Contemplations of the Week

Well, it’s been an active week in Davis land.

Between searching for houses, researching manufactured homes, finding a Loft I like, (single-wide module) having the loan officer say he would not loan on a single-wide, placing an offer on a piece of property with an old loan pre-approval letter, thinking, of course, that if I got one loan preapproval it would show them I was capable of getting another.

Nope.

It sent the listing broker into a tailspin. Hey, they don’t want someone to buy property--whoops get a loan on it--until those people know what they are going to do with it. However, for us, it was a catch 22. We wanted to know we had the property—and they are flying out of here faster than the ducks migrating—so we can decide what to do with it.

Guess I listen to a different drummer.

I have noticed that if we decide we want something, that decision spreads through the air like pollen tinkling someone else's nose, and they decide they want it too. So, I figure we ought to jump on a decision as soon as we make it. My scenario is I place an offer, secure the property, use a 60-day escrow period to obtain a loan, if something goes awry, and I drop out they have just made $1,000 from our earnest money.

Seemed simple to me.

Nope, not simple.

Guess they were afraid to risk taking something off the market for a flake like me. (It’s been on the market for months already, and the owner didn’t get a chance to decide.)

The Listing Broker wouldn’t present it.

We withdrew our offer.

The Universe has something better for us.

This experience sent me thinking…about how important it is for bureaucracy to cross the t's and dot the i's.

I read a quote recently that went something like this: “If we stop telling stories the culture will die.”

I began thinking about this comment, that metaphor is important, “He was the black sheep of the family.” He was not a sheep. He was not black, but he was different and stood apart from the group, as does a black sheep. It works. It is colorful.

Similies work. Hey “Cool as a cucumber,” tells us a lot.

Images stretch our mind. Jesus often taught in parable. He said he was using a parable. Bible scholars called one story, “The parable of the prodigal son.” It was a story to teach. Did people take it as fact?  Don't know. Probably some. Yes, it is reasonable given the story. But to forgive, wasn't that the bottom line?

Something God didn't get with the Adam and Eve story. And so we have had an excuse to put down women for millennia. Good old inquisitive Eve had guts. She had the courage to want to be as wise as God. 

The African's say they don't know what God is, but His highest attribute is Imagination.

I have noticed that people have trouble with analogies and allegories. Remember Plato and his, "The Allegory of the Cave?” In Plato's story, the shadows of statues are reflected on a wall from the fire behind them. The shadows, according to Plato, represent what we see of life. We see only shadows, not the real thing.

Lose stories and we lose something as old as time and as important as breathing.

People read non-fiction more than fiction. People like reality shows.

Jump into the cold water. Read some fiction. Let someone like Ray Bradbury fill you head with fancy. It’s like running away to the circus.

I guess my experience with the Real Estate Agent—not my daughter, but another, sent me into this mode.  She was a teacher sent to say, “Don’t lose vision no matter the results or what people say.”

Imagine

It's wonderful to be here
It's certainly a thrill
You're such a lovely audience
We'd like to take you home with us
We'd love to take you home

--John Lennon and Paul McCartney

From Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band

At 8 o’clock on February 9th, 1964, 73 million people gathered in front their TV sets to watch The Ed Sullivan Show.

I was one.

That was the night the Beatles appeared on television in the U.S.

Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

-- John Lennon

I watched the movie presently in the theater,  Eight Days a Week, a documentary by Robert Redford last week and watched and listened to the Beatles again. The mania that ran rampant was incredible, and then because of an off-handed remark by John Lennon, much of the world turned against them.  His remark was not meant to be insulting, nor was it in any way against religion. He was only stating facts. They were more popular than Jesus.

Jesus probably laughed. The people didn’t.

From Imagine to Help where John Lennon poured out his soul with his discouragement:

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round
Help me, get my feet back on the ground
Won't you please, please help me.

—John Lennon

When I heard them sing Help, however, the sound was so upbeat, that it didn’t seem like a cry for help until I looked up the lyrics.

I understand how a person doing their art, loving what they do, wanting to be successful, practicing their hearts out, and then not really understanding the hoopla if they do become successful, especially WILDLY successful as the Beatles were.  Crazed mobs could have crushed them. That’s plain stupid.

They considered not calling themselves The Beatles anymore, and that’s when Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was created.

This was an alter-ego group that would allow the group to experiment musically.

One astounding thing about the Beatles is that they really liked each other, and that releasing any work required the complete agreement of all four.

An effort where the players get along and are happy in their work shows in that work.

I’ll get By with a Little Help From my Friends.

“What would you think if I sang out of tune,

Would you stand up and walk out on me?”

 --John Lennon and Paul McCartney

Wishful Thinking?

I’m sitting off the highway on a gravel road beside a sweet piece of land.

The sun bathes the area that a half hour earlier was washed with rain. There is a humongous oak tree in the center of a cleared, grassy, mowed area of native wetland grass. Behind me, a small river, I didn't know existed, snakes through the farmland. Maybe it’s a drainage ditch, doesn't matter, it's beautiful.  I imagine my house sitting behind that Oak. 

I wonder if I sit here long enough I will imbue my energy into that property and the owner will feel compelled to sell it to me.  No for sale sign. Just wishful thinking.

The road is posted, “No trespassing.” I’m only a car’s length away from the highway.  An hour earlier I drove down the road on the other side of the river, also posted as “No trespassing” but I inched my way along so I could see across the river to this side.  I drove until I could see that a house was situated way back, down the long gravel road ran alongside the river. 

Amazing where Oregonians will plant themselves.

The Oak Tree, that's not mine, but I wish it was.

I know I tend to ignore signs and go where I do not belong. I am very respectful of property, though, and try not to disturb anyone. I suppose I am conditioned from early childhood to go where no child is meant to go. My friends and I rode their horses into areas fenced areas that cut off exquisite destinations children ought to discover.

My hometown of The Dalles Oregon is sitting almost entirely on solid basalt so digging post holes is an arduous task. Farmers would plant a fence post maybe 50 feet apart, and string barbed wire between the planted posts. Between those secure posts, small “floating” posts held the wire strands apart, but the posts dangled above the ground. We kids would find a post that was loose enough to lay on the ground, stand on the wire while someone led the horses over it. Then we would put it back up. Hopefully with none the wiser.

I was lucky to be mentored by a farm girl who let me ride her horse, and who taught me a few things about respecting property, but not fences. I guess it’s like coloring outside the lines.

Earlier in the day on route to another property, this one listed for sale, I drove past a sign that said

“SLOW

CHILDREN

 PETS

 OLD MEN”  with no commas, not telling if the driver ought to go slow, or that the children, pets, and old men were slow. 

I sat in a dry car while rain splattered the windshield and pondered the property. Did I want to live there? 

It was sloping, treed, overgrown with blackberry bushes, shaded, and then the morning sun called me to the valley beyond, and I followed it until I ended up here beside a road dreaming of a house behind a giant oak tree.

I wrote a note for the Oak Tree property’s owner and put it in his mailbox. “I adore your property by the road. Want to sell 1-5 acres—buildable of course?” Name, phone, email."

Wishful thinking?

That night I drove with my husband out to show him the property, and there was a rope across the entrance.

Guess that’s my answer.

P.S. To see my 92-year-old friend June’s exquisite paintings check out www.joyceslandingpage.com. And the story of a painting I loved and lost.

From Creating Your Own Reality to Creating Your Own House

Worse. Not this house.

It was in shambles. A wreak. Holes were punched in the drywall, exposing the studs, bare cement floor in the living room.  The kitchen was a disaster. All flooring needed to be replaced.

A dumpster, yep that’s what that house needs.

And a complete renovation.

I would be embarrassed to let anyone see that house right now.

But, if you are thinking about a fixer-upper, the before pictures ought to look bad, real bad. For then the renovations will look good, real good.

Someone had broken the lock to a door leading to a crawl space under the house. That “crawl space” was ceiling high and we could see that all pillars, beams, and flooring looked great. Overhead access to plumbing and wiring would help in any changes. needed or wanted. The house is situated on slanted ground. The portion sitting on level ground was built on a cement pad, the portion over the hill was built over wood floor joists.

 A few months ago my daughter found that house in foreclosure, and it was coming up for auction. She saw it as a flip house. I saw it as a money pit. Any possibility for profit seemed unlikely.

But, as our house...

The house did not sell at auction, so now it is back in the Bank’s hands.

I spent the last two weeks processing the idea of that house. I didn’t like it. It was dark, dreary and depressing. My husband liked it which didn’t help matters.

But, motivated by the Reality show Texas Fixer-Upper with Chip and Joanna Gains I began to see that sows ears can be made into silk purses.  

However, since the house was foreclosed, it gives the owner or heirs, a right of redemption. That means they can buy it back. And that first 6 months was reset at the auction. It goes until March.

It is unlikely that they would pay the fees associated, and satisfy the loan to boot. Since they let it foreclose and go through an auction,  it would appear they want out. Also, we believe the owner died, and if he has any heirs I can't find them.  However, to begin renovations, one wants a clear title.

There was a key under the house that opened the front door. We went in happy to see what it was all about, measured rooms, and drew a floor plan. We didn’t touch anything and locked it again. Was that illegal?

Whoops.  I didn’t think about that.

But hey, we have a Real Estate agent daughter, although she was not present at the break-in , so she’s home free.

To be continued…

P.S. Is this déjà vu for some readers?

About 16 years ago I was writing about building a log house.  

I am so jealous of homes in Waco Texas where you can buy a house situated on green lawns the size of a football field, complete with gorgeous mature trees for $50,000, put $150,00 into renovations and have a dream home that in Oregon would cost $500,000.

So, what do you want to talk about?

Making Palatable the Unpalatable

I think about my siblings losing their mother at a young age, and how hard that was for them.  I think of Abraham’s teachings that say we create our own reality.

How do we reconcile the two?

You might completely discount the idea of creating our own reality. That’s one choice.

We could say, “Shit happens. Our choice is how we respond to it." That’s another option.

It could be that on the river of life we occasionally run into boulders. Hitting that boulder tells us we need to change direction, or it tells us we have something to learn from the experience. “Don’t let it break you,” it says. “ Love yourself to life.”

It could be that we chose that experience before we were born.

But then, we didn’t know how much it would hurt. We didn’t know how vulnerable we would be. We didn’t know the ramifications of a mother’s death and how the family would change as a result of it. We didn’t have a crystal ball, we only knew some things, but then being born we forgot even the little we did know.  And so we suffer. And now we want to kick anyone in the teeth who says, “You know, you create your own reality.”

This may be far-out for some readers.

 It is a take on how some people think.

It is one of our many options.

For much of our life creating one’s own reality is a foreign concept. And if we do create our own reality, most of the time, it is unconscious creating, for we are often dashed against the rocks.

However, the belief that we create our own reality carries with it the understanding that we are not victims. If we do create our own reality, then, it follows that we can change it.

That rather makes the concept of creating one’s own reality more palatable, don’t you think?

”Everything is Energy

And that’s all there is to it.

Match the frequency of the reality you want,

and you cannot help but get that reality.

It can be no other way.

This is not philosophy.”

This is physics. “

--Albert Einstein 

You've Jumped in Whether You Realize it or Not

The river of life I mean.

 The question is, are we paddling upstream, or going downstream?

It’s hard to tell sometimes, isn’t it?

Oh, I suppose there are those who want the river to be more like a pond, and float their boat, and drift.  That sounds appealing at times. 

So we’re sitting there idling when suddenly the river overflows its banks. It fills our pond and washes us over the edge.

Well, shucks, I wasn’t prepared for that.

Has that ever happened to you?

My most favorite analogy in the whole world is Richard’s Bach’s little river creature from his book #Illusions. The little fellow is clinging fast to the rocks when one day he looks up and has a revelation. “The river knows where it is going,” he says. “If I turn loose of the rocks the river will carry me along.”

But the others, also clinging to the rocks, say to him, ”Don’t be a fool. That river you so cherish will dash you against the rocks, and you’ll be killed.”

Still, the little creature decides to trust the current.

He turns loose, and is at first dashed and slammed against the rocks, but then the current carries him wild and free.

And the ones downstream, seeing him, say,  ”See he flies. It’s a miracle.”

Good place to stop.

If, however, you care to see what our little river is doing read on:

As many of you may know both my daughter and I took Real Estate Licensing classes, passed our exams, were background checked, all our little digits were fingerprinted, fourteen images, we paid MLS dues, Oregon dues, took an “Ethics” class.” then decided we didn’t want to be Real Estate Agents. All beginning agents must sign with a company and as we didn’t find one that suited us, we opted out.

Mainly me.

I likened it to the fellow who wanted a Rolls Royce, got one, drove it around the block and said, “I don’t want a Rolls Royce,” and took it back.

My license is effective until February. Nina’s expired on her last birthday. She took the necessary 30 hours of extra training to reinstate it, then found an agency she liked.

Ta Da!

Their in-house “training” is not the workbook variety but good helpful, pertinent information, one on one.

She is  jazzed. I’m jazzed for her. I believe she threw herself into the right river.

Nina Birchwood, #Hybrid Real Estate Agency, licensed Real Estate Agent, able to sell in the State of Oregon

P.S. My new dot com address for "The Best Damn Writer's blog on the Block" is http://www.bestdamnwritersblog.com