Pratfalls and the Universe

We are in the thick of a hot, sticky summer, even though school is already back in. In my  mind, summer doesn't really end here until October or some-such, no matter when they say it's "Fall Semester." We did have a breezy few days last week but the mosquitoes aren't giving up. I was sitting in church yesterday, trying to keep my paws off my itchy legs...the result of Friday night's backyard swinging with some of our grandchildren. What a weekend...

Saturday morning I headed out early to show houses, all organized and ready. I thank God for technology (some days) because the fancy tire doohicky on my Ford Explorer began to show me a rapidly-deflating tire on the left front of my car...all while I was doing 75 miles an hour. When I stopped at a nearby gas station, I saw that there was a hole blowing air on the sidewall of the tire. If the car hadn't told me I was getting a flat, I'm pretty sure it would have blown out and I'd have been in a much worse situation. Our firefighter son, Daniel, happened to be ten minutes away. I was in a dress and in a hurry to meet my clients and he headed right to me. Meanwhile, I pulled the spare out of the back of the car and tried to get the jack untangled and ready, grease getting all over my hands. I heard a loud whistle from across the busy parking lot of the gas station emanating from a heavily-bearded man. He gestured at my clothing. To my horror, I realized that my dress was tucked up into my underwear. Every middle-school-girl's worst nightmare. He didn't come over and offer to help me with my flat tire, but I guess he did help me in his own way.

Eventually, our son got there and fixed me up and I headed out again, though limping with that spare. I had a long drive and plenty of time to lower my blood pressure and think about the many embarrassing situations I've found myself in. I am often preoccupied, not careful about my physical surroundings. You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I sometimes forget to eat and forget to pay attention to anything but my thoughts or the conversation I'm in with another person or the job I'm working on. This leads to some mayhem. 

Clothes being tucked up into my underwear is no stranger to me, and back in the 70s, when those silky shirts were a thing, I've been known to suddenly expose my bra to unsuspecting people. 

Then there are the falls. Ballards are a real hazard in my world. I've tripped over several, while vacuuming out my car, loading up groceries, going into the doctor's office and arriving for  parades. Once, I face-planted on asphalt at a baseball game with my daughter because we were hurrying and I didn't see an object in my path. That one made me hurt for months. Then there was one of my daughter-in-love's shower, where I was in the midst of countless strangers. As I began to sit down, I narrowly missed the chair and took out two church ladies (but miraculously didn't lose any of my lemonade in the process. I might have priorities...). The absolute worst was when I was on tour in Italy with our wind ensemble and I nearly fell in between our gondola and the dock, into the inky black water beneath (it was late at night)...but instead knocked over one of my friends in the process. There's a theme here and I imagine I might need to get myself in gear. Time's marching on and takes no prisoners. I don't think of myself as clumsy...I was heavily recruited to play college basketball, am an artist and musician, using all those physical tools, but apparently I might still be a klutz and ding-y at times, despite my protestations. 

What embarrassment does for our character is keep us humble. About the time we think ourselves masters of the universe, a little dog poop or toilet paper invariably makes its way onto our shoes. When Mr. Beard hailed me about my unholy underwear and dimpled, white, unsummered legs showing, I did the best thing I could -- wave and laugh. If you can't chuckle at the absurdity of life, well, you're just missing out. But I might need to pay more attention to those ledges and stairwells, just sayin'...   

Market Pandemonium

Us homemakers have been the "consumers" of all things domestic since the beginning of time. There's no need for any market tests. Just go ahead and ask us. I have long been able to predict the failure or success of any new store that pops up. It's contingent on interest, location, products, product placement, and pricing. Any savvy gal who has been on a budget and raised scads of kids can give you a real quick market analysis. Just ask the Mamas, people. You'd save a lot of money and have boots-on-the-ground information you could actually use. 

I was given a tour of the fanciest day spa I have ever seen in my life. It was beyond beautiful, classy and sleek, comforting and luxurious (look, Pa!), everything I imagine you'd find in New York City. They offered a monthly club deal and reduced rates for those lucky individuals who can afford it. But naw, I need grocery money. And real estate is wonky right now. And, oh yeah, this is a small town, not NYC. I wish them well and I hope they will succeed beyond their wildest expectations. I am pro-Villa Rica! But my spidey sense is going off and I'm afraid they might not make it. Hopefully, they will. But I do have a record...

Then there's the subject of real estate. I've been in this for eighteen years (how can that be true?!) I've seen the roller coaster ride that is the market -- starting with the downturn of 2008 to the riding-high of the COVID years (super low interest rates and subsequent bidding wars). Homes, construction, neighborhoods have always fascinated both me and Ken -- for fun, we have ridden around looking at all that for the last 43 years. Which brings us to the current strangeness... after the escalation of prices and then higher interest rates, it is much harder for first-time home buyers to get into a property, and also hard for other folks to move "up" when even a lateral move would mean a doubled payment, thanks to doubled interest rates. Lenders don't like true fixer-uppers, so cash is king, but then there's lots of folks with cash wanting to low-ball everything so that they can flip properties and make a profit. What I see right now is an old-fashioned standoff. Homes are sitting on the market for weeks and months, with Sellers hoping for last year's prices. Buyers are bidding and trying to wrestle the prices down so that the interest won't kill them. Us agents are in the middle, working harder than ever to come to agreement on both sides. I'm tuckered out with all the wrasslin', but unless it closes nobody wins. 

What nobody tells you is that being a Realtor is kinda like being a lawyer, but without the degree and without the respect. And it's kinda like being a counselor, without the credentials. Then it's kinda like being a Mama, breaking up fights between two kids. And some days, because I deal with a lot of estates, it's like holding back the tide on decades of infighting. Some are holding out for that inheritance day that may not pay out as much as originally hoped. Nobody wants to pay top dollar for Grandmama's treasured antiques, and her house is in poor shape, so nothing pans out like anticipated. Sometimes I list a house for more than I think I should, because the family always thinks that it's easy to come down but not easy to go up (well, that's impossible, actually). But in the end, if it sits there, the internet sees it and so does everyone else, and everybody's mad at me because it took so long to sell. I tried to tell them...

I love my clients, however. I pray for them, develop a relationship with them, ride down beautiful country roads for them. If I keep my eyes on that, then we are okay. I think we will get through this and then I'll take a nap.