Susan Walters

Today was inspection day for a condo I am selling to an out-of-state investor. No catastrophes noted, just needs paint and carpet, all new doors and lighting, kitchen updates, two new bathrooms, and maybe a new heating unit - but we knew that going in and the offer price reflected it. Somehow I missed the cracked window; hope it doesn't kill the deal.... There was more chat than usual since it was just the inspector and me. Oh did he have stories to tell!

As expected, the worst of the worst comes down to real estate's most dire enemy. No, not FSBOs,overpriced sellers, incompetent/crooked "professionals", or gun-shy buyers. The enemy is not bats in the attic, raccoons in the chimney, termites in the sillplate, or knob and tube wiring. The enemy is....water.

Story number one regarded an agent who always previewed the properties she would be showing buyers, listing the deficiencies. She'd point them out when the real showings took place; no sudden surprises for her, negotiation points for the buyers, and boy did that realtor look good! One property had been recently and drastically price-reduced. Prior to preview, there seemed to be no reason for the failure-to-sell. Desirable neighborhood, updated property, 6 inch diameter root growing through the basement wall. Wait, back up, 6 INCH ROOT GROWING THROUGH THE BASEMENT WALL! Was it a deal killer? Of course not. She made a few calls, talked out worst case scenario fixes, and the offer on the property was made with those scenarios factored in. That root was looking for water and had been finding it at the poorly drained basement wall. Strongly quenched there, it grew even more powerful, knocking right through and into the house. Ultimately, the solution was excavation of the perimeter with appropriate drainage tiles and a sump pump installed. Not sure if the tree was spared or not.

So what would happen if that root had continued to grow? What a perfect segue to story number two! Picture a lovely historic home in a lovely historic town. Great original features upstairs, nightmare original basement downstairs. We call them Michigan basements, but we're in Michigan, so I guess the rest of the country has another name for the stone and mortar foundations so prone to streams of water, buckling in, and level 10 of buyer horror, on a scale of 1-10. In this particular property, a fix had been attempted to sturdy up the wall by building a yard high block wall about 3 feet in from the Michigan wall, and then THE GAP HAD BEEN FILLED WITH SOIL! Think raised garden bed, with natural irrigation. Roots had grown through the Michigan wall, luxuriated in the warmth and moisture of the indoor spa retreat, climbed up and over the new wall and...into the open cistern in the basement floor. I wish I had a picture of that! Several fix scenarios were presented, and being a property owner with money, the cheapest one was chosen. Essentially a basement waterproofing system in pure white covered up the whole mess with a tidy facade. The fix didn't solve anything except that no one could see it any more.

But the best story (#3) tied back to a photo used in the continuing education class this company had come in to our office to present, and one of the reasons I decided to use them in the first place. The con-ed class photo showed a block wall essentially broken down the length of it, bowed out in the middle like an arrow tip, from one end to the next. Could this problem be solved? Yes. Should the potential buyer buy this property? Depends. What is the cost to cure and what is the negotiated offer price of the property? It was the buyer's decision. The inspector's position was to not alarm the buyer, just present the facts please, just the facts.

Story number four, this inspector was called in by an investor who was considering buying a property that no one else would touch. Nice suburban neighborhood, very commutable to all points in the tri-county area, spacious, updated, with one of the four basement block walls completely in a heap on the floor of the basement. The investor asked that one question. Can this be fixed? Since the inspector was dealing with an investor rather than an end-user buyer, he was more free with his advice. He paced out the wall and estimated $12,000 for the repair. The investor bought the property for $85,000, put in about another $25,000, including that wall repair, and sold for something in the vicinity of $200,000. Knowledge and courage were rewarded with a tidy profit. (P.S. It was water again.)

In summary, buyers should not be afraid of what look like insurmountable problems. Every problem can be solved. Just do the math and see if it makes sense. If it doesn't, that is a seller problem, not a buyer problem. Next. Another troubled property may have a seller who understands. Granted, not all buyers are cut out for the level of repair that may be needed even if the deal is great; stress can kill. Buyers need to know themselves, hire the pros for inspection, and don't do repairs that are not DIY friendly. If buyers have remorse, they can go to that big jar of M&Ms labeled, "Take two for buyer's remorse, as needed." Every realtor should supply that to a nervous buyer, first timer, fifth timer, whatever. It lightheartedly lets them know that their fears are normal. If the homework was done, chocolate might help. Trust me, I won't tell a soul.

Has ANYONE ever heard that? I know when I was growing up in the dark ages, I thought I had two choices, a teacher or a nurse. That was if I aimed high and went to college. The other options included clerical work if I went to business school, with secretaries being highly prized - I think executive secretaries were particularly valued since they needed to dress well and were paid to do so, not to mention the time management skills they had to have that kept their much more highly paid bosses afloat.... It all came down to typing skills in the end it seemed. Beyond these options, it was assumed a woman would be barefoot and pregnant.

Well, teaching was out. I was a great learner but not a conventional thinker - I'd be fired for nonconformity, plus I hated public speaking, even if I would be twice the audience's age at some point. Nursing was definitely out - all that caring about people's bodies, the bodily fluids, the extremely personal histories, the antiseptic environment. So many things wrong with the nursing picture.

As a Catholic school student in elementary school, I was constantly told I should be a nun. That was probably because I was a shy kid and everyone thought I would amount to nothing. This is not a slam against nuns, some of whom are so patient and devout, but I knew my future held bigger things than those kinds of restrictions. We won't talk about sex. OK, just did. What is the celibacy issue all about anyway? A human need cannot be willed away by prayer - I will not believe that is true. So I am a cafeteria Catholic, picking and choosing what it is that I adhere to. I do believe the oddities of this faith will catch up with my beliefs and the beliefs of many other Catholics. If you hate me for it, who wins? I'm thinking the devil. But I digress.

Back to my topic, as usual, finally.... The only realtor I remember in my childhood is the one who found my family the property my mother still lives in. My father died in September 2007 and my sister and her husband moved to PA from AZ (their jobs allowed that to happen, miraculously) and they purchased the property. I think of my sister as the knight in shining armor. My mother calls her husband the cookie monster, probably with good reason despite his rake-like build. All is going well.

That realtor in 1964 was so professional, so organized, so revered by my parents, my mother in particular, and if anyone thinks a man chooses a property for a family home, well, I think you are probably wrong. That woman, knowing we had to make the move for my father's job, and knowing we had a family with 9 children (ultimately there would be 12) showed a lot of sub-par properties. There was disappointment; I think I remember tears; I know I remember despair. My mother talked about the time they stopped at a local coffee shop to re-evaluate. (We nine kids were at Grandma's up the road.) It was then the details were really hammered out.

My parents were leaving a property just outside New York City for a property in suburban Wilkes-Barre. The cost differences were huge. The tiny house they were leaving could purchase three times the home for half the price, and they did. It wasn't until that discussion was had that progress was made. I know 1964 was a lot different than today, but it all comes down to listening and understanding. I remember my mother describing the "shacks" they were first shown and then finding the property they now own. It was a fixer upper they were glad to acquire on arguably the best street in the best suburb of the city where they were searching.

My mother loved that realtor for finding them that property, our family home, and talked about her regularly enough that I remember the profession though I was only six years old. When that realtor took the time to learn about my parents, she apologized for assuming from afar what our family was like. To her, nine children equated to a shack but we were more like "The Sound of Music" (I hate that movie...) and she apologized for jumping to conclusions and showing what she had originally shown. We went to that little coffee shop many times through the years. My mother always mentioned the realtor and it was clear she meant that that was the turning point. In an odd coincidence, a grandchild bought that coffee shop years later and turned it into a highly profitable pizza place - I think it was the third in their local chain. Anyone believe in karma?

My point is this. Hardly anyone sits down and thinks, "I'm going to be a realtor." Part of the problem is that there are few degree programs that state that as a goal. In many places, becoming a realtor means passing a test and hanging up the shingle. The only real estate profession I knew about before choosing this profession was real estate attorney. Not realtor. Attorney. Law school. I was not up for law school.

Somewhere deep down while I was a very young child studying the floorplans in the many shelter magazines my mother subscribed to, I found my passion. No one saw it, no one knew it, not even me until it was the classic 20-20 hindsight. But here I am, a realtor. In Michigan. In one of the worst real estate crises parts of this nation and certainly Michigan have perhaps ever endured, and I am surpassing the norm. I expect this year to be enormous. I expect to finally be able to hire the help I need. I expect I am going to have to clean up my office to give them a place to work. I hope they believe in karma; it's real, it's here, and they're gonna need it.

First let me define the title.

Fiddlers ReStrung is a Saline, MI high school group of select musicians who perform under the guidance and regulations of Saline's Community Education department and Saline Area schools. Audition is mandatory and many do not make the cut. It is not a club, though at the younger levels that feed into the group, all levels of abilities are welcome without qualification. Go to www.fiddlersrestrung.com for all kinds of pertinent information.

Next, there is my son Kevin, who has been a member of this group for 3 years. Before I go into my accolades of him, I must mention that as noted above, there is an audition process and he was defeated there the first year of tryouts. The second year, tail figuratively between his legs, he auditioned and succeeded.

Since I will be posting this to "localism" I feel that I must define the "them-them" portion of the title. I should even perhaps go so far as first defining Active Rain as the definitive real estate resource for realtors: advice, information, problem-solving, comraderie, condolences, congratulations, and available to consumers if appropriate. "Them-them" is an extension of the "me-me" where a member of Active Rain is asked to expand upon their bio and really let loose from what most of us post in our profiles. "Them-them" can be about anyone, real estate or not. It is just a shout-out to say, "you are appreciated." I have only done two so far, one for my daughter and her adventures living in Paris this semester (www.saraanneinparis.blogspot.com) and another for her cat left behind. (The cat doesn't have a website but I think she is fully capable of it, like all cats....) See, they can be about anything! I think I may have missed all the marks though when I them-them'd a cat, even a geriatric one rescued when a family was foreclosed upon and who may have a thyroid problem....

For a change, I am going to hit the them-them right on target, in all regards. I will start with Fiddlers ReStrung. Tonight I witnessed a performance so polished I wonder if it will ever be surpassed, absolutely ever. Part of my thinking is that there are an inordinate number of senior members this year and I doubt that will ever happen again; their experience was so evident! The music, the stage presence, the easy flow of complicated maneuverings on stage - to mikes for solos or groupings, the abandoning of instruments for dance sets, the announcing by students and leaders; it was all orchestrated without being orchestrated. The on-stage banter was fun but not distracting. They knew what to do and did it - so professional! At many of the group's year-round events, comments are often made that it is hard to believe that these kids are high-schoolers, some as young as 9th grade. I only wish all the year-round event attendees could all make it to the hometown concerts because that is the best of the best. This night surpassed every hometown concert event I have ever seen, and I have been attending them for nearly ten years now, since we have lived in Michigan - I saw perfection tonight.

Regarding my son Kevin, I know I will not insult him by first saying that I was shocked that he took to music, particularly playing music, on violin, as naturally as he did in 5th grade. He is not a coordinated fellow in most regards - sports were an adventure in failure - but music is apparently completely different in brain chemistry terms. His eyes, hands, mouth, and body could coordinate in this regard so unexpectedly! When dance (clogging) was added to the mix soon after his admission to Fiddlers ReStrung, I worried if he would ever really get it. Tonight, I was so proud of him in the new dance quartet performance with his break-out solo. He was a hit and I was amazed! Sometimes overconfidence pays when it equates to "give it your all" and he did that flawlessly toight. In another area, Kevin introduced an upcoming song in what has to be the most verbose soliloquy this group has ever witnessed. (Any wonder that his major will be computer science, for the money, and English Literature as a minor, for the passion, in the fall of 2008 - Michigan Tech?) The audience was laughing with enjoyment and his delivery was impeccable, all bass voice with the remnant of enunciated British accent he acquired in our two years in England, apparently impossible to erase via speech therapy here in the states. I have never heard a student introduction so eloquent, carefully timed, and precise as his tonight. Yes, I know I am his mother.... What a great way to go out as a senior!

All in all, a tribute and round of applause to all concerned: Artistic Director, Cori Smith, Assistant Artistic Director, Josh Herter, Community Ed principals, Scot Graden and Rebecca Groeb-Driscoll, choreographer Sheila Graziano, and all the parents and other supporters who make this group strong and successful. Congratulations all!

If I manage to snag a video, there will be a follow-up to this them-them. They deserve it and you will enjoy it, guaranteed, or your money back. OK, no money back, this performance will be free. Enjoy!

Please visit my website at www.susanwalters.net

The title of this piece is a quote from my husband, circa 1990, I'm guessing, when we were in such dire straits financially that we had 20 cents in our local savings account. I am not kidding. When the savings statement came from the bank, my husband looked at it, uttered those words, and continued with, (if somebody gave me a nickel) "We'd have a quarter in our savings account."

We were in that position since we had decided to function as a family with just my husband's income to provide for us. That had not been the plan, pre-children, and we had definitely not saved enough for the path we ultimately took after 11 years of two paychecks and no children. Our household income was cut in half when I stayed home to care for one, then two, and a third child in 4.5 years. We exhausted our reserves and soldiered on. I remember the scrimping in those days. We did things no one else was doing. Our babies wore cloth diapers that I hung on the clothesline to dry. A roll of paper towels could last a month in our house - dish towels and table cloths made up for them with one washer load and line drying cutting costs even more. I even hung heavy clothes like jeans and comforters in the basement to air dry. If I could do it for less, I did. I was constantly on the lookout for more cost-cutting ideas. Do I need to mention that baby formula never crossed our threshold? Or that dinners out were absolutely never done? I don't regret any of those decisions and our family and children are better off for it. No one will ever convince me otherwise.

Today I find myself selling real estate in Michigan and although things are looking considerably up, my husband is still employed in the auto industry and the bottom of our security, such that it is, could drop out at any moment. Sure, we have 401K plans, IRAs, stocks; some do well, some not so well - we are in it for the long haul in most investments and are told to not sweat the temporary setbacks - just like in real estate. We expect the equity of old to return to our home, one day, and daily savings efforts are evident once again. Sometimes we let the satellite go out - we barely watch TV anyway, not even our children. We keep the heat really low in our large house, though I must say I did a listing presentation in a lovely condo yesterday and my nearly frostbitten hands had a hard time turning the pages of my booklet - my guess, 45 degrees. At the end when we talked about net proceeds, I learned that there was no mortgage on the property. Turn on the heat then!!! I came home to the comforting warmth of 63 degrees, a sausage and roasted vegetable dish prepared by my son, and plenty of fleece blankets. It felt like heaven; it is heaven. Sometimes we forget.

I have to look back to those seemingly desperate years so long ago and wonder if lack of money was really a problem. We found ways to cope and survive. Our bank account eventually grew to a sizable amount; we purchased our next home, this home, with a hefty 20% down payment. We may have had 20 cents in our savings account then but we weathered the storm and prevailed. It is how I look at real estate now. Cut costs but not services. Will the work be harder? Of course, nothing in life is ever really easy or free - it is all in perception. The weak will succumb but the strong will survive. I will survive.

In public English buildings, constructed in the days of yore when people were a foot or so shorter than modern folks, there are often signs over truncated doorways that read, "Mind Your Head." The sign itself forces the eye upward and the message immediately signals - DUCK!!!

The semi-detached house we lived in for two years in London, just about a decade ago, had a doorway just like that. My husband at first refused to even consider the property since he whacked his head hard during our walk-through. I fought to lease the house, even with that doorway, since it was the best of the bunch. One of the other contenders had a great garden (yard) but required even very thin people to enter the upstairs bathroom sideways. I knew that wouldn't work. Some had so much built-in furniture that we couldn't have brought our own. I thought that was key to letting our young children and pets settle in without too much disorientation. After drawing floorplans and furniture arrangements, my husband came to see that the head-banger was the right one in the end too. He never hit his head again; some lessons are learned immediately.

Once we stayed at a bed-and-breakfast with a drawbridge across a turn in the staircase leading to the second floor - that was the access to the full bath. The kids had a blast with it but there were bound to be desperate days when the time and effort to secure the drawbridge would result in one catastrophe or another on the landing. Puzzling spaces, cubbyhole rooms, steeply slanted ceilings, no closets (and never, never any window screens) - these were the results of antique buildings being enlarged and modified to fit the whim or need of the day.

Guess what? "America" has all of those oddities and more in buildings right now. I showed a property once that was advertised in the MLS as having 1.5 baths. Sure enough, there was a full bath on the second floor but where the heck was the .5 bath? As I opened the door to the basement, my potential buyer broke out in laughter. Right there on the landing was a toilet and sink. She said, "I think I'll go into the basement and while I'm on my way down there, I might as well take a ****!" Finesse was not her strong suit but it was a good laugh, and not even an MLS overstatement if you get right down to it. There was a shower in the basement so really it was a 2.0 abode....

I showed a property today and thoroughly enjoyed the banter while my party of buyers and builders debated the changes that could be made to eliminate the functionally obsolete features. The property had been a ranch at one time and a second floor had been added many years ago. One idea was to turn the awkard staircase by spiralling the lower few steps to one side but I noted the "mind your head" dilemma and the group aha'd in unison. There was lively discourse on the second floor when the 3 bedrooms were discovered to have bathroom access by only two of the three, jack and jill style. Yes, there was a full bath on the main floor but how inconvenient would that be for the second floor inhabitant of the third bedroom? Someone floated the idea that the bath's attached walk-through closet was large enough to become its own bathroom, with a door to the hallway. By sealing that entrance to the existing bath, a master bath was created pronto, and the two smaller bedrooms had a new hall-entry bath to share. Oh, how I wish I could draw a floorplan here!

This is the part of my job as a realtor that I particularly love. The challenge of taking these quirky spaces, working with builders and (mostly) investors, to turn misfortune into profit is an exciting opportunity. I have the market knowledge to know what buyers will prefer and the investors & company have the dollars and sense to do it. If this deal goes through, I'll be sure there are before-and-after photos, with before-and-after numbers to underscore the point. Good design pays, at any price point. I'm only too happy to help.