Realtors Don't Like Us

It's ironic since we're in the business, but we're the kind of people realtors don't like.

We've lived in the same house for 25 years.

We probably should have moved about ten years ago when I was recruited for a job with an international energy firm that had its North American headquarters in Andover, MA, just a couple of miles from the New Hampshire border.

The commute was a bear, but Megs was a senior in high school, so moving wouldn't have been fair. I also traveled extensively, which would have left Mari alone in a new home, while trying to establish her real estate footprint in an unfamiliar area.

So, I rented the second bedroom of a basement condo in Chelmsford that was owned by the head of HR at an area software development company. Bill was from Pawtucket and had a similar ugly daily commute. He was on the road a lot too, so sometimes only one of us was there. Many weeks neither of us were.

We had a lot in common from our travels and big jobs at large corporations to talking about Rhode Island. So when we were both at "The Foxy," Bill and I spent the time swapping stories and eating the left overs that our wives sometimes packed for us. {The name of the condo complex was Fox Run hence the nickname, which has a special meaning if you're from Rhode Island.}

Mari and I almost moved about two years ago to one of the few Cape condo complexes on her "if we ever" list. But it didn't work out.

You need to understand, there's nothing remarkable about our home. It's your typical Cape style house: one bedroom down with two up and a bathroom on each floor. There's nothing Cape Cod-ish about our subdivision, either. It could be transplanted to almost anywhere and fit right in. There are no water views and while we're really close to ponds and beaches, none are within walking distance.

Our house sits in the middle of a 1/2 acre corner lot surrounded by trees giving the impression that we have roomy front and  back yards.  There's more than enough space when Mariana is over to play soccer and whiffle ball, as well as practice our chip shots.

Aside from the usual updates and repairs, the only major changes we've made to the house are the new kitchen that Mari did this year and outdoor shower that I've wanted since we arrived. Because we've decided to age in place -- that's the technical term for "we ain't goin' nowhere" --  there are vague plans to turn the first floor bedroom into a master suite.

The average American moves about 11 times. So, why haven't we?

When my parents would visit, my Dad often said that he enjoyed coming because our house was "comfortable." I think that description probably best sums up why we're still there after all these years. Our home is comfortable and at this point contains far too many memories to leave behind.

One of the folksy sayings realtors have when a house has been on the market longer than expected is that the home is "just waiting for its owner."

So, in the case of our little house, I guess that's us.

It's the Rock!

Our real estate adventures took us over the bridge to the Plymouth, MA. area last month. We had our granddaughter for the weekend, so when our business was completed, we headed over to the waterfront.

The replica of the Mayflower isn't back yet, but Plymouth Rock is there.

When Mariana asked it was real, we began to explain that the rock is a somewhat random, but symbolic monument to the Pilgrim's landing. We were interrupted, however, by a Park Ranger who began to tell us -- and the assembling group -- the real story.

The fact is, it is the rock. Well, kind of.

The Mayflower arrived in Plymouth Harbor in 1620, after first stopping near Provincetown. But, the rock is not mentioned in any contemporary accounts of the landing.

It wasn't until 121 years later that a 10 ton bolder in Plymouth Harbor was claimed to be the precise spot where the Pilgrims first stepped.

The claim was made by 94 year old Thomas Faunce, a church elder, who said his father -- who arrived in Plymouth in 1623 -- and several original Mayflower passengers told him that the stone was the specific landing spot.

[As our Park Ranger pointed out, this is not possible as the rock was 1) off shore and 2) no self respecting captain would tether his ship to an offshore rock.]

When Faunce heard that a wharf was going to be built over the "Mother Rock," he asked for a final glimpse. He was reportedly carried three miles by chair from his house to the harbor so he could bid it an emotional farewell.

In 1774, with the talk of revolution sweeping the colonies, some Plymouth residents decided that it was time to get Plymouth Rock involved. Using 20 team of oxen, they attempted to move the boulder from the harbor to the Liberty Pole in front of the town's meetinghouse. But, as they tried to load the rock onto a carriage, it accidentally broke in two.

The bottom was buried on the shore; the top taken to the Town Square. In 1834 the rock was moved once more this time to the front of the Pilgrim Hall Museum. And it broke again.

Meanwhile back on the beach, the first canopy was erected in the 1860's to protect the portion of the rock buried there. But, it had to be trimmed so it would fit in the enclosure. [It was later learned that a 400 pound slab of what was cut ended up as a door step at a nearby home!]

Finally in 1880, what we know today as Plymouth Rock was united with its base on the shore. It was then that the date "1620" was added.

The only evidence of the monument's ill fated journeys is a cement scar. But, because of all the accidents, it's estimated that Plymouth Rock is only a third to a half of its original size. Two thirds of what remains is still buried in the sand under its 1620 top.

J.R.R. Tolkein wrote that "legends and myths are largely made of 'truth.'''

So, in that sense Plymouth Rock is real. [Even if it really isn't.]

How Many Days 'Till Christmas?

Where is this year going?"

How many times have you either said or heard that recently?

It seems like the 4th of July was just a few weeks ago and now we're trying to figure out what to do for Thanksgiving. Football season is nearly half over. The stores are an eclectic mess with Halloween decorations and front lawn Santas displayed side by side.

If it seems that time is passing quickly, you're right.

According to an article in Inc. Magazine, research shows that our brain's internal clock runs more slowly as we age, giving us the impression that life is speeding up.

Other research offers that the perceived passage of time is related to the amount of new information we absorb. When we're young, pretty much everything is new, which means we have more to process thus making time seem longer. As we get older, less and less is new.

There's still other scientific work that suggests that the release of dopamine starts to drop past the age of 20, which also makes time appear to go by quicker.

I'll never forget one summer when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. The days seemed to be lasting forever and I was getting bored. I complained about my boredom one night to my Dad when he came home from work. He told me: "Enjoy all this time while you have it.  Some day you'll wonder where it all went." Now maybe that's a bit strong to say to a little kid, but I've always remembered it.

There is one thing that always seem to go by quickly, no matter how young or old you are: vacation.

It seems that you just arrive and it's time to go.

When my in-laws got a small place in Clearwater, Florida, we didn't understand the fascination. As we've gotten older, we've seen the light. We've just come back from our latest trip  -- and it seems like we went months ago.  We're already trying to figure out when we can get back and how much longer we can stay.

We love Cape Cod, but Florida is pretty cool, too.

I Guess I Got Retired

I somehow thought that there would have been more fanfare.

Maybe an email from a higher up with a fancy title announcing that after years of dedicated service I was trading in my laptop and cell phone for golf clubs and a beach chair. No more early morning meetings and evening events.

But, it didn't happen that way.

I only recently realized that I got retired when listening to my wife describe how I became involved in her successful real estate practice.

"After Hank retired," she explains to our clients "he got his license to work with me and be my Marketing Director."

I didn't think of it that way as I was being clumsily dumped -- on a Monday morning literally minutes after returning from vacation -- from a job I enjoyed. I had envisioned a more gradual transition to retirement over the next few years cutting back to more of a consulting role and training my successor.

I was told the my departure was part of a reorganization. At least I had warning. My boss, our Executive Director, was offed the previous Friday morning and given an hour to vacate the building because what was described as "temporary leadership" from a similar organization in a nearby community was meeting with our staff in two hours.

We were the only ones officially reorganized. But within a few months, most of our staff was gone. Some were long term employees, others were more recent additions, but all committed for the long haul, which we knew was needed to  move the organization from just OK to the community force it needed to be. We were starting to chip away at the obstacles we had to get through, including our volunteer leadership that -- with few exceptions -- was allergic to fundraising and even promoting the organization.

I was six months shy of my 65th birthday and replaced by someone younger. I toyed with the idea of making some noise about age discrimination, but decided it really wasn't worth the effort.

Ultimately, volunteer leadership approved a merger with the larger group folding our organization into a generic "....of Metro South," an ill defined geographic location that you can't even find on a map. Lost in the process was our organization's historic name and legacy as a founding member of the national group.

I'm not looking for sympathy. This kind of thing happens all the time. But that doesn't make it right.

A move like this must have been cooking for months. Yet, we went forward just a few weeks before with our annual meeting and appreciation breakfast complete with all the "its-gonna-be-a-great-year-looking-forward-to-working-with-you-guys" talk from folks, who had to be intimately involved in the scheme. Maybe it's me, but I couldn't be that hypocritical.

Fortunately, it  has all turned out more than fine.

My former boss now heads a regional office of one of the nation's more visible non-profits. She hobnobs with celebrities and just might raise in a night an amount that we would have been thrilled with for a year. Success can be the greatest revenge.

I've been busy since getting retired. In addition to working for my wife, I've fulfilled a bucket list item by being full time faculty again at a local university, where I continue to teach as an adjunct. I actually played golf on a regular basis this summer and took 20 strokes off my score. (Yup, I was that bad.) I conduct organizational communications seminars for a major Rhode Island non-profit and have been encouraged to offer my services to other agencies.

Is there a moral to this story?

One could certainly be cynical and say you should trust no one; watch your back, and git while the gettin's good.

I prefer to say be true to yourself and do the best job you can. If the people around you aren't exactly trustworthy, at least you'll have no regrets.

And you can sleep at night...

Thirty Years

We celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary earlier this month and marveled at where the time had gone. We've had our share of ups and downs and just OKs over the last three decades and survived them all.

We're a somewhat unlikely couple. I'm older and tend to be reserved and a bit too serious at times, while Mari has a more outgoing, life-of-the-party personality.

We had known each other for a while before we actually went out on a date. She was helping run her family's business, a very successful Attleboro restaurant that everyone knew and was the place to meet family and friends. It was so popular that on Thanksgiving Eve and Christmas Eve Eve, a police detail was needed to manage the traffic.

I was a Tuesday night regular with my colleagues on the City Council. We would adjourn to a table in the back of the restaurant after our meetings. Some said that's where the decisions were really made. In fact, we rarely talked business. It was a time -- that seems quaint now -- when politicians could also be personally friendly.  We could go at it tooth and nail at a meeting, then sit down together and have the supper that we often missed, because many of us came right from work to City Hall. The conversation tended towards our jobs, families, the latest community gossip, and upcoming vacations and events. Anyone could pull up a chair and join us. My future father-in-law often did.

Mari and I would flirt. She encouraged me to put ice in my beer, for example. But it took a while for me to get the courage to ask her out.  (See above about how different we are.)

When the time came for our first date, she confided in her Mother that she really didn't want to go out with me.  But Janet advised her "you don't have to marry the guy." Later that night at a desert and coffee bar on Providence's East Side, a couple we were seated next to predicted that we would get married someday, which was about the furthest thing from either one of our minds.

But they must have seen something. We were engaged several months later to the surprise of many.  (See above about how different we are.)

And, as they say, the rest is history.

Fast forward 30 years and we're certainly not as young as we used to be. I'm old enough to be collecting my Social Security check, while Mari is still several years away. We spend more time together now, as I've joined her successful real estate practice. Most days we come home from the office still talking to each other. We're in good health and have plans and dreams that should keep us busy for many years to come.

I love her as much as ever, but she can drive me crazy by leaving the refrigerator door open and constantly looking for her phone and glasses.

But, I can't imagine life without her. She's a devoted grandmother; a supportive mother; a good friend, and often patient with me, which is not always easy. One of these days I'll get my hearing checked...

You can't help but think of all the quotes and cliches about time passing when you experience a milestone like your 30th wedding anniversary.

"One day, you’re 17 and you’re planning for someday. And then quietly, without you ever really noticing, someday is today. And then someday is yesterday. And this is your life." ~ John Green

"Time is more valuable than money. You can get more money, but you cannot get more time." ~ Jim Rohn

"The trouble is you think you have time." ~ Gautama Buddhaa

I'm hoping we do. And lots of it.

The Importance of Saying Thank You

I saw something happen the other day that made me realize that we don't say thank you nearly enough. Or to put it the another way, many of us are not very good at acknowledging what others do for us.

We were finishing lunch at an outdoor restaurant on Hyannis Harbor the other week when a woman came into the table area and said that her husband was having trouble paying to park their car at the adjacent public lot. The booth, she said, was empty, and they didn't know what to do.

When it was explained to her that the structure she was referring to was simply an information booth and that the computerized kiosk next to it was where you pay, she sat down and said "Well, he'll never figure that out. He's 85 and refuses to learn how to use a computer."

That could have been the end of it. But, instead, a young woman, who had been our server, went out into the lot, found the man and explained how the process works. She even took his credit card, went to the kiosk and helped him pay for his parking.

I left the restaurant thinking that I hope someone tells the manager about what she did. Upon reflection, I realize I shouldn't have left the task to "someone." I should have done it myself.

Ralph Marston, who is the author behind The Daily Motivator website, says that we should "make it a habit to tell people thank you. To express your appreciation, sincerely and without the expectation of anything in return. Truly appreciate those around you, and you'll soon find many others around you. Truly appreciate life and you'll find that you have more of it."

The basic idea of appreciating life brings back memories of wife's late Uncle Joe, who told me years ago that he got up every morning, put his feet on the floor, and simply said "thank you."  That's a good habit that I try to follow, but don't always. I'm somehow too busy at 6:00am making coffee and watching ESPN.

This summer is the first in the nearly 25 years that we've lived on Cape Cod that I've had the opportunity to really appreciate the place. For pretty much the whole time we've been here, I've been driving over one of the bridges chasing a paycheck somewhere in Southeastern Massachusetts, Providence, RI, and even Andover, MA -- which is just a few miles from the New Hampshire border.

But due to an unplanned career change two years ago, I'm getting to spend more time on Cape helping my wife with her successful real estate practice and taking a short ride over the bridge to teach at our local state university.  I finally feel like I live here. I even play golf once a week, something I never had time for.

So, I guess I should be 'thankful" that the Board of Directors of the non-profit where I was working hamhandedly reorganized me out of my job in September 2017 without warning and while I was on vacation. I was stunned at the time, but for me personally, it was one of the best things that ever happened.

Let's be honest. Some of us don't think that it's necessary to thank people for doing their jobs. Servers in restaurants and sales clerks in stores are paid to respond to our whims. So, why say thanks?

At the same time, it's also hard for some people to accept what we used to call "attaboys" for performing tasks in their job descriptions.

But, giving and accepting praise is an important part of our psychological well-being, as Dr. Laura Trice explains in the video linked here.

Please take a moment in watch.

Thank you....

Being Random

We spent a day last week at Disneyland in California with people of all shapes and sizes; ethnicities, countries and religions. Some people spoke English, while others didn't.

It was hot and crowded. We stood in lines. A perfect formula for tempers to flare or at least for folks to get a little testy.

But I didn't hear anyone shouting "send them back" or "go home."

Just sayin...

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David Ortiz is out of the hospital and still there is no "real" story about what happened.

While many in the media and elsewhere threw water on the explanation from Dominican authorities that Ortiz was shot my mistake, no one has yet to offer solid proof that the story was all a cover-up to protect the retired Red Sox star.

Even the reports that have been written that claim to tell the true story -- like a recent piece in Sports Illustrated -- fail to reveal anything new.

You have to admit that it stretches the imagination that a country like the Dominican could engineer a false story of this magnitude and keep the lid on it.

It's entirely possible that the shooter was just incompetent. He wouldn't be the first hit man to swing and miss.

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I've crossed one item off the Bucket List that I wrote about a few weeks ago. After 20 years of waiting, I finally have an outdoor shower.  It's probably not that big a deal to most of you, but as a city boy it's one of those things that says Cape Cod to me.

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Does it seem strange to you that there are so many unusual happenings with the weather these days? Tornadoes on Cape Cod? Really? Is this the sudden culmination of climate change or something that years from now people will look back on and declare that 2019 was just a weird year?

As Mark Twain said, "Climate is what we can expect. Weather is what we get."

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Somehow this doesn't seem right. The number one song in 1969 was "Sugar, Sugar" by the Archies. "Honky Tonk Women" by the Stones was number 4.  The Doors' "Touch Me" was number 49.

"Sweet Caroline" finished at 22 for the year.

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Given the traffic, I was kind of surprised to read that vacation rentals on Cape Cod are down this year  because people are afraid of potential shark attacks. I've also seen that the backyard pool business has seen an uptick for the same reason.

My friend environmental writer Todd McLeish recently explained on his blog that not too long ago there was concern that the shark population was dwindling. You can his post here.