The San Diego Home Blog

This is not a political statement, but just a couple of pretty cool pictures of my daughter and some of her friends from this past weekend. She was in Long Beach to help load someone’s luggage onto his private plane. And, I am told, she even got to carry his laptop.

Big deal. I, on the other hand, got to attend a walk-through back in San Diego. Eat your heart out.

photo credit: lancefisher

It’s not the current market and it’s not a specific transaction that has me in this state of mind. It’s a listing appointment Kris and I were on today. Allow me to set the stage. The very nice couple (married for about 50+ years) is in their 80’s. They are from a small town in the midwest and have lived in their current home in San Diego for 31 years. They have never used a real estate agent, but now they have mobility issues such as trouble answering the door when we arrive.

“Come on in!” says Bill and Marge (not their real names) simultaneously after we ring the door bell. I immediately feel that I’m back in that small midwest town of Kirksville, Missouri where I went to college and started my (original) professional career in City Planning a very long time ago. Small towns and people with small town roots have a “feel” about them that’s just plain different and very hard to describe to urban and suburban dwellers.

It’s time to go to the nursing home, they soon tell us, and they want/need to leave their domicile of several generations. Pictures of these generations abound throughout the home. Pictures of them, much younger than the view we are seeing in real time. Pictures of the children (now adults) at various stages of their young lives. There is no dishwasher in the kitchen (”I could get one, but then I would have to move the refigerator,” says Marge) and only a window AC for those few nights of extreme heat in San Diego. There is no computer to be found in their home, either. I see a few healthy tomato plants out the back window and suggest to Bill that the current crop may need to be part of our compensation. The tomato garden generates the proud claim from Bill, who can now walk only with assistance, that he is the “Tomato Man” of his neighborhood. His crops have been so successful that he is known for driving around the community every summer and giving the fruits of his labor to many neighbors. There is no longer a car in Bill’s garage. My stress levels magnify.

This nice elderly couple now finds themselves in a position where they need to put their complete trust in a total stranger for a transaction that is worth what is probably a significant chunk of their life savings, in the neighborhood of several hundred thousand dollars. I am feeling a sense of purpose. They have met with at least one other agent and we will soon find out the results of their evaluation. Regardless of their decision, I sit here stressed to the max tonight, not because I want or need this listing, but because I sincerely don’t want them to put their trust in anyone else.  

The agent they select, of course, might not be me. If you are that agent and you are reading this, please take very good care of this very good couple. This is the transaction we work and train for, and their success means more than any paycheck ever will.

It’s been just another Monday. Yeah, I know it’s Tuesday, but it feels like a Monday. They all do lately.

First, there is the little matter of my entire family being absentee. Once the initial euphoria of flying solo wore off (an initial euphoria involving images of wild, unsupervised parties with a bottomless Bag O’ Take-Out, the People magazine all to myself and, perhaps, dancing bears), reality set in. Being the first and last line of defense will wear on you. I’m pooped.

Steve has been away at college. I know what you’re thinking; it’s not that. He’s smart enough, and even went to (and graduated from) college – in the Pleistocene Era. This trip was with Daughter No. 1 to attend Summer Welcome program for her Mizzou Journalism program. Meanwhile, Daughter No. 2 has been having the time of her life at a UCLA Comedy Improv Camp (for credit — go figure). Put the four X chromosomes together, and you just might have the makings for a real estate agent.

Steve will, no doubt, return professing to have been on the short receiving end of the proverbial stick, but trust me. He had it easy. Sure, he had to attend two days of parent orientation sessions and put his best (fake) foot forward for Daugher No. 1’s roommate’s parents. And Daughter No. 2 will no doubt return with combat stories of homework and having to conquer a coin-operated laundering device unassisted. Oh, the humanity! Then, they will all return home with crazy ideas about a stocked refrigerator and even a premeditated dinner. Good luck with that.

Pop Quiz: How many consecutive days can one sustain oneself on pizza alone? (Answer: Three. Or, maybe four. Today I haven’t eaten yet. The results are still coming in. It is too early to call.)

Our real estate market, or as I affectionately call it, my only visible means of self-support, is random at best right now. It is running along in fits and starts. This week was no different. One day the phone just wouldn’t cease and desist, not even long enough for me to a) eat; b) blog; c) buy groceries; or d) all of the above. Other days, I found myself spending more time in a Vulcan mind-meld stare with Simon the Dumb Dog (who is missing his “people”) than on productive and potentially debt-relief activities. The randomness of the market is making me a bit unfocused.

Sadly, the most notable result of my big, solo adventure has been a propagation of the to-do list species. I currently have to-do lists in every room of my house, in the cup holder of my car, and stuffed up the sleeves and in the pockets of every garment I own. I think this may have something to do with over-reaching in the goal setting arena, or maybe I just need a vacation. Whatever it is, this market is just so unpredictable. Just when I am planning on spending my day in my Big Girl Realtor Clothes, I hear crickets; on a day I am planning on putting my head down and doing boring yet necessary business-management stuff until my eyes glaze over, the phone rings. I have learned to be a quick-change artist.

So, it really is Tuesday. I know this because I have a headache from the little Bluetooth thingy I have been wearing all day in my now hands-free state. Sure, it’s a good thing, but after eleven hours of continuous wear, it hurts, kind of like clip-on earrings. I know it is Tuesday because it was trash day in Scripps Ranch. (Note to Steve: I got it out on time.) I know it is Tuesday because everyone is talking about a 4th of July day off, and I am hoping I can cash in on some of that discretionary time stuff.

But, back to the to-do lists. There are the mandatory A-list items, and then there are important yet not so food-on-the-table focused B-listers. I have dispensed with the A-list today, escrows in progress, listing appointments, showings and offers, but the B-list chores are hovering like playful Poltergeists threatening to slime me with anonymity. The B-list is self-inflicted.

That B-list is really starting to cramp my style. The two B-list biggies for the on-line agent this week are Video and Social Networking. Video is the new Realtor must-do. I know this because everyone tells me it is so. “Video is the next frontier,” they say. “If you don’t have video on your web site or blog by noon, you will be living in the desert out of a refrigerator carton,” they warn. But video takes time, and I still have this day job. Today I will cling to the notion that the sun will rise on my business tomorrow if I haven’t completed my first neighborhood spotlight docudrama before the pizza arrives.

And then there is that social networking can of worms. It is fashionable now (essential, even, if you believe the experts) to have links on your site to your Facebook page, your Twitter feeds, your Flickr masterpieces and your LinkedIn profile, to name a few. I am in a conundrum. Do I add these links today and expose myself as the relatively friendless, linkless, fair-weather networker I am, hoping that this will serve to build by cyber-sphere? Or, do I dash off to beef up my connections and profiles in advance of my coming out party so I show up dressed to impress?

I really hate the B-list. Today was our office meeting, the one I had to miss to get a listing agreement signed. It must be Tuesday.

(Editor’s Note: It is very clearly Wednesday, but the arrival of the pizza was a distraction, and the author failed to hit the “publish” button.)

You can make this about real estate, or you can make it about almost anything else in life.

I’m not a golf fan, and it wasn’t my intent to catch the US Open this week, but mainly because Steve has seen that this is the only channel my television has known for the past 48 hours, I saw the Tiger Woods’ putt that tied the tournament yesterday. In response, challenger Rocko Mediate had this to say:

You can’t root against somebody. It doesn’t make sense.

I wish more of us thought this way.

With that, I am off to watch my oldest daughter graduate from high school. And to think I don’t look a day over 50!

It’s a glorious Monday morning in San Diego and here’s what’s happening:

Quick Hit #1- Now that my Principal Partner and Chief Technology Officer, Kris, has had her brain fried by our new and exciting Tempo 5 MLS software, I should probably be thinking about a new career. Obviously our value to our clients was not foremost in the minds of the San Diego Association of Realtors (SDAR). So I’m thinking about going into the software biz myself. The fact that I am totally unqualified shouldn’t make a difference. I have found the perfect client - SDAR. If they bought the Tempo 5 piece of (insert favorite, colorful expletive), I’m certain they will buy just about anything I have to offer. I’m sure glad SDAR is here to better serve me.

Quick Hit #2 - The National Association of Realtors (NAR) reports this morning the Pending home sales took and unexpected jump in April, up a much greater than expected 8.3% in the West. Based upon the fact that Kris and I, along with our two Buyers Agents, John and Lisa, are currently working with a dozen active/serious buyers, I can’t say I’m surprised. Add to that the fact that we are actually short on inventory in the market areas and price segments within which these buyers have interest, and we may be getting closer to stabilization than many think.

Quick Hit #3- Scripps Ranch closed sales stats for May, 2008 showed mixed results. There were 26 closed escrows (If we can trust Tempo 5). This is down from May, 2007 when we had 31 closed escrows. However, it was also the fifth straight month of increasing sales in 92131. The average “sold” price was also up 6% from the previous month to $296 per foot, but still down approximately 10% from May, 2007.

Quick Hit #4- While our fearless leaders in Washington D.C. contemplate another big and creative (but totally worthless) incentive program for the many homeowners on the path to losing their homes (throw them another $600 check), maybe they should be thinking about real solutions. Instead of focusing on the Supply side, maybe they should attack the problem from the Demand side. How about the “Home Investment Act of 2008?”  Buy a home (Primary owner-occupied residence) over the next 24 months with a minimum 5% down payment and get a supplemental tax write-off of 10% of the purchase price, not to exceed $50,000,  taken pro rata  over the 3 tax years subsequent to the purchase. Driving demand will solve the supply-side problems, including the government sending out billions of $$ that are essentially worthless to solving the housing recession.  

Those are my thoughts this morning. I’ve got to go take Kris to therapy now (I will be forwarding the bill to SDAR). Hope everyone has a great week.

You’re on notice:

компютри

From the frying pan to the fire I go. Once I find my cell phone charger and take a pitchfork to the steaming mounds of paper that have accumulated on my desk in my absence, I will be back in business.

It is always good to be home.

While Steve holds down the business fort in San Diego, my daughter and I are on the final day of our death march in New Orleans. We call it the death march, because if we had simply spent the week walking in a straight line, we would be back in San Diego by now.

I have been accused of writing a real estate blog here (on occasion, anyway), but today I am thinking about real estate in a different way. Having spent  four days in this great city, my first trip, I am beginning to see the plight of New Orleans like that of a grieving widow. The initial tragedy brings much attention, with the attendant throng of supportive visitors bearing food, prayers and well-wishes. As time passes, though, the crowds return home to their own lives and routines, and the widow is left alone to pick up the pieces, with her personal pain all but forgotten by those who attended the initial memorial services.

The tourist destinations are intact; if one had missed the Katrina memo, nothing would seem out of place with the exception (I am told) that Bourbon Street was a lot more crowded two years ago. I have no basis for comparison. What is not okay are the neighborhoods, the places where the people running the hotels and the tour buses and the frozen Daiquiri machines lived, where the musicians playing the jazz clubs returned home each early morning. It has been nearly two years, and with so much to accomplish, normalcy is a very distant point on the horizon.

How long have the residents been displaced? This long:

This is the sign on a gas station which, over two years later, remains closed in St. Bernard Parish. Or in the 9th Ward. I’m really not sure, because the devastation looks about the same from one neighborhood to the next. Their former hospital is now a MASH unit. The sewer systems are still being pumped manually, and the buildings which formerly housed the services, like the homes, remain abandoned testaments to the devastation. The water marks are still visible on the homes, some just one or two feet above the ground, others above the doors on the first and even the second stories. How high the water rose, and sat, we learned really doesn’t matter. The water sat at these levels for three to five weeks, and a mere six-inch prolonged salt water bath in this climate is enough to render an entire structure uninhabitable. It puts our San Diego mold inspections in perspective.

Here is a home near one of the levee breaches, and you can see the refrigerator still on the roof. By the way, the owners didn’t put it there.

In a “Let them eat cake” moment, one man on our tour asked the driver, whose home is tagged for demolition tomorrow, “Why would you want to come back?” Because it is home. Floods wreak havoc on bricks and mortar, but it takes much more than standing brackish water to break the human spirit.

We learned about the oil spills. This same tour guide opened her safe deposit box to find it full of the black gold and everything inside unsalvageable. Today I am embarrassed that I didn’t grasp the full depth of the loss. You really can’t unless you live it.

As my daughter and I sat reflecting on what we had seen last night, on all of the people we had met who remained without homes but were still finding a way to carry on, the magnitude began to sink in. “I bet this put the real estate community out of business,” she said. And a lot of other people, sadly. Many of the hotels have skeleton crews — a combination of fewer tourists and fewer residents to man the front desks. Too many victims of the “x’s” on the front stoops.

The top of the “x” is the date of reentry, and reentry of the homes we saw generally occurred a month or more after Katrina. Katrina hit New Orleans on August 26, 2005, and the date on this home reads September 30th. The left side of the “x” refers to the National Guard group responsible for this particular neighborhood, with the number on the right referring to how many people were found when they finally came through.

Housing bubbles, a mortgage crisis, contingency periods, and even gas prices start to seem trivial after a week in the Big Easy. They aren’t of course, but all things are relative. Eighty-percent of this city was under water, and it was the eighty-percent where the people lived. The one theme repeated this week was the sincere gratitude expressed by the residents and business owners in New Orleans for our simply being here. They reminded us that the return of tourism is critical to the recovery effort.

Drew Carey may have sent us here on our first trip, but we will be back. We found a wonderful, vibrant city with a deep and rich culture. And, I really do like gumbo!