Tell me Why.

Why does my husband like to point out all the different makes and models of cars? I know my youngest daughter will be buying another car within the year. However, just because he shows me these cars doesn't mean that I'll remember what they even look like much less all their stats. So why do it??
While watching TV, why does he maintain a running commentary? How many times can a person say, "Shh?"  Will he ever take the hint?
Added to all that, why can't he ever seem to find anything if he believes I put it away? I always put things in the same place. Why can't he just look there??
Thank goodness I really love this guy..

You'll Never be a Landlord.

My husband is a fantastic landlord. Anybody living in his apartment building can attest to that. Depending on the tenant, his quest for the rent can be a mission of small expeditions or one highly intense, text to text miscommunication that only he seems to be able to sort through.

Our apartment

Karen works at the neighborhood bar. She pays the rent with her tips and small salary. On any given day she can call him up four to eight times.

"Isik, are you going to be at the apartment?"

"When do you want me there?"

"I'm at the laundromat. I'll be there in 20 minutes."

"Ok, call me when you get home." (After owning this building for over 15 years, he finally figured out to wait for the call that signals the tenant has arrived home. In the past he's been blown off from these meetings on a regular basis. A tenant on the road never means they'll make it home when they say they will. All they need is an offer for a free drink and hours later - oops, they remember their appointment with my husband.)

"I got delayed. Can I meet you tonight?"

"Sure, what time about?"

"Oh, about 6."

Now, since the laundry is usually done and taken home in the morning, Karen is off and running.  Not necessarily a good think in her case. About 6 she'll call again with...

"Isik, are you at the apartment?"

"No, when do you want to meet?"

"I'll be there in 15 minutes unless you want to pick me up. I'm at my friends."

The first time he picked her up from her friends, he discovered her friend was another neighborhood bar. She was feeling very "happy."

So this time he says, "Why don't you call me when you get home."

This could go on through the week. Either Karen runs out of the money she was saving for rent or the weekend arrives and she'll be getting more money to add to it.

At that point it'll be, "Are you going to be at the building on Monday??"

"What time about?"

 Karen always pays and even though she pays in bits and pieces, she's ultimately ahead by a month or so with her payments. She even has security deposit which she doesn't know about. Isik will surprise her one day when she falls behind in her rent.

Side of building

I'm horrible. If I had to diplomatically deal with tenants, I'd be doomed.

Let me explain just one day of accompanying him on his daily routines. 

The night before he received a three-tiered text. The apartment dwellers are late (as usual) with the rent. That's generally because of the three girls paying, one hasn't got it together yet. But they're in a panic because, as I said, they're late. So, the text boils down to

1. We're sorry we're late but we're at work and can meet you at 9PM if that's not too late.
2. We'll be putting the rent in the mailbox and you can pick it up in the morning, oh and  

3. Call me in the morning.

Of course he really better be there in the AM because the mailman comes after lunch. These gals pay partially in cash, check and money order. The mailman'll think he's getting his Christmas bonus early if he opens that box before Isik can get to it!

In the morning we have our granddaughter with us. His building is on the way to her pre-school so we stop for the rent. Isa and I play in the first snow of the year while he retrieves the rent. She's annoyed that it's impossible to make a snowball. I find that the snow on our car produces a satisfactory snowball, so we scrape snow off the hood until grandpa returns, frustrated. No rent in the mailbox.

I implore him to call the girl up or ring her doorbell. Maybe she's still in the apartment. Lo and behold he catches a glimpse of one of the girls, ready to get into a cab.

"Go ask her about the rent!"

"No, no, I can't, she's not the one that handles it. I can't stop her. I'm not going to embarrass her that way."

"Ok, then call up the girl who handles it. Or check the mailbox again. Maybe this one was suppose to put the money in there but she was late."

So he calls up the tenant. No answer. He goes back to the mailbox. No money. Does he ring the doorbell?? Nope.

I'm going crazy by this time.

"Don't bring me with you when you do this. Why can't you call the other girls up? Why can't you ring the doorbell? Why are you making me and Isa wait? At least text her about being out here."

He has me text her and we deposit Isa at her school, arriving late.

He explains that you need patience. You don't intrude in their lives. You have to give them space.

So, we drop Isa, head off to the doctor's appointment (late) and also receive the answer to our text about the rent.

She was still in the apartment (like I thought) and was apologizing profusely. She was now putting the rent in the mailbox.

"What about the mailman? What if he gets there before us? Tell her to leave it in the apartment and you can pick it up off of their kitchen counter. What is wrong with you? Why aren't you more foreceful? Why do you let them walk all over you?"

Isik sighs.

"You'll never really be a landlord, will you."

By the end of the day, not only does he get this rent but another tenant has texted. She's putting the rent under the door of the basement. We have two basements. Will we have another problem about that?

He has taken tenants to Aldi's, picked them up from Walgreens and gets parking passes for them. I guess the best example of his bond with his tenants was the day one of the pregnant gals was in labor. She was single and had a two-year old with her. She yelled out the window when she saw Isik and he quickly dropped both of them off at the hospital. He had always joked with her that if she ever needs to have him take her to the hospital, he's available. He never thought she'd actually take him up on that offer!

After all is done, I'm in a frazzled state. Irritated beyond measure with him. Agravated even moreso with the tenants, until I receive a call from my daughter.

"Can you take out Andre? I forgot to ask you earlier."

Aww, my granddog Andre needs me.

I guess we all have our weakness - Isik's are his tenants. He says they're like his kids. I guess that's why so few move out until they have to or have saved enough to buy a home. He's only had to evict twice, and both times they did move out before the battle arrived in the courts. One time one did say, "Go ahead, evict me!" It was like she was laughing at him so he did proceed with it. When he turned up at court, Isik ended up in the wrong court room. He tried to ask if he was in the right room but every time he went to the front, the bailiff told him to "Sit down and wait your turn."

When everybody left the court, the bailiff realized Isik was still there. He looked up his name and said, "Oh you're in the wrong room. You're suppose to be next door and they're finished."

When Isik returned home, she was already moved out.

My weakness?

My grandchildren - and my granddog!

How I Keep my Memories

Mom's painting - bought for her when I had my gallbladder operation.

Why do I remember some things like this and not others?

As I walked past my mom's painting this morning, a vivid image burst into my mind - my strolls with her down the hallways of the Ravenswood hospital after my gallbladder surgery. She visited me almost every day of that week, difficult since it was the week before Christmas. She had the festivities to prepare for but here she was with me, gently coaxing me to "take another step, think of your baby waiting for you."

They had potraits and paintings lined up in those hospital halls. Mom stopped each time we came to the painting of the boat, alone in the water.  I bought that painting for her because she loved it. I was so lucky to have her able to take care of my baby while I recuperated from surgery. I knew she wouldn't take money for all that babysitting time.  The picture hung in her front room from then on.

  

Now that she's gone, I'm glad I have that picture to remember her.

Renoir - bought by my husband because it reminded him of me and his girls.

I know my husband sees his girls as toddlers, and the Renoir keeps them toddlers. I was exasperated with his purchase, but now I understand how fleeting those childhood days were. I love the idea that I might be thought of like that mother. My girls would probably argue that I never dressed them as well as that mom did. In my defense, they insisted on picking out their own outfits. They swear that's not true.

Portrait done by a parent at the girls' grammar school.

I worked at my girls grammar school. I was involved in the PTA, busing and their classes. I sometimes taught the class they were in (at extreme embarrassment to them) but mostly, I was there. Always in their lives. That's what the potrait reminds me of - the parent at Newberry wanted a family that was bonded to each other like no other family around. That was me and my girls. I couldn't get enough of them. They were funny, especially when bouncing jokes off of each other OR at my expense. (that happened a lot!) One day after school let out, this parent stopped me before I got into my car and asked if she could take our picture. We were thrilled! She snapped quite a few pictures in her studio before she settled on this one.

You can see our personalities so clearly in the photo!

Bonnie's friend was selling original paintings.

The painting I bought from a friend of Bonnie's kind of caught me off guard. I didn't need another picture, but I was really taken by this one. Had to have it. Why?? When I inherited my mom's painting, I finally realized why. I was back there, with her.

Mommy....



The Next Controversy Begins..

Was it food poisoning or the stomach flu virus??
Thanksgiving is celebrated at my home every year. One of our traditions. I used to pick up my mom when she was alive and rational. (She developed dementia later in life.) and have her make all the Turkey, stuffing and gravy, then half the time I'd take the credit for it. I always made the spinach pie.
Now that she's gone, I'm filling in for her.
Keep in mind that I am the oldest of eight - almost all my siblings have children and some of the children have children. I'd say we had at least 42 people at the house. Guys were all sitting in the frontroom, trying to watch the holiday sport which I believe, for Thanksgiving, is football. Some are grumbling because I don't have all the sports channels. Why should I? I don't watch any sports except for boxing or ice skating. I don't need anything special for that!
Well, my turkey was taking it's sweet time this year and as a consequence, everybody arrived and had to wait patiently. It was well worth the wait; I believe it was one of the best I've ever baked. When the line formed for the feast, people sure piled on the food. Oh, the luscious desserts! Everything was top-notch.
Lots of noise. Lots of back and forth. My oldest son, Dino, couldn't stay as long as he wanted to because his wife was calling. Nathan had the stomach flu and was throwing up - again. Dino kissed his way out of the house and that's really when this story begins.
The next day, my daughter-in-law calls and says Nathan needs a perscription filled. They had to take him to the emergency room because he was throwing up so much. Doctor told them he had the virus and it's one of the worse they've seen in a long time.
I drive over to Jewel for her. I know it's a supermarket but way, way in the back, there's a tiny drugstore. I encounter the slowest-moving pharmacist - he scanned the perscription, scanned the insurance card, typed in the information, and phoned the insurance company . Even though I implored him to hurry, that I had one really sick grandson waiting for this medicine, all he could reply is, "Did he get food poisoning?"
Oh, and he helped another customer with her questions about multi-vitamins.
(You know, Dr Oz has got to stop confusing us - too much vitamin A? Not enough vitamin D? Don't get iron!! Unless you're a menstruating female that is...) You could tell this woman watched Dr. Oz by the unGodly amount of questions she had.
Anway, it took over an hour. In the meantime, the appraiser was coming to my house and I was hoping to clean it (again) after the relatives had their way with it on Thanksgiving. Luckily my husband was able to get things back to normal and the appraiser loved the place. Said it was one of the most unique homes he'd every appraise. That does mean it'll be hard to find comps, but my husband, an ex-realtor, had a folder of comps, surveys and an actual appraisal done just two years earlier, ready to hand over to him. The appraiser seemed to be plenty grateful. Hope that gets us the amount we need for our reverse mortgage!) (You can read about that ordeal in my earlier posts.)
When that's done, I finally get a chance to check my emails and facebook. Curiously, I realize that a pattern is emerging. Lots of family seemed to also come down with that virus.
Here's the rundown - four from my family of ten.
                                 two from Mike's family of seven.
                                 two from Jimbo's family of three.
                                 four FIVE from Lin's family of nine.
                                 three from Mary's family of six.
                               and three from Jeannie's family of five.
That's at least eighteen people that got sick!!
So wouldn't you question whether it's really the flu or food poisoning??  Check this story out, found in the Chicago Tribune. http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/chi-ap-mo-grapetomatoes-rec,0,7718546.story
Thought so...