10. Sauntering into Retirement- 2018

 In the beginning, having time on my hands, especially in winter was different. Yes, not having to rush our morning walk so I could get to the office early was a real luxury but then what? I had always enjoyed baking but everyday meals, not so much.  Frits likes to cook so between us we could put together meals a couple or three times a week and eat leftovers on the other nights. Three years later we still have that arrangement finishing every last scrap with almost nothing going to waste. That feels good.  

Dealing with the chronic headaches was an ongoing, time consuming part of my life and Frits’ too. The year previous we had ventured west in the Coach with the two dogs on board. The Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota had accepted me into their diagnostic program for a full work up. We had expected to be there for a less than a week but it was just over a month later when we returned. Nothing definitive was found other than nerve damage possibly caused by my cochlear implants. Steroid injections into my head stopped the pain in its tracks but only, it tuned out to be, for a few weeks.  Follow up shots never did the trick quite the same way.

The Coach, a 25 foot motorhome we bought in 2014, was perfect for this trip. We could stay in an RV park where a shuttle service linked us to the Clinic and where we could hole up to rest and cook our meals between the many appointments. The dogs, Chief and Lily were good travelers and happy to bed down with us and take walks when there were unscheduled times.

Buying a motorhome had intrigued us for many years possibly beginning with the old bus. We had thought it would make a cool traveling home but that never materialized. We rented an RV several times to try it out, first in Colorado to visit Sarah and loop through Yellowstone and parts of Utah and New Mexico.  A little chilly in October and no dogs allowed but still a lot of fun. Next to accompany Ian on part of his cross-county bike trip, but that’s a whole other chapter, and again in California with our good friends, Lee and David, to attend a wedding.

Our children were spread from coast to coast, Ian in Oregon and then California, Sarah in Colorado and Devon in Vermont. Grandchildren started arriving in 2010 with Sarah and Jason’s, Jack and two years later, Tucker. Flying had lost its appeal especially for getting to Edwards, CO. It took two flights plus a long shuttle bus ride and more than 12 hours.Time to buy the Coach.

Now several years and many cross country trips later we still prefer this mode of transport and have some great stories to tell.

9. Sauntering into Retirement-1976

 After the death of Frits’ stepfather, his mother was anxious to sell the farm and move closer to us. By this time all the animals had gone except her small herd of miniature Sicilian donkeys. Several years earlier Grethe had purchased her first donkey from somewhere in the Midwest. Elsie was delivered riding on the back seat of a Volkswagen Bug.  Standing less than 36 inches at the shoulder this was not as preposterous as you might think. Those long ears however drew some open-mouthed gasps from other travelers on the highway, I’m sure.

The Randolph farm sold quickly to an acquaintance wanting an organic dairy producing facility so by mid summer we knew a larger place had to come sooner rather than later. Our second child was due on a October 2nd so juggling a couple of horses, a herd of donkeys, some chickens, a couple of sheep, a mother, a toddler and a very pregnant wife was plenty for one man. But now we would have to move.

Just up the road the perfect place was waiting. The Bedell Farm hadn’t seen animals in a while and the little red farmhouse, 2 barns and 34 acres were looking for a new owner. The house was mid renovation and would be perfect for Grethe once complete.  The animals would have plenty of room and we could build our second home at a later date. Grethe was willing to commit the money from the sale of her farm to cover part of the purchase price, around $60,000, so the deal was done.

Frits went to work completing the renovation in short order so his mother and donkeys could make the move. Phew, we could take a breath, finish the house and prepare for a new baby. Or so we thought.

Hearing about the purchase of our new property raised interest from a local couple who were house hunting. Well before we were ready to sell, we had an offer. As they say in the real estate market, ‘the first offer if often the best’.  This would appreciate our initial investment of $5,000 to $58,000, albeit with massive amounts of sweat equity. We accepted the offer! Closing would be the middle of September just two weeks before my due date. 

First we had to find a rental, then move and still complete some unfinished projects, namely a full bathroom. The first rental we thought we had secured, a house in town that was for sale, went under contract within days. Then I jumped out of the back of the pickup while holding Devon.  The combined weight of a two year old and an 8 month pregnant belly was too much for my ankle. It crumpled tearing ligaments and requiring a cast. Then 4 weeks before my due date I started having contractions! Rushed to the hospital labor room the contractions were stopped medically but not before I had witnessed a woman brought in by wheelchair about to give birth before even making it to a bed. With no doctor on hand and the nurse not quite understanding the urgency of the situation, this poor woman delivered in a wheelchair with me in a cast on the other side of the curtain. I was able to go home with instructions to do nothing if I wanted this baby to go full term.

With so much at stake you would think we would be panicked. I don’t remember feeling particularly anxious although that seems unlikely now. Both Frits and I had positive attitudes and although we had no money to hire help we had very good and generous friends. Within the next couple of weeks it all came together. The rental we found had three bedrooms, was close to town and had a barn with stalls for our horses. Directing the packing and unpacking from a chair while my friends rushed about with boxes was not the way I like to do things but it had to be. Sarah was born one day early, the night after my mother arrived to help. Since she had been trying to push herself out for several weeks the actual labor and delivery was very quick making it to the hospital with just a half hour to spare.  At least I made it to a bed and didn’t suffer the indignity of a wheelchair birth!

The winter of ‘76/‘77 was perhaps the most difficult for our family. There will be time later to recount these adventures so stayed tuned!

8. Sauntering into Retirement-1971

 Frits and I were married in England in September 1971. At that time couples were not so involved in the wedding plans and we certainly didn’t impose any rules on our guests. The extravagance of some and the need for perfection dictated mostly by the brides has become obscene and ridiculous. I have read of examples where the guests are not welcome unless all body piercing is removed, tattoos covered and even stating a minimum price for their gift. I have never been invited to such an event, I’m happy to say.

Since we lived across the ocean, my mother arranged everything and we just showed up. The day was warm and sunny and the hundred or so guests celebrated with us over a sit-down luncheon with the usual toasts and speeches. My father was not one for extravagance so there was no music or champagne. In his opinion sweet sparkling wine tasted much better than the real stuff. So we were toasted with Asti Spumante. It must have worked.  We are coming.up to our 49th anniversary. Many of today’s couples will not see their 10th or more importantly, grow old together. 

Our honeymoon began at a tiny pub in Windsor with a creaky bed and pub food, and we loved it. The Royals had nothing on us! The next morning we flew to Zurich, Switzerland, rented a car and traveled to Lake Lucerne for a few nights in a small hotel on the banks of the lake. Many years earlier, while traveling with my parents I was so taken by the beauty of the scenery, I decided this was where my husband (still to be determined) and I would be honeymooning. Happily, Frits was on board. 

From there we drove north, first visiting one of Frits’  cousin and family in Hamburg and then to his Morfar (mother’s father) in southern Denmark. Carl Henrik Knudsen by this time was in his eighties and living with his “companion” Blau. Blau showed us to our rooms, note plural, on our honeymoon no less, but grandfather stepped in offering an alternative. A single iron bed in the attic. Morning was announced by Morfar climbing the attic stairs while singing in full voice, a traditional Danish song. I guess he was making sure not to surprise us.

He still drove a car although a Norwegian pony would have been more to his liking. To the village we went, with the two of us in the backseat and our chauffeur rocking and rolling us around the bends at a speed probably not recommended. To be fair, he was driving a British car with right hand drive which might have thrown most of us off.

At the fish market many fish were poked to establish freshness and only the one that flapped the hardest was chosen by our host. Next he was to surprise us with a special treat. Chocolate shops are plentiful in Denmark where the chocolates are displayed in the window. With our noses pressed up against the glass we each pointed to the one that looked the most delectable.  With so many to choose from it was not a quick and easy decision although not one you could fail at! The chocolates were purchased and we mentally prepared for more squealing tires on our return trip.

It was a lovely visit and introduction but all too soon it was time to move on. More Danish family awaited our arrival.

Next stop was Copenhagen.  Most of Frits’ family lived close to the city so gathering them for the bride presentation was easily accomplished.  Frits had not spent much time with the cousins over the years so it was lovely for him to reconnect. Of course they all spoke excellent English so conversation was held in English all for the benefit of this pathetic one-language person. Frits has always spoken good Danish, be it somewhat old fashioned. Improving his language skills was on his to do list so often he could be seen off in a corner deep in a one-to-one with a cousin solving the problems of the world.

The family was so generous and accepting and lots of fun but even though we vowed to be back soon it would be 25 years before I stepped on Danish soil again.  Frits made several trips sometimes with one of the kids. Now in retirement with no commitments we would be planning more travel if not for Covid-19.

7. Sauntering into Retirement - and then there were the dogs

Dogs have always featured heavily in our lives. Growing up I was not allowed to have a dog but that didn’t stop me from ‘adopting’ any agreeable canine I found unattended and dragging it home claiming it was lost. My parents would have to phone the owner, usually identified by the tag on its collar, to come get it. 

So when I met Frits and he came with the beautiful, but intimidating, Beau, mentioned earlier, our future together looked promising. Beau went everywhere with Frits including on our dates.  Anyone approaching Frits’ truck quickly retreated when all 120 pounds of snarling dog threw himself against the closest window with little regard for any passenger in his line of fire. My mother’s shin bore the scar from one of these episodes until her dying day.

On one occasion Beau went visiting a neighbor who generously made the near disastrous decision to drive him home. He hopped willingly into the backseat of her car but would not allow her into the driver’s seat. No way was she going to open that door so with no other resource she called the police. Two officers with guns drawn approached the shaking car and ferocious animal and whipped open the door.  One very meek pup jumped out only too happy to be out of that hot car.

As Beau aged we thought it time to find a puppy to raise along side him.  Back in the day puppies were often free for the taking so it was not long before a Great Dane/Doberman cross joined us.  From that point on two dogs with staggered ages were the norm. We had some wonderful dogs both large and small including a 150 pound Bouvier called Angus, and a silkie terrier we called Daisy.

But one of our most beloved was Chief.  He and his six siblings were left at the humane society at just 5 weeks old on the very same day that I was there in search of a cat.  Not finding just the right kitty and about to leave, these brand new puppies rushed over in their wire cage yelping and whining for attention.  All, that is, but one very round golden pup who waddled from side to side much like some obese folk you see.  He had the sweetest face and softest eyes and I knew I was hooked. I was ready to take him home that minute but until all animals are at least 8 weeks old, vaccinated and neutered they cannot be adopted. First they must be fostered giving the foster parent the pick of the litter.

No more discussion needed. Those seven puppies were delivered the next day with a large wire playpen, food, bowls and toys and other than the slight roll of the eyes, my husband joined in with enthusiasm

Our entry/mud room had a tiled floor and was large enough to accommodate a 5 foot, round pen that we lined with newspaper.  These little bundles of joy happily ate, pooped, played and slept their way through the next four weeks developing very distinct personalities. Frits and I were on constant poop patrol, swiftly changing the sheets before 28 little paws could track said poop all over themselves and their brothers and sisters. They were easily distinguishable from each by their markings and coloring. What was most remarkable was their parentage. It was claimed that their mother was a English Springer Spaniel / Rottweiler cross and their father was a Pekingese! Hard to believe that this could even have happened yet traits of all three dogs could be seen in these puppies. The two golden ones were Chief and his sister Toffee. Clearly Chief had the spaniel’s domed head and love of water, the Rottweiler broad body and the squatty legs and flowing coat of a Pekingese. Others were black and tan like the Rottweiler or black and silky like a spaniel. 

Often during the day two or three puppies came out at a time to run around and socialize with Lucy, our Fox Terrier. It was November so play was confined to the house. Everything went in their mouths so watching both ends to minimize the puddles and furniture chewing kept us on our toes. The whole experience was great fun but it was somewhat of a relief when the time came to return them all for their shots and neutering. A day later we officially adopted Chief and enjoyed him well into his sixteenth year. In this photo he still looks puppyish at 15. 

More dog talk later

6. Sauntering into Retirement - 1974

Our first daughter, Devon, arrived in the Spring of 1974. By now our house was quite well along although far from finished. Still just the tiny bathroom in the new addition but a fabulous kitchen with a Garland restaurant stove and butcher block counters and a lovely dining room with wainscoting. Our bedroom was now in the main house but accessed through an unheated hall with an adjacent 2nd bedroom for the baby. I can’t remember exactly the order of things only that every spare moment and dollar went into that house.

By Christmas of 1975 the living room and 3 bedrooms were complete and the upstairs bathroom was roughed in and useable. We were looking forward to having the in-laws for a celebration of Christmas Eve and an overnight. We had no idea of the disaster that was looming.

Frits’ mother and stepfather owned a 165 acre farm in Randolph, Vermont, some 60 miles to our south. During his teenage years Frits spent his summers haying, milking, and tending other livestock alongside his parents. It was not an easy life with Mogens who had no children of his own and never developed any parenting skills. He and Grethe, both from Denmark had married when Frits was seven, fortunately after he had spent some of his most formative years with just his loving mother.

As Christmas approached Frits’s mother warned that Mogens early dementia was getting difficult to handle. We, I regret to say, had not been paying enough attention. Devon, at 18 months was just beginning to know about presents and as we decorated, trimmed the tree and prepared a traditional Danish meal, the excitement was building, only to be dashed soon after their arrival. Within minutes an argument ensued over the arrangement of our furniture. Mogens was confused about where he was and so nothing was in the ‘right’ place.

From that point on the Christmas Eve we had planned was lost, Devon and I were in tears, Frits was angry and fearful for our safety and poor Grethe had to drive home the next morning with a man she no longer knew.

After a brief period of hospitalization, Mogens died quietly the following Spring. 

After that disastrous beginning,Christmas Eve celebrations have become a wonderful tradition in our household. Sometimes quite small but as our family grows and more friends and their families join us, we have expanded to close to twenty. I wonder what it will be like in the year of COVID-19.

5. Sauntering into Retirement -2018

December 2017 marked the official end of my working for profit life. I was still struggling with chronic pain in my head and neck and it was time to find a solution or at least a way to live with it. Trips to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota and many diagnostic tests here in Vermont and Boston had not turned up any specific cause other than nerve damage. Reducing my stress level, making time for exercise, yoga, massage, a good nutritional diet and rest seemed like the place to start.

A daily morning walk with the dogs on our trails has been a habit begun at least 20 years ago. Summer and winter, rain, snow or sunshine we are out there, sometimes before full light.  Thirty minutes of brisk up and down walking and talking, sharing thoughts and ideas, ranting about our current administration, and enjoying nature and time with each other and our dogs is good for the body and soul. Today I walk twice a day. Even better.

Eating healthy has always been a priority, well except for the copious amount of ice cream Frits and I partake in. Now I would have more time for preparing meals at home and raising vegetables.  I’ve always enjoyed baking and now could make all my own bread, with the help of a bread maker, muffins, scones, pies and crumbles and of course, ice cream. Neither Frits nor I, eat large quantities of anything, well except ice cream, so we are able to maintain our weight easily.

Once the holidays were over and winter had set in we settled into a mostly stay-at-home lifestyle that included time with friends and family but still I had time on my hands. Keeping my hands occupied it seemed, was going to be important. There was a time, back in the 80s, when I developed a small business making lamps with stenciled shades and applying stencils to T shirts, sweatshirts and the like. It was moderately successful.

One day, while surfing the internet I came upon needle felting. A woman in Russia made the most incredible birds and animals from wool and wire. I had to know how to do this! With the help of YouTube I created my first, very basic owl.

Not much talent needed here. As time went by my technique improved as I created many small birds and owls, some not too life-like but marginally good enough that I could give them away to friends and family. Soon I was over run with critters, not just birds but squirrels, chipmunks, foxes and other woodland creatures.

A friend and local gallery owner approached me about consigning some pieces. My intent was not to make a viable business and put pressure on myself but rather to keep my hands busy. However now I had a reason to keep stabbing that wool. My arthritic thumbs were not too happy but if I paced myself they held up.

I have added giraffes, cheetahs, elephants and many dogs to my collection, including some specific pets, copied from photos, as long lasting memories for their owners.

 

Of late, I’m into cats!! 

Some very talented Russian women still have me beat but, you know, retirement could go on for a very long time!

4 - Sauntering into Retirement - 2001

A chance comment at a drinks party in 2001 when a brief unhappy time of employment needed to end, changed the course of the next 15 years.  An offer to join Pall Spera Company, a highly respected Stowe real estate office, intrigued me although not enough at first, to send me running to long-discarded licensing books. I had had a brief dalliance with real estate sales back in the early 80’s when the children were young and my time was not my own. After only a few months I warehoused my license with the state and moved on. Little did I know how useful this would be in the future.

Had it not been for the truly impossible situation in my current job, no details here, I may not have considered the offer.  However after researching my options, I was relieved to discovered that my license could be reinstated all these years later with just a few hours of continuing ed. Today this is not the case as regulations have tightened. 

So armed with a license and very little knowledge I embarked on the 4th and final career of my life. 

Expecting a somewhat more laid back life it quickly became apparent this was not to be.  The learning curve is quite steep in the beginning and, in fact, leveled off very little over the years. Staying slightly ahead of one’s competitors meant being tech savvy and pushing ahead with new ideas and products that would appeal to the customer. Working side by side with a colleague drove us both to develop an innovative style that would put us in the forefront of our company in sales.

As good as that felt, it was exhausting. My days were long and even taking some time away from the office did not mean I was free from the constant pressure. Yes, I could have turned off my phone, my computer, my IPad but I enjoyed what I did and my competitive spirit did not allow for less than the best I could provide. 

I realize now, in retirement, that I have been driven my whole life to try to be the best even when my natural abilities didn’t allow. That’s a lot of pressure to put on oneself. I have no regrets but maybe I could have been a little easier on myself.

2. Sauntering into Retirement - 1969 - 1971

My first career involved horses, everything from raising them, competing with them and teaching others to ride. Ski instructing overlapped as my second career and for more than 20 years I struggled with cold hands and feet while loving the sport itself.    Frits was a builder and together, early in our relationship, we tore apart an old tenement house that we purchased for $5,000 on 3 acres of land with a beautiful brook running right behind the house. How fortunate we felt even knowing how much work was ahead. It was not habitable, although Frits had holed up there the year before using water from the brook and an old toilet in the shed that he could flush with a bucket. Who knew where that went! 

We still had a place to stay for the winter but by the spring of 1971, with money tight, we needed to be living on the land. That winter an old school bus caught our eye and for very little money, we purchased it and drove it to the new ‘house’. 

Parked out front it sat for one of the snowiest winters in years. 

Mid April, we packed up our few belongings, two cats and a large malamute dog and headed to Sterling Valley. The snow was still so deep that we could walk through the rear exit door of the bus without stepping up.  We had already stripped out all the seats so now all that was needed was a little furniture, a place to cook and power.  Power could be run from the house via a cable without problem.  The double bed still in the house, conveniently fit exactly cross ways at the rear end. A threadbare oriental carpet covered most of the metal floor and an old table and a couple of chairs served as kitchen counter, dining, work space etc.  

We had a two burner hot plate, an electric frying pan and a few dishes. We were set! It was still cold enough that a fridge was unnecessary and our bucket of water froze regularly at night. We needed that big furry malamute and two cats in bed with us to stay warm.

Without the convenience of cell phones, a land line was a must, and to our surprise the telephone company agreed to install a wall phone right in the bus. Our friends joked about this for years.

With five months until our wedding, the push was on to make at least part of the house habitable by the time we returned from our travels in mid October. The house foundation consisted of loose rocks haphazardly stacked to support some of the rotting sills. To get at this we would need to excavate a large enough hole so why not build a new section while we were at it.  The addition, only 12x16ft with 2 stories would provide a living area, temporary kitchen and bathroom, and a bedroom above. We would be able to insulate and heat this small area enough so we could move out of the bus and have a solid roof over our heads to survive the winter. And survive we did, just!

By the time we left for our English wedding I was fit and tanned and 15 pounds lighter. All those concrete blocks to carry, wheelbarrows of liquid concrete to push and lumber to hoist necessitated some wedding dress alterations but left me in the best shape of my life, never to return to my pudgy, former state.

We had barely a penny to our names but were happy and healthy, and very certain our marriage could survive whatever was ahead. Our mutual love of animals and Frits fascination with nature would keep us in Vermont and provide us with many common interests, and chores to share over the years.

1. Sauntering into Retirement - 2020

Retirement was always out there but nothing I really expected to embrace. Working in Real Estate, I thought, would allow me to slow down when the time came and be able to work at my own speed.  Being successful as a Realtor means answering every call, email and text within an hour regardless of time of day or night. It also means being on the run, showing properties, helping clients through building inspections, closings and even packing and making dump runs at the eleventh hour. Not being available to your customers and clients means they go elsewhere very quickly! 

Some health issues forced me to consider full retirement. I resisted for a couple of years but reluctantly pulled down my shingle at the close of 2017. I was 71 and ready to saunter.

Now at 73, I’m embracing retirement and happily sauntering. 

Since arriving in the US from England at the age of 19 I have galloped through life working several different careers, raising children and being very happily married to a wonderful man. We met in 1969 and married in 1971. That means next year we will celebrate 50 married years. It is impossible to imagine just how fast those years go by. At times it was overwhelming keeping our heads above water as we paddled frantically to build not one but three homes, keep the children fed and clothed and still keep up with the bills. But more about that in my next blog.

3 - Sauntering into Retirement - July 2020

In the midst of the Covid- 19 pandemic our lives are not so different. We walk daily with our dogs, tend both the vegetable and flower gardens, and while 1 have developed some new hobbies Frits has plenty to take care of maintaining our Waterbury Center property as well as some rental property in a neighboring town.

Normally we might be venturing out in our motor home either to visit family in the West or to take our grandsons on a trip. We miss these times when we can hug the grand kids and their parents but continue to be vigilant in our social distancing.  The West Coast grand daughters, Lake and Willa, although only 5 and 3 are quite adept at chatting via FaceTime, showing us their drawings and paintings and describing the scenes they have created. 

The grandsons, Jack and Tucker, 10 and 8 spend time with us at our pond where they amuse themselves for hours on their molded kayaks. These kayaks are absolutely the best! They weigh almost nothing and can be maneuvered easily by children and small adults. When first the family relocated to Stowe three years ago a friend clued us into these kayaks. We bought one and immediately bought the second and clad in life jackets these small boys have been entertained safely while we watch from the beach or join them in the row boat.

Dogs are a big part of our lives and 2019 brought a new and wonderful addition. Tweed the BorderTerrier was born. More about him coming later.

The Reluctant Landlord - Part 8

Still in England for a couple of days before I would need to return home, the problem of my second delinquent tenant in Garage # 5 was now at the top of the list. Having already hack-sawed off the lock to discover a nice little rally car inside, my approach was going to be a little different.  The registration was current so this was a road-worthy vehicle with an owner.

Back to the police station with a photo of the license plate on my IPhone should do the trick. But no! "I am terribly sorry....." Aagh!! Is there anything the police can assist with?

Next stop was to the last known address I had for this tenant.  I had mailed notices here over the past couple of years but had never received a response.  It turned out that this was his place of business - a motor cycle dealership. Bikes were still displayed inside but the notice on the door was daunting.

Not even the correct name!  Time to get a good night's sleep and make a new plan.

Now that the padlock had been changed and I was the only one with the combination maybe I should wait for him to come to me.  Aha! Make a sign for the door inviting him to contact me. Next morning I carefully taped on the notice asking him to email me if he would like the combination to the lock.

Time to head back to the States and await word of success or failure of my various dealings.  

It took several weeks to hear from Garage #5 and it was the son of the tenant who finally made the contact.  It seems that the father had moved on and had told his son to go ahead and use the garage, failing to mention that he was not paying the rent.  I agreed to accept one year in back rent plus the next year in advance in return for the combo.  Mom stepped up and mailed the check immediately and all was well.

By mid summer that year all the tenants in the 8 garages were current with their rent and I could now get serious about selling them.  I approached two of the tenants who lived close by and offered them a good price for a block of three and a block of five with payments split over a 6 month period.  Both of them agreed and although another 12 months had passed before the deals were final, I was free of 8 more tenants.  

6 more garages, the worst of the worst, on a tiny triangle of land with asbestos, leaky roofs and broken doors were still to find a new owner.  With the help of a real estate agent, a buyer was found who was willing to deal with all the problems to get a barely build-able lot at a reasonable price. The deal almost fell through at the last moment due to a Right of Way in favor of the neighbor but I refused to negotiate as it was an 'as is' agreement.  Luckily, I prevailed and we closed the deal late in 2015.

 

In case you have lost track following this ridiculous saga,  I began with 32 different rental properties and now after 10 years have just 2 flats remaining.  Here they are - one up and one down.

 

The eviction process is extremely challenging in England but I have begun by serving notices to the the downstairs tenant.  He has given up paying any rent and lives in squalor refusing to answer phone calls, emails and will not open the door.  He is not young nor is he healthy so it's anyone guess as to how long this might go on.  The feet first option may come sooner.  Stayed tuned!

The Reluctant Landlord - Part 7

First on my to do list the next morning was to track down my less that cognizant, delinquent tenant in hopes of collecting some back rent or at the very least gathering some information. Presenting myself at the local Social Services office I was given a sympathetic ear quickly followed by a phrase that was to become all too familiar: "I am terribly sorry but due to confidentiality constraints we are unable to provide you with any information".  Not even a dead or alive! 

The phone number of the County office that they provided me with produced similar results and a suggestion to speak to the police. Good idea!

The police station was not a particularly friendly looking building and it took me one complete walking lap to find the entrance.  Once inside I was faced with a single barred window and a speaker system. Struggling to decipher the distorted voice and with no lips to read, I was at a loss.  The voice finally took pity on me and invited me into a windowless interview room where I was to wait.  My anxiety level was quite high by the time the officer arrived.  Again explaining my predicament that I had not been able to make contact with this tenant for several years, her rent had not been paid and her belongings, including a car, were still in my garage and I wanted her out.  She was thought to be in care for dementia or possibly deceased.  What to do?

The officer shook his head and began " I am terribly sorry but confidentiality ......." This can't be happening!  "Can I dispose of her belongings?", I asked.  Negative! Especially not the car since I had no title or keys. Even though I owned the building and had received no rent in several years, I had no recourse, it seemed.  Time to take things into my own hands!!

Checking in with my solicitor seemed like a prudent move. Not your most aggressive sort, he scratched his chin and agreed that this was indeed, a conundrum.  Perhaps best if I didn't say too much more.

Time for some lunch.  Bangers and mash at the local pub where I used to take my mother hadn't improved since the last time we sipped sherry there. This time I thought it best to decline anything stronger than a cup of tea to drink. I needed my wits about me.

I had to find a garage with a tow truck willing to help me out.  The first one I found couldn't help but perhaps his neighbor could. At first the owner declined on the basis that a car cannot be taken to a junk yard without a title. What if it was left on the side of the road, I suggested. The registration plates were still on the car and so the owner would be contacted to remove it, I reasoned. Hmmm!  I'll take a look at it some time, he offered.  No time like the present I insisted and unbelievably he stopped what he was doing, climbed into my car and we were off to the site of the crime.

On seeing all the junk he started shaking his head until I assured him that I would remove it personally with my little car.  "You need a van", he said. "Do you have one?" I asked.  What a nice man, I had found.  He was willing to clear out the entire garage, for me, car included, and not accept payment until it was done. I was ecstatic.  One problem solved.

A few days after my return to the States, I received an email that the garage was empty with an invoice attached for a very reasonable amount.  I promptly paid him and notified another tenant that he could now take over the rental of number 7.  

Before I had finished patting myself on the back, I received another email.  The head honcho at Social Services had gotten wind of my inquiries and would be putting in a request for payment of back rent for Ms Phelps' garage and would be making arrangements to have it cleaned out.  It might take a while but if I would submit an invoice for the rent, I would be paid the full amount. At this time I thought it best not to mention my shady dealings or at least not until I had check in hand.

It was a good three months later that the check arrived, money I never expected to see. Once deposited, I thanked my benefactor and let her know that the garage had already been cleaned out and not to trouble herself.  That did not sit well! She wanted to know where the car had gone.  Vaguely I explained that I had found someone to tow it away but at this time couldn't remember his name.  Partly true but I might have been able to find the invoice if I looked hard enough.  Several more, somewhat threatening emails arrived suggesting that knowing where the car had gone was very important and that if I was unable to provide the information, the police would have to be involved.  Not too concerned that the police would be any more helpful that they had been to me, I stuck to my story and deleted the emails.

The Reluctant Landlord - part 6

The Reluctant Landlord - part 6

In March 2014, I landed at Heathrow Airport, picked up my tiny yellow rental car and braved the early morning London traffic.

The journey to Warwickshire where I would be staying with one of my nieces and family, was less than 2 hours, allowing for some good family time before launching into the next four days of problem solving.

My prospective buyer claimed to be interested in purchasing all of my remaining property if we could agree on price. As much as I would like to unload the lot, I wasn't about to give them away, just yet!

The 8 garages in 'Back Lane' were in reasonable shape so we agreed to meet there first. The tenants have their own padlocks so I knew I couldn't get access to the insides. Arriving ahead of time, I was surprised to find one of the doors unlocked and even more surprised when I looked inside.

Beneath all of this junk was a car that had probably not been road worthy for at least 10 years. From the looks of things, the family of Miss Phelps had emptied the contents of her home into Garage 7 hoping someone would come along and help themself. Miss Phelps, it turned out, was in state care with dementia.

Not a good start to the day! The arrival of Felix, the prospective buyer didn't make the day go any better. The son of a well known author with money in his pocket and an oversized ego, appeared to have some interest but only as a hobby. We went through the motions but his lack of questions and knowledge was not encouraging.

We moved on to Park Road where I held my breath as we took the tour of the two flats. Upstairs is tiny but clean and orderly but downstairs was a disaster. It was so awful that I am embarrassed that anyone is living there. If I could just move the tenant out, basic improvements could be done and the building sold. The way it is, there is not a chance. The six garages are in fair shape although some of the roofs leak. There is an abandoned car tucked in a corner of the property belonging to ??? To give the buyer credit, he didn't gag but politely told me he would get back to me.

Returning to Back Lane, I met with the tenant of Garage 6. He expressed interest in renting #7 once free of contents. That was certainly incentive to dispose of the contents and start collecting rent again.

My other delinquent tenant was in #5 and that was locked up tight. Nobody, it seems, had seen anyone coming or going from #5 in a long time so now my imagination was running wild. What could be in that one? Treasures, junk, a dead body? The possibilities were endless. The neighbor saw me examining the padlock and offered to cut it off. I guess he was as curious as I. This time, the surprise was more welcome!

Now, I could use that!

I sought out a local hardware store and purchased a couple of padlocks to secure my 'treasures' before packing it in for the day. Will be back tomorrow to track down the delinquents.

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The Reluctant Landlord - part 5

My tally of tenants was now down to 24! An improvement but still a headache. A row of garages in close proximity to a row of terraced houses had guaranteed zero vacancy for the time I had owned them. Even before I knew it, word got out that there would be one available and the phone started ringing.

A couple of the tenants approached me about buying the one they rented but since there were 8 in all and attached, I wasn't keen on selling just an odd one here and there. They persisted and rallied the other tenants around and before I could catch my breath, I had 8 buyers. It took several months but when the papers were finalized, my load was lighter and my bank account, healthier. Those were good sales!

In a back lane near where my father's business began was another group of 8 garages. 5 were in one block and 3 in a separate block. Again, I had very little turn over in tenants but two were delinquent in their payments. Miss Marjorie Phelps was quite elderly when first I took ownership and had paid annually until she stopped. My attempts to contact her went unanswered so I enlisted the help of a neighbor, who was also a tenant. Two more years were paid up and then nothing.

Around the same time a second tenant stopped paying. The rents were small and didn't justify hiring someone to try to collect so for a while I did nothing. Well, not quite nothing. I fretted, often during the night when I should have been sleeping. Had Miss Phelps died? Had Mr Kemp departed and left me all his trash?

During this time, all remaining properties were being transferred from the company that had been formed, to me personally. This turned out to be an agonizing process that continued for more than 2 years. It seems that two of these garage (2 out of a block of 3) had no recorded deeds and nothing to prove that I owned them. The property in question backed up to the business premises owned by my great grandfather and had been passed down through three generations. At some time, probably in the 1960's my father had built the garages on every available square inch of what he believed he owned.

Proving you own property without documentation is quite daunting. I had been collecting rent for more than 10 years and nobody else had claimed them but that was not enough for the Land Registry. Petitions were filed by my solicitor but no give. We were at an impasse.

To top it off, a certain, rather pompous gentleman contacted me to buy all my remaining property, It was time to cross the Atlantic and face a myriad of issues.

 

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The Reluctant Landlord - part 4

Sometime had now passed since the last sale and rents were coming regularly. The economy had taken a downturn so I was happy to sit tight for a while. One of my tenants paid twice a year and never quite the amount he owed but he was affable enough so I kept track and left him alone.

A total of 3 tenants lived at the Birches. A single man in the cottage, an elderly widower in the downstairs flat and a younger woman upstairs. Apparently the widower was a lovely gentleman with all his marbles intact while his upstairs neighbor was much younger but missing a few. They had worked out an ideal arrangement whereby the woman cleaned and cooked and Mr Nightingale balanced her checkbook and paid her bills.

The cottage tenant had paid regularly by direct payment through his bank until suddenly payments ceased. November's payment didn't arrive and nor did December's.. My only way of contacting him was by mail: no email and no phone. By mid January, still no word so Phil was dispatched to investigate. Phil had done some odd jobs and small building projects for me in the past and not too much had surprised him to date. However, on this day, finding no one in residence, he jimmied the lock on the front door and was greeted by a flood of water pouring down the stairs. Water from a frozen pipe had been spilling out for some time it seemed. The whole downstairs was underwater and trash, furniture and even a TV was floating. The tenant was long gone and never to be heard from again. Thanks a bunch!

Another bargain sale ensued and I was rid of one more.

Rents had not changed for several years so I thought a minor increase across the board would be fair. My two Birches' occupants, I knew were on assistance from the state but one pound a month (less than $2) shouldn't break the bank. Huge mistake! Any rate increase immediately triggers an inspection. Within a couple of weeks I had received an official letter telling me that the living conditions were below par and that unless I made major repairs to the floor (it seems it was about to collapse into the cellar) the property would be condemned! Now the second time I had heard those words.

It wasn't that I was opposed to getting the work done but the logistics of a fairly large renovation and quite possibly more rot discovered once the ripping and tearing had begun, was mind spinning. I was informed that if I didn't do the work, it would be done for me and a bill presented.

While still contemplating the next move, a follow up letter arrived stating that the tenants would be relocated to a town council house and would not be returning. What luck! Maybe not such a bad mistake as I had thought. Now I had a vacant property and could sell it 'as is' plus these two nice people had been moved together into a much better situation.

Soon I found an ambitious builder, accepted his low offer and much relieved, pocketed the change.

 

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The Reluctant Landlord - part 3

Not all the sales I made in the subsequent years were disasters although those are the ones that stick in my mind most.

There was a nice semi-detached, 3 bedroom house that I sold early on. The tenant was an office employee of my father's who was allowed to stay there with her husband for many years after it was found that she was stealing from the business. She was fired from the job but British law being what it is, the tenant cannot be asked to leave as long as rent is paid and even if it is not. Her rent was substantially below the going rate and as I raised it gradually the tenant, now widowed, began looking for alternate housing. Now I could do a few repairs and sell it unencumbered. My luck held, a buyer was found and I came out well.

Similarly, a row house I owned became vacant. Workmen were hired to upgrade the kitchen and bathroom, repair some windows and a fresh coat of paint was applied throughout. This tiny house with just enough garden for a few potatoes and without a garage or even a driveway was a hot commodity. It sold within a week. Scored again!

Then there was The Birches. That was more than one disaster. First built in the 1800's, to what must have been a well to do family, the main house sat regally on a knoll overlooking a small park adjacent to my childhood home. Around 1920, the property became a private girls' school of about 60 students. It had a winding driveway, a grass tennis court and lawns large enough for field games. My sister and I attended from age 4 - 11 under the heavy hand of two spinster ladies. Yes, the ruler came out often and three order marks equalled detention which went on your permanent record.

I remember there being three classrooms and a music room plus the living quarters for the ladies. There was third elderly spinster, Miss Brinkworth who lived in what was once the gate keeper's cottage behind the school. She owned The Birches and taught private piano lessons, in her quarters, to some of the luckless students. Most often the metronome clicked back and forth while the teacher snoozed and the student banged unmusically at the keys. I lasted a couple of terms and remain tone deaf to this day.

Much later after Miss Brinkworth's time, the aging teachers could no longer continue, the school closed and the property went up for sale. My father swooped in and our old school was turned into flats. Houses were built in the gardens, cheek to jowl, and all but the gate keeper's cottage were quickly sold.

What was left to me was a two story cottage plus 2 flats created in the connecting section to the school. All quite tiny I understand, although I never saw more than the piano lesson room. Not prime property as you will hear in my next episode.

 

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The Reluctant Landlord - part 2

The shop that I now owned was in Nailsworth, a small market town a few miles from where I grew up. The streets were narrow and most of the houses were made of stone. This particular shop was part of a row of what was once terraced cottages in an alley only accessible on foot. The shop sold pet food, some gardening products and accessories and was about the size of a single garage.

Above it, although not directly above it but rather staggered half over the neighboring shop, was a vacant flat. I am still not used to the way the Brits sell off bits and pieces of property from the main leaving these odd shaped jigsaw puzzle parts.

I had been to this property with my father at least 15 years prior. I remembered climbing the narrow stairs to a dark and musty couple of rooms where a single man lived. I don't think there was indoor plumbing then and nothing had been done since, I was sure.

This was to be the first property to be sold. The pet food shop was not doing well and the rent was coming sporadically. The owners reluctantly decided to close up shop and at about the same time, I was approached by a woman wanting to open a flower shop and own the premises. Perfect, I thought!

My sister was helping me manage my properties at this time and in a better position to negotiate than I was. A deal was struck and I was delighted. This was going to be easy. Not so fast!

The flower lady was excited and planning her future when suddenly everything came to a grinding halt. I'm not sure who first pointed out that the buildings were definitely not plumb but in fact leaning dangerously but it was probably the local authorities. I was now visualizing the whole row of attached buildings tipping into the street with the first gust of wind.

It wasn't quite that bad but serious measures had to be taken immediately or the buildings would be condemned. This may have been the first time I heard this but as it turned out, it was not to be the last. My inheritance was shrinking fast and there was still that tax bill.

In the end, the flower lady had her shop, the buildings were stabilized and any proceeds I received were negligible. One down and 31 to go!

 

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The Reluctant Landlord - Part 1

My father, throughout his lifetime, accumulated an impressive portfolio of property including houses, flats, building lots, shops and his most favorite, garages (individual storage units just large enough for a mini). Some of these he inherited from his mother while others were just too good a deal to pass up. In due course, these properties were passed down to my sister and me and we became landlords, although in my case, a rather reluctant one.

Now you would expect most people would be grateful for such an inheritance. My sister, lived close by and was very familiar with the properties and their tenants but I was an ocean away. Born and raised in England but having left for the USA at 18, when I thought I just about knew it all, I had little knowledge of what had suddenly landed in my lap.

Dad had the foresight to create 2 separate property companies so when the time came, one would go to me and the other to my sister. It didn't work out quite as he had planned as a fair bit of muddling went on in the 7 years between my parents' deaths. Suffice it to say, that by the time it was all sorted, my share was somewhat diminished and I had a huge tax bill.

Slad Properties was now all mine - 4 houses, 5 flats, a pet shop, 22 garages, 32 tenants and a tax bill. In England you are taxed every time you turn around so my first thought was to sell everything as quickly as possible and get out! Now, more than 10 years later, I am still trying.

Already in the real estate business here in Vermont some of that knowledge would surely help, I thought. How wrong I was! There are almost no similarities in the way real estate transactions are handled. Agents in the UK bring the buyer and seller together and then hand off to the solicitors and their job is done.To be fair, their commission percentage is a fraction of what we can expect. Neither party signs any agreement until the day of completion and at any time along the way another buyer can gazump the first by raising the bid. With a lack of a signed agreement and no fixed dates, it seems that the solicitors can move at their own pace, which in my experience is not quick. To slow the process even further snail mail only will do for documents - no electronic signatures or scanned papers.

My holdings are now down to 2 flats and 6 garages and at this time I have an offer on the garages. There is a glimmer of a light at the end of the tunnel but I know better than to get my heart rate up just yet.

Each sale has been an adventure in itself. My next few blogs will take you down that path with me as I recall the events that now can make me laugh.

 

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House Building Journal - Part 18 and final

As much as we enjoyed this house building project, it is quite wonderful to be actually living here and appreciating all that has been created. There are still projects to be done to keep Frits occupied for quite a while but the urgency has passed. We can take our time deciding just how the pantry shelves will fit together and how the bar will look. The house is very comfortably warm and feels just right to us.

Over the holidays we entertained frequently, and plan to continue with just a little break for now. After 2 1/2 years living in 900 sq ft with almost no counter space, dinner parties were pretty much on hold. Never one to enjoy everyday cooking I had become less and less interested in even baking, but now in the new kitchen I think I may get quite creative.

The door in the far corner leads to the pantry.

The outside porch has no permanent floor yet, but once inside the front door you are on warm tiles and greeted by 'The Holsteins'.

We were quite taken by this painting by Vermont artist, Rebecca Kinkead, and so these interested cows have become a permanent fixture.

My red chair is definitely in the right spot, rocking and swiveling me to watch activity in the kitchen, the sunset or sleeping dogs.

The center column for the stairs is a good spot for the poinsettias for now, but this will change with the seasons until perhaps a sculpture or some other art piece finds it's way to us.

The Christmas tree landed in the perfect place where the lights can be seen from near and far. The chaise in the far corner has not seen much use to date but what a wonderful spot when time allows.

Our bedroom still needs some more art work but with such large windows there is plenty to view. Well, there would be if it wasn't always dark when we get up!

The walk thru closet, large on my side and less extravagant on Frits' side, leads you to the still-to-be-completed master bathroom.

The shower has a drive-thru opening for the wheelchairs, if the time comes, and the hot water comes fast and plentiful. Radiant heat in the base feels mighty good on these recently frigid days. The Japanese soaking tub will feel even better very soon.

We have been waiting for the granite corner shelf before installing the faucet. It is coming in a couple of days and then the bubbles will fill it almost to the top. Note the almost! There is no overflow on this tub so my dear husband, just as a precaution mind you, spent countless hours designing and installing this floor that naturally drains along the pebbles all the way to the shower drain. This is my tub exclusively, so it is not he who may forget that the water is running!

The winding stairs lead down to the lower level family room, two bedrooms and an almost finished bathroom. It is all sheetrocked with a first coat of paint so just trim and some finishings plus carpet are needed. My office is set up down here and also floor mats for exercise and yoga. The French doors and large windows give lots of natural light and view and I use it daily.

No rush to finish this right now. We have to have some unfinished space or it just wouldn't be right. 43 years together and always in abodes in need of completion. First a tiny 'Cubby' where even I couldn't stand up, to a school bus with no plumbing, to our first house with no heat, to our 2nd house without kitchen until our 3rd child came along and still had plywood floors in places even after we moved out, to our shell of a cabin when we moved in, in January and now what we hope to be our final home, and the best!

So it is with some regret that I end my House Building Blog. There will be other posts on new subjects as the spirit moves me but for now, it is good night and thank you for reading.

 

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House Building Journal - Part 17

One week out from move-in day and still no appliances or plumbing were in place. The kitchen cabinets and granite counter tops had been fitted perfectly although one section of granite was not secured to allow for the stove and refrigerator to be installed first.

Quietly, Frits had been worrying about the lack of manoevering space for the fridge. Had he made the opening just too perfectly sized? Not until the carton was removed and the slate colored, French door with ice and water dispenser, lower freezered beauty had been rolled into proximity did he share his concerns. "It's not going to make it" he said with such finality that it surprised me. How could that be? Frits can always figure it out. The problem was the ice and water dispenser. We knew that the doors had to be taken off to make around the corner of the counter but the water connection had to be made while there was still room to get in behind it. Catch 22 - the doors had to be in place for the hose to reach and it now seemed that not all these conditions could not be met at the same time.

Between the two of us and many hours later we had jostled the beast into place without doors, replaced doors and squeaked it out enough for Frits to get in behind, passed tools back and forth as if we were performing surgery and finally were able to free my tall but fortunately, very slim husband and settle it into it's final resting place. May it live forever!

Time was racing on and the task ahead too great. We had to prioritize. One working bathroom, operating kitchen sink and stove, beds and a place to sit.

I knew my job - clean, arrange furniture, make up beds, unpack dishes etc and fill the refrigerator. In my dreams I was leisurely arranging all the new stuff, lining drawers and baking goodies for the arriving family. In reality I was working a good 40 hour week at real estate, baking enough granola for the wedding guest favors in the cabin and making lists of all I had to do once the starting gun went off.

Sarah, Jason and the boys were arriving on the Tuesday before the wedding. The workmen had departed that prior Friday so now it was time to go into action. Our good friends Lee and David volunteered their help showing up with their sleeves rolled ready for their assignments. Lee went to work in the kitchen, lining drawers and stowing equipment while David glued down temporary carpets in the lower level where the family would stay. The guest bathroom was now operable and quite acceptable, the family beds were made up and the toys for the grandchildren were in place. Phew, at least they would be comfortable.

Now it was time to uncover the polished floors and move in the furniture. The dust was thick so the new central vac proved its worth immediately. What a great invention that is! The dining room table and chairs, arm chairs and our bed were all stacked in the study, wrapped in cardboard and plastic, so it was with some trepidation that I unveiled them. How would they fit into the space and how would they look? Persimmon leather dining chairs??? What was I thinking? Happily I still like them.

My artist friend Tari showed up at that moment with an apple tart in hand. I wish now we had sat down on those new chairs and eaten the tart right then, but there was no time. The couch went here, no there, well perhaps back 6 inches, no forward 3. It is a sectional and very heavy, so we were getting our workout.

My rocking, swiveling, coffee drinking, wine sipping, red chair was to go in this niche I had carved out early in our design process. But no. My friends decided it would be more pleasing to the eye in an entirely different place. I humored them but later moved it. To hell with the design aspect. I'm going for comfort.

All the time, Frits was finishing the tiled backsplash so he could install the stove. Not a simple job cutting and piecing together just the right combination so once again the fit could be perfect.

We had expected to spend at least one night in our new house before receiving guests but the new mattress to go on our new and first bed frame didn't arrive until Monday afternoon. No time to make it up and there was still plumbing hanging over our heads. Our bathroom had slipped down the list of priorities leaving us without a shower or toilet, just the lavatory. One more night in the cabin it was.

The kitchen sink and the dishwasher were still being connected by Frits when I left to meet the plane the next day but dinner was prepared, the house was warm and it was looking pretty darn good.

We were ready to enjoy our children and grandchildren and everything else could wait for now. We had a wedding to attend and lots to celebrate. And that is just what we did.

 

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