Word Wednesday: Pets

Pet(s)

noun

any domesticated or tamed animal that is kept as a companion and cared for affectionately.

 

Do you have pets?

I do.

These are mine. Henry and Vivian…I love them.

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Did you know that an estimated 78 million dogs and 85.8 million cats are owned in the United States?  Approximately 44% of all households in the US have a dog and 35% have a cat. (Source: American Pet Products Association 2015-2016 APPA)

More cats and dogs live in the United States than any country in the world. I love Henry and Vivian, just as the 3 in 5 Americans who own pets love theirs.  Americans have pet love.

With all that American pet love you wouldn’t think having  pets would ever be an issue…”cuz hey…we love our pets.”

But it is.

Having pets is an issue when you’re selling your home.

Turns out American pet love doesn’t run deep with prospective home buyers.

And while there are all sorts of statistics on pet ownership, there are no hard statistics on pets impact on home values…you’re just going to have to take my word for it. And what I can tell you comes from years of experience and common sense.

A buyer’s perception of the value of a property isn’t going to increase with the evidence of pets. Most buyers are going to consider the presence of pets derogatorily.

Best, kindest, least impactful thing I’ve ever heard a buyer say about pets in the house?

“This house is so clean I’d never guess they had a dog.”

And what does that mean? It means that if they had to guess, they’d guess a house with a dog would be less clean than one without one.

Pets are a hindrance, not a help to the sale of a home. They may decrease not boost the value of your home.

So what’s a seller to do??

In a nutshell…

Make those beloved pets disappear…as well as you literally and figuratively can.

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Some practical suggestions:

Replace any stained or smelly carpet or be prepared for an offer that reflects the buyer’s assumption that they will be replacing the carpet.

Don’t leave pets at home for showings.

Stow away bowls and leashes.

Consider asking a friend or pet loving family member to foster your pets while your home is on the market.

None of this sounds easy does it?? Because it isn’t.

That’s why the most practical suggestion I offer is this…

Accept that pets add an extra layer of pain in the butt when it comes to selling your home and possible bite in the butt when it comes to value…but remember pet love. Remember how much you love your pets, remember how much joy and good juju they bring into your home…prospective home buyers’ pet love doesn’t run deep…but yours still can.

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Pets.

 

 

 

 

Word Wednesday: Turkey

Turkey.

Thanksgiving 2007.

Greg and Lisa, (my brother-in-law and sister) are hosting…as they most often do.

The usual suspects are gathered.

Like every Thanksgiving, there’s an extra someone joining us.

In 2007 that extra someone was Greg’s friend since childhood…Richie.

Thanksgiving 2007 was like nearly every other Thanksgiving…

The long tables stretching from the dining room into the living room…the mustard colored tablecloths neatly pressed, table set and homemade place tags set at each plate.

 

Thanksgiving dinner was delicious as it always is.

 

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And we had our grab bag as we always do…

Thanksgiving 2007 was like every other wonderful Thanksgiving except…

It was when most everyone had gone home and there were just nine of us…sitting around the kitchen table…

Extra someone Richie says…

“Let’s play…who you are, to me.”

Who you are to me?

Maybe we agreed because we thought it was a game…but it wasn’t a game at all.

Who you are to me.

Who you are to me is each person present taking a turn as the “who” and the others gathered tell the who…” who you are…to me.”

There was something about looking across the table and seeing the people I’ve sat across the table from on countless occasions, the people I share nearly every Thanksgiving with and looking at them with the eyes of “who you are to me”…I saw each of them differently, saw their uniqueness, felt the importance of them and my love for them more deeply.

We all did.

It felt a bit strange…and you could almost see and feel the falling away from our collective protective armor…

I love my brother-in-law dearly but I don’t tell him so all the time. And I sure as heck hadn’t given much thought who he was to me…let alone tell him. But on that night I did. We all did…We all told each other…who you are to me…

And it was squirmy and uncomfortable…there were nervous laughs and tearful answers but we gave into it. We all let ourselves be vulnerably naked and showed one another our hearts. There were words of appreciation and love…I don’t remember all of the words spoken but I can remember and feel vividly…the love.

It’s a Thanksgiving I’ll never forget.

Turkey.

There’s an expression…”talking turkey” and I’d heard it before but wasn’t sure what it meant, so I googled it. On the World Wide Words website this is what it had to say about “talking turkey”:

“…it meant to speak agreeably or to say pleasant things, nowadays it usually refers to speaking frankly, discussing hard facts or getting down to serious business.”

World Wide Words says the definition of ‘talking turkey” has changed over the years…gone from speaking agreeably to speaking frankly and getting down to serious business…

I think it’s both.

“Who you are to me” was just one Thanksgiving. It stands out in my memory because it was the Thanksgiving we ate turkey, and later around the kitchen table, vulnerably showed our hearts to one another…and on that one Thanksgiving night…we talked turkey.

Talking turkey should happen more often…

We don’t much get down to the serious business of letting people know who they are to us, how much they mean to us, the importance of their presence in our lives…

Our most important, deep, serious business and yet we spend more time with one another, speak with one another mostly of shallow. Why do we close ourselves off from so much good stuff? Why do we pick the safety of our hearts silence over the love and connection that comes when we let our hearts speak?

We really should try to talk more turkey.

It’s squirmy and uncomfortable to talk turkey…it means the armor comes off…it means being vulnerably naked and showing our hearts…but it is our most important business…it’s the good stuff.

Let’s talk turkey.

Happy Thanksgiving my friends…

Turkey.

 

 

 

 

Amnesia

I’m in a little writing group. We met on Wednesday. And when we meet our group starts with a 10-minute free write, where you just put pen to paper and keep writing til the timer goes off.

Anyway, on Wednesday the prompt is about amnesia. Because it’s free write it’s not great writing, not even good writing…just writing what comes to mind. And writing on Wednesday about amnesia elicits this…

“And what of our identity? What state of amnesia do we exist in? Do we know ourselves beyond names and roles? Do we remember the little girls we were…would they know the women we’ve become? Does amnesia keep us from our true selves?”

So that’s Wednesday and on Thursday it’s still rolling around in my mind. And I remember the book “You Are A Badass”…that book makes the point that there’s no becoming a badass, you just are. By being you.

And then I start thinking about my own struggles with all of the same. 54 years old and I still struggle. Can I do this? Should I try that? Am I good enough? Smart enough? What will others think?

I’ve learned enough and know enough now to know I don’t need anything more…I don’t need another class, I don’t need to read one more thing, do one more thing, ask one more person…I am not inadequate. The only thing I need to do is remember who I am. Remember that I have gifts of greatness, remember that I am a badass. My own kind of badass.

I once knew this. But…amnesia.

Before I knew the rules and roles, before I learned what normal was supposed to be, before I was shushed, before I got the glasses I thought made me ugly…I was just me. And every fundamental gift I have now I already had then. It was in there.

Before I thought I wasn’t good enough…I knew that I was.

And in moments of doubt, I would do well to run towards the girl that knew…I need only dive deeper, remember and find more of her, embrace her…because she’s the badass.

And all of this has been bobbling around in my head…

Maybe much of self-doubt is amnesia. Forgetting what we at some point knew and believed about ourselves. Back when we didn’t even think about shit. Back when we just were…before amnesia.

In moments of self-doubt…moments when we’re not sure of what to do…or how to do it…maybe we just need to snap out of the amnesia…and find her. Remember her. Not doubt her. Empower her. She’s got this.

For a while now I’ve kept this photo in the pocket of my bullet journal…pulled it out yesterday…hadn’t thought of it as such…but she’s my reminder.

Feels uncomfortable to write this…seems a little weird…but truth is, I am. She was too…she didn’t worry about that as much as I do. She was a badass. I am a badass.

You are too…

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Word Wednesday…Comfort

com.fort

noun

  1. a state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint
  2. the easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings grief or distress

verb

  1. ease the grief of; console

 

When I get home at the end of the day, the first thing I do is go to my closet, take off my shoes and put my slippers on.  I take out my hoop earrings and hear the clank of the lid of the ceramic box as I return the earrings where I keep them…the earrings off and those slippers on announces…I’m home.

With the taking out my earrings and the slipping off my shoes I slip off the outside world and the day…the to-dos, those that got done and those that didn’t. I’m home and it feels so good.

My seat on the couch is easy to spot…the cushion’s sagged from my daily weight. But sinking into my spot feels like a restoring embrace. And when I peer out the big picture window or rest my feet on the worn leather hassock…I smile inside.

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The aroma of a Yankee candle and the flickering light of its flame, my old dusty bookcases with my favorite books lining the shelves. My flower pot full of pens that sit on the end table with one random notebook or another. The light pouring across the dining room in the late afternoon…

Henry’s nails tapping on the kitchen floor as he makes his way to the back door…the annoying bang of the screen door announcing each’s arrival home…

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Each sight, smell, and touch of home is my comfort.

And it’s not that my world or life outside the door of my house is one of so much pain or constraint…it’s just that most everything about home feels as good as my slippers at the end of the day. Ease and freedom…the place that consoles…comfort. Home.

When buyers shop houses they shop features…bedrooms, baths, lot sizes and floor plans, casual great rooms or formal living areas, a finished basement, a three-car garage. When they find “the one” they know it.

Sometimes the house has all the things on their feature list, but more often it doesn’t. But still, it’s “the one”…

It’s that something that evokes “I could see myself here.”

Figuring out where the couch will go, finding the bedroom closet where the slippers will be kept, imagining the dog and everyone else in the kitchen…

That’s not the articulation of features…it’s the language of comfort.

It’s a knowing that this place, this house will house and be…comfort. Home

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Word Wednesday…Kitchen

 

kitch-en

noun

  1. a room or area where food is prepared and cooked.

 

My mom painted the kitchen cabinets an antique red. She painted them decades before there was HGTV, decades before Martha Stewart was a household name. I can still see the counters…the blue swirly countertops with a stainless steel edge. And the wallpaper with the red and blue to pick up the colors of both those antique red cabinets and the swirly blue counters. I don’t think the kitchen would have made a Pinterest board, but it was her kitchen.

It was a little kitchen with just enough room for the small round maple table.

And the meals that woman prepared in that little kitchen. Beef roasts, tuna casseroles, out of this world soups, loaves of crusty bread, vegetables and salads. Delicious meals, all of them.

 

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And each night at dinner time she’d set out the placemats and light the candles. And we’d share a meal and our day with one another.

 

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I loved that kitchen. Loved those antique red cabinets and the ahead of her time woman that painted them. The aroma of each night’s deliciousness, the candlelight, and its comforting ambiance, and the good company in that kitchen, the days and the meals shared make for the fondest of memories.

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I see lots of kitchens. I often have to break the news to my seller clients that buyers will perceive their little kitchens as cramped and outdated. Buyers want big open kitchens, islands with stools and appliances in stainless steel. So we work on the “outdates” and with some tweaks and staging we update as realistically as makes sense.

But I see those cramped little-outdated kitchens, their Formica counters, the wallpaper…and I think about the meals that may have been prepared, and wonder the day’s stories told, wonder if they lit candles at dinnertime too. I think about the sights and aromas and good company and memories those kitchens hold.

In real estate, “kitchen” is about updating and appliances, counter space and cabinets. And I know the value of and appreciate the beauty of an updated well-appointed kitchen. But in real life, a kitchen is one you make your own… kitchen is the people and the meals and the day’s stories shared. A kitchen is the memories made.

What’s Your Word For 2017?

Have you seen the “What’s your word for 2017?” posts and articles?

The thought is choosing one or two words for the year can help you focus your energy and goals on a specific theme.

I’m going with it.

After much deliberation and consideration of many fine inspiring words, I’ve chosen mine: 

Carole King

Carole King are my theme words for 2017 and they are my hope and wish for others as well.

You’re going to have to hang with me for a bit, because the only way this is going to make any sense is to tell you a story…

When I was a little girl I knew all the words to every song on Carole King’s album Tapestry…every song, every word…from the album’s biggest hit “I Feel the Earth Move” to the less popular “Tapestry” and “Smackwater Jack”. I loved that album, and would sing  along with Carole’s easy to sing along with alto voice. To nine-year old me Carole King  was all that was hip and earthy and cool. I loved her, I wanted to be Carole King.

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It was 1971,  I got a Panasonic cassette player/recorder with microphone for Christmas. I remember the day I took my tape recorder and blank cassettes up to my bedroom. I put my Tapestry album on the record player, popped a blank cassette in the Panasonic and pressed record. As Carole sang into my ears, I sang my heart out into that microphone. Our recording session didn’t end until we finished every song, sides one and two. And I thought and believed with each belted note…I am Carole. Yes…I was Carole King…until I played it back and learned quite quickly and certainly with just a few flat off-key notes…I wasn’t Carole at all.

Fast forward forty-four years to January 2016. I’m in New York for a real estate conference and my real estate soul sisters and I score tickets to Beautiful The Carole King Musical.

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Beautiful is a  fabulous, move you to tears, dance in your seat, if you ever get a chance to see it you must, show. Really…it’s that good.

What struck me the most was that I had loved Carole King all my life and never knew her story. I didn’t know that she was an incredibly talented and successful songwriter. As Carol Klein she wrote some of the biggest hits of a generation. “The Locomotion”, “One Fine Day”,“Up on the Roof”, “Go Away Little Girl”…yep, all those songs and more were written by Carole King. She didn’t perform back then, she wouldn’t sing, she didn’t believe she had talent enough to be a singer. She was a songwriter…and a good one.

Her personal life hit a big bump. And what came out of that bump was  Carole King. The Carole King of “Tapestry” the Carole King I loved and knew.

In the play it’s a visual and musical transformation…Carol Klein in her skirts and sweater sets and perfectly tight curled hair writing hit after hit…always refusing to sing but watching others take those hits to number one..and then…the last scene…a dimly lit  Carnegie Hall…a spotlight on the piano in the center of the stage…And with a flowing maxi dress on, and her curly hair now left untamed…she sits at the bench and begins to play…and it’s her song she’s playing and it’s her voice singing… “You’ve got to get up every morning with a smile on your face” …and bam, it’s Carole King…and damn, it is beautiful!  Curtain falls. There’s a standing O. My real estate soul sisters and I??  There’s not a dry eye among us.

I saw the play nearly a year ago, and have thought of it and Carole King often…even up until today…and I realize, the reason it’s stuck with me, the reason I think of the play and Carole often is…all these years later…I still want to be Carole King.

No, I’m not setting out to begin a musical career, Carnegie Hall isn’t in my future. I’m not after fame or fortune and it’s not to be the cool, super hip, earthy chick that nine-year old me wanted to be. No, it’s none of those things.

It’s that… I’m Carol Klein the songwriter. I am a good and decent person. I’m good at the things I’m good at, I take pride in my work. I’m okay with who I am.  I’ve no fewer “hits” of success in my life than Carol Klein had in hers… it’s all good. But it’s not Carole King. If I’m honest with myself…really, really honest, I have to admit, I hang on to fear to keep life successfully safe. Carol Klein did too…at least for a while.  Carol Klein was an accomplished songwriter but she was afraid to sing…afraid she didn’t have the talent to do more than she had already successfully done.  And then she hit a big bump in life. And when she found herself in the bump, she didn’t shrink, she didn’t retreat, she threw caution to the wind, let her hair blow back, was true to herself, found her voice, her words, her music, she sang, became Carole King and gave the world Tapestry.

And me? Though it’s a fresh start this first day of a new year, this first day of 2017, it  is for me a bump…I’m sure  I am not all  I might be and I am afraid of just about everything…failure, rejection, embarrassment, racism, Donald Trump, post-truth, global warming…you name it and I’m afraid of it. But in choosing Carole King as my words for 2017, I am wondering with hope and determination  what might be on the other side of this bump and all that I am afraid of. I’d like to find out. I’d like to see what “tapestry” I might have in me.

That’s the story…and that’s why Carole King are my words for 2017…and they are my wish for you in the new year too.

So here’s to making something good of life’s bumps, here’s to throwing caution to the wind, forging ahead in spite of fear, here’s to letting your hair blow back, here’s to finding voices and being true…here’s to finding the Carole in you! It’s gonna be beautiful.

Happy New Year!

 

P.S. I erased mine and Carole’s recording session moments after playing it back on that fateful day in 1971…the Panasonic tape recorder and cassette are long gone…but in the spirit of this post and as my first attempt at demonstrating my commitment to the endeavor of plowing through fear I share this concrete evidence…though I may know all the words, when it comes to singing, I am no Carole King. But in being brave enough to share it, there’s no denying there’s a glimmer of her in me…#iamcarole

 

 

  

 

 

“How Do I Look?” “What Do You Think?” Do You Really Want To Know?

 

My daughter Joanna has that killer combination of complete honesty and willingness to say exactly what she thinks.

Admirable qualities? I think so.

Admirable, but not painless. I’ve been on the receiving end of her brutal truth-telling…

Me…showered, make-up on, hair done, dressed in a very carefully chosen outfit, ready to walk out the door, see Joanna, strike a pose and ask…

“How do I look?”

“What do you think?”

And what does Joanna say??

“You look nice mom, but you’re kinda getting fat, you really need to start walking or going back to Weight Watchers, and don’t scowl I can see all your wrinkles.”

OUCH!

I would have much rather heard…

“You look great Mom, it’s hard to believe you’re 50, you don’t look a day over 30, and damn you look good in those jeans.”

Yeah, that’s what I’d want to hear…but it wouldn’t be the truth.

Truth is, I did look nice, but I’ve also gotten about twenty pounds too chubby, and I don’t scowl but I do sometimes squint, and when I do, you really can see all my wrinkles.

Even though it can be painful, given the choice between hearing what I want to hear and hearing the truth…I’m picking truth.

Establishing where you stand on the “hearing what I want to hear –truth” spectrum is important when you’re looking to sell your house.

When you’re ready to sell and begin the process with selecting an agent, the “listing appointment” or ‘agent interview” eventually ends up being an invitation to answer the same questions I asked Joanna…

“How do I look?”

“What do you think?”

It starts out easy enough…We agents arrive at the appointment eager to meet you. We want to develop rapport, build trust, demonstrate our expertise. We come wanting to learn more about you the seller, we want to know why and when you want to move. We want to hear what you’ve loved most about your house, and what you’ve liked the least. We’re willing to let you show us every nook and cranny, we smile when you show us the pull out shelves in the pantry and we make a note when you tell us that you bumped out the family room an extra eight feet. It’s a lovely visit, all rainbows and unicorns, but eventually the questions need to be answered…

“How do I look?”

“What do you think?”

The listing appointment is often the first meeting between the seller and the agent.   No agent wants to tell someone they’ve just met the “house” version of…”You look nice mom, but you’re kinda getting fat, you really need to start walking or going back to Weight Watchers, and don’t scowl I can see all your wrinkles.” No agent wants to tell a seller that their house is worth less than the seller was thinking it was worth. No agent enjoys giving a seller a list of things to do to get the house ready for the market.  No agent wants to say anything that the seller doesn’t want to hear.

But it’s important that they do!

When you’re interviewing agents it’s easy to be lulled into believing what you want to hear. It’s easy to be lulled by the agent that tells you your house is worth the most. Easy to be lulled by the agent that tells you your house is perfect just as it is and you don’t have to do a thing.  But here’s the thing…hearing everything you want to hear isn’t going to get your house sold for top dollar any more than Joanna telling me “damn you look good in those jeans” is going to make me twenty pounds leaner. And if the agent you’re interviewing isn’t telling you some things you don’t like hearing, you’d be wise to wonder if the agent wasn’t erring on the side of telling you what  they think you want to hear over telling you what you need to know.

The truth is… sellers almost always think their house  is worth more than the market will bear and nearly every house needs to be tweaked if it’s going to get top dollar. The reality is…appropriately priced homes well prepared for a demanding market sell quicker and for more money than those that aren’t.

The best agents I know “err”. But they err on the side of sound advice over rapport. They err on the side of evidence over finger-crossing. They err on the side of market education and preparation over wanting to get your listing.  The best agents will answer the questions  “How do I look?” , “What do you think?” with the same brutal honesty that Joanna would.

Choosing an agent to assist you with the sale of your home is no easy thing. There are so many to choose from. My advice to you…line up some interviews, enjoy the visits and when it comes time to hear the answers to those two important questions…even though it might be painful, be open to hearing what you don’t want to hear!