip of windows by himself. And he made no mistakes in cutting logs. 

 

 Cut a log, and it’s cut. You can’t Spackle it together like drywall.

 

Dave installed windows and built railings and cabinets. With a saw and tools in the basement, he could whip out anything I asked for. 

 

I served as the General Contractor, but Bill Cherry took me under his wing. Although I didn’t formally hire him, he found subcontractors for me. I think he was an angel, for I don’t know why he did so much work for me. I honor him. 

 

People talk about how stressful it is to build a house, but, for me, except for the slow movement of getting the logs transported and erected, the process was a blast. (I do believe I only attracted artists to work on the job, and I viewed that building process as a teacher once said, “We do everything for the experience.”)

 

During the construction Husband Dear and I lived in a fifth wheel. I found a wonderful man to transport it at the battery exchange shop. I casually mentioned I was looking for someone who could transport a fifth-wheel trailer, and a fellow customer volunteered. 

 

Thus, we were on site, and that saved mortgage payments as we had sold our previous house in Eugene. After completion of the log house, we were fortunate to sell the fifth wheel to someone who planned to take it to the coast.  

 

Building that log house was like being a director of a movie. When you get input from artists, your work turns out better than you had dreamed of in the first place. 

 

I need to carry this attitude into Real Estate and for that matter, into life.

 

Don’t worry, dear blog readers; I won’t keep talking about real estate. I promise.

 

 

Except to say this: The law states that to sign a contract, you must be competent, so if you’ve ever bought a house or signed a contract---you’re competent.

Monday, October 31, 2022

A Sneek Preview of Jo's Newsletter

 

Here is a view of Jo's Newsletter. I don't expect you to read these small images, they are a preview. The content is printed below, so keep scrolling. 
 
The original PDF version is easy to read in email, but not so much here. I invite you to read this, see if this newsletter rings your chimes, and then sign up for a Free, email version of the Newsletters to come. I need your email address to know where to send it. I won't spam you, I promise.
 
Hugs from Jo
 


The other day somebody asked me if I had a Newsletter. 

 

I didn't then.

 

I do now.

 

Should I write one? Why? And would anyone want to read it?

 

I'm not a big whoopie-do person, but I have many irons on the fire. And as I am easing into the home stretch of becoming a Real Estate Agent—perhaps there is something of interest regarding Real Estate I could provide. Only if it's funny, entertaining, or worth the effort to read. Real Estate can be so dry. I want it to be fun. 

 

I love getting a new house. But I hate going through the underwriter's process of getting a loan. They want everything but your firstborn child. Maybe I can make that process easier for people. Like, think how much fun it is to have clean cupboards and to place cherished items in an empty house and make it yours. They say that moving is stressful. I like new houses—well, the actual moving of furniture and stuff is wearing, but like camping in a cold, miserable tent can be taxing; in the morning, though, climbing out of a sleeping bag feels like being born again. And those dew drops on the ground cover, are like pillows full of the Fourth of July.

 

You longtime blog readers, please forgive me for retelling this story, but new readers don't know it, and here I am talking about houses. 

 

When we bought our first house in Riverside, California, I, with my little two-year-old daughter, visited the empty house. In the living room, I looked up through clerestory windows, and to my utter surprise and amazement, I saw a peacock looking down at me. 

 

To double my amazement at seeing a peacock, not long before, I discovered that the peacock was my totem animal. 

 

He came to me during a guided meditation. In my mind's eye, I walked down a forest path until I came to a group of bushes. "It's okay," I said to whoever was hiding in the brambles, "you can come out. It's safe." I expected a cute little furry animal to hop out, or maybe a deer.

 

A peacock in all his glory, strutted out.

 

Later I revisited those bushes and asked the peacock why he stayed hidden in the bushes. "Because," he said, "Here I am, the only peacock."

 

Whoa. That was telling. I, like the peacock, stayed hidden because I was afraid to strut my stuff. 

 

But that's not the end of the story.

 

We bought two different houses in San Diego, so see, I’m acquainted with buying houses, and then, fast forward. We moved to Oregon, and bought another house.

 

After our two daughters had graduated from college, (Don't all parents time events by their children's age?) We were preparing to build a log home on forested property.

 

We didn't hoist logs. Somebody else did it with the help of Sweet Marie, the crane, our log home designer, loaned us. And I drew the house plans—no hallways unless you call a sunroom one. One evening, before construction, my husband and I walked the road in front of the property, and what did we see? 

 

A peacock running with a family of wild turkeys.

 

Ten years later, we moved to Hawaii—no peacock. Then, we moved back to Oregon and bought a small house outside Eugene. Before moving in, I took my little dog, Sweet Pea, and a box of crystal glasses to place in the empty house. And looking out a bedroom window, I saw a peacock sitting on the fence. 

 

Can you imagine? I was yelling. “Sweet Pea, come look. It's a peacock! I can't believe it. A peacock!" She ran around, trying to see what had excited me. But, again, I couldn't believe it, a peacock in the sleepy town of Junction City, Oregon. 

(Four years later, he still wanders the neighborhood.)

 


Regarding the house in Riverside, CA, unbeknown to me at the time, it was up the hill from the City Park where the peacock lived when he wasn't on our roof.)

Maybe I'm a slow learner, and it takes three peacocks for me to get the message. 

Maybe he came to bless the houses.

 

 

Back to our Real Estate Agency. My daughter will be the Principal Broker, and I will work under her. (Hee hee, she is responsible to see that everything is accurate.)

 

We are using a Pink Flamingo as a mascot and calling the Agency Vibrance Real Estate Agency LLC. A vibrant Pink Flamingo is significant for you see so many in people's yards. Don't think plastic, though; think of a beautiful vibrant, exquisite Flamingo symbol of perseverance and strength. 

 

As a power animal, the Flamingo has qualities of cooperation, beauty, brightness, joy, family, relationships, healing, open-heartedness, equality, alliance, clan/tribe ties, and destiny.

 

Let's go for balance. Can you stand on one leg as long as a Flamingo can?

 

While we are using the Flamingo for our Real Estate Agency, I am using a peacock here. My daughter and I have talked about getting a lady peahen for Prince Charming, our neighborhood peacock, for in the evenings, we sometimes hear his plaintive call. 

 

We don’t see much of Prince Charming in the winter, as he molts and loses his tail (Like now.) I think he’s embarrassed and hides, but come spring he will arrive decked out in all his grandeur.

 

 

 

 Thoughts for future newsletters:

 

More on our irons in the fire.

 

  • A few comments on Real Estate.
  • On aging. (Life after what 50, 60, 70?) Ever since I saw a question that popped up in my email on why live to old age. And another, "What do old people do?" I felt like ranting. And I will.
  • I'm here to support a vibrant life.

 

Feel free to respond to me, and if this rings your chimes, please sign up for future issues. It's Free, it's fun, and only by email. And I will ask Prince Charming to give you a tail high-five.

 

I loved that you stopped by, thank you, 

Jo

 

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