Spending money makes me feel ill. I don't mean I can't go out to dinner without throwing up. That's not a problem. But I've just signed a contract to buy a house and spent most of the morning at the bank applying for a loan. I will owe more money than I ever have in my life and the thought of being responsible for that much money makes me ill.
When I was younger and didn't have the financial capacity I have now, things like buying a new fridge had the same effect. Now it's the big amounts - big for me anyway. Spending more than $5000 in one hit is sickening. So is checking my bank account and finding I've spent that much in little bits over the course of a week. It takes time for me to get used to the idea.
It's odd. I don't worry over-much about money. I don't count every cent or panic if I don't keep strictly to my budget. But I hate owing money. I don't like being in debt. I don't even have a credit card. I like living within my income. I know everything I have, I own. It's comfortable.
I like seeing the balance in my bank account go up, not down. Adding zeros to the numbers in my bank account is enough to have me dancing around the house. Buying a house, while cause for celebration, is enough to send me to bed with a cold compress. That's where I'll be spending tonight.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
House Hunting
Lauren and I have been househunting. This is our first foray into investment buying together and it's fun. We spent all day Wednesday in a nearby city looking at houses and thinking about things like renovations required prior to rental, maintenance required in the near future, potential resale value.
We looked at eight houses and discounted five of them almost immediately. One was already rented which was appealing. The house itself looked great but it was too expensive, considering its nearest neighbour was the local cemetary. One was across the road from a joinery - poor resale value and only two bedrooms. One looked like good value until you noticed the kitchen benches had been painted and were now peeling and the kitchen had those awful foam tiles glued to the ceiling - too much work for the price.
The three we really like are in three different areas. One is perfect, excellent condition, good yard, reasonable area - just right at the top of our budget. One is tiny, in a great position, with loads of character and potential to add a third bedroom - but already right at the top of our budget. The third one is in a reasonable area with a good kitchen, just a horrid pink bath and tacky floor coverings. The benefit of this one is that it's cheap enough that we could change the bathroom and floor coverings and still spend less than either of the other two. Even though the first two houses appeal to us more, this one makes more sense for an investment.
It's amazing how I've had to change the way I look at houses and think about them when I'm buying purely for investment purposes. I've never done that before. Every house I've bought previously has been with a view to live in it, renovate and then, if I can afford it, rent it out when I move on to the next house. I've bought houses based on what I like and want in a house, not what would be the best financial decision.
And that's the really fun part over with. Now I have to check insurance companies to find out how safe each of the areas are, the city council to find out yearly rates charges, and spend some time with a spreadsheet calculating potential % return for each house. Then comes arranging for a building and pest inspection, sourcing the funds and engaging a solicitor to do the conveyancing. It's going to be a very expensive couple of months before the house is settled and rented and we start seeing any sort of income from it. Providing we get the house we want at the price we want in the first place.
We looked at eight houses and discounted five of them almost immediately. One was already rented which was appealing. The house itself looked great but it was too expensive, considering its nearest neighbour was the local cemetary. One was across the road from a joinery - poor resale value and only two bedrooms. One looked like good value until you noticed the kitchen benches had been painted and were now peeling and the kitchen had those awful foam tiles glued to the ceiling - too much work for the price.
The three we really like are in three different areas. One is perfect, excellent condition, good yard, reasonable area - just right at the top of our budget. One is tiny, in a great position, with loads of character and potential to add a third bedroom - but already right at the top of our budget. The third one is in a reasonable area with a good kitchen, just a horrid pink bath and tacky floor coverings. The benefit of this one is that it's cheap enough that we could change the bathroom and floor coverings and still spend less than either of the other two. Even though the first two houses appeal to us more, this one makes more sense for an investment.
It's amazing how I've had to change the way I look at houses and think about them when I'm buying purely for investment purposes. I've never done that before. Every house I've bought previously has been with a view to live in it, renovate and then, if I can afford it, rent it out when I move on to the next house. I've bought houses based on what I like and want in a house, not what would be the best financial decision.
And that's the really fun part over with. Now I have to check insurance companies to find out how safe each of the areas are, the city council to find out yearly rates charges, and spend some time with a spreadsheet calculating potential % return for each house. Then comes arranging for a building and pest inspection, sourcing the funds and engaging a solicitor to do the conveyancing. It's going to be a very expensive couple of months before the house is settled and rented and we start seeing any sort of income from it. Providing we get the house we want at the price we want in the first place.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Emotions rule
I've decided I'm an emotional person. I don't mean that I'm constantly laughing, crying or screaming; I'm not THAT emotional. But emotions rule my life.
I lost my voice four weeks ago and, while it's improved somewhat, it still doesn't last a full day. I've been on sick leave because I can't teach without talking and talking makes it worse. No one can hear me anyway. I've had nearly four weeks at home with nothing wrong with me except I can't talk. You'd think it would be a perfect opportunity to accomplish things, wouldn't you.
I certainly thought so. Four weeks is enough time to get a uni assignment done early and start on another one. It's enough time to write four chapters for my book. It's enough time to clean my office. But has any of that been done?
What I have done:
I lost my voice four weeks ago and, while it's improved somewhat, it still doesn't last a full day. I've been on sick leave because I can't teach without talking and talking makes it worse. No one can hear me anyway. I've had nearly four weeks at home with nothing wrong with me except I can't talk. You'd think it would be a perfect opportunity to accomplish things, wouldn't you.
I certainly thought so. Four weeks is enough time to get a uni assignment done early and start on another one. It's enough time to write four chapters for my book. It's enough time to clean my office. But has any of that been done?
What I have done:
- I went to the doctor three times.
- I've made one batch of spicy tomato chutney and one batch of lemon and lime butter.
- I've baked bread and muffins.
- I've written the equivalent of one chapter.
- I missed lectures at uni because I'm not supposed to be talking - and still haven't listened to the recordings to catch up.
- I took my mother to see her sick brother.
- I've been shopping. I've looked at heaps of things but so far have only bought chocolate.
- I've read books.
- I've wandered around the house complaining I'm not accomplishing anything.
- And I've eaten a small shop-full of chocolate because that helps me whinge more efficiently.
Effectively, what I've been doing is waiting (probably with a good dose of feeling sorry for myself as well). It's self-defeating and it's time-wasting. But I can't break out of it. I have the perfect day today, with no interruptions to get an assignment started, but I'm doing this instead. I'm cleaning the house instead. I'm moving papers around my desk (let's not get carried away and actually put any of them away) instead. I imagine I'm irritating other people because I'm sure irritating myself at the moment.
This isn't new. It's a pattern that I haven't worked out how to change. When I eventually get back to work there'll be an incredible backlog of things that simply have to be done because I've been avoiding them. They'll all get done and, apart from the exhaustion, I'll feel great, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm deliberately not using a golden opportunity.
What I need is some tips on encouraging self-motivation. It's my greatest weakness.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Crunching gravel
Lauren and I were out walking, single file on a narrow gravel path in the forest. We stopped every half dozen metres to listen to the sounds around us: the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, the sparrows and honey eaters squawking, the quiet busy-ness of nature. Then we'd move on.
I watched Lauren's feet shift and crunch the gravel as she put them down, one after the other. "How do you suppose all those people in books and movies move so silently?" The question was out of my mouth before I could think about it.
Lauren, bless her, didn't hesitate. Within half a second she'd bent her knees, slowed her stride and begun placing her feet carefully on the path, rolling heel to toe, trying to be as quiet as possible. I followed suit, but we still made too much noise. I changed my stride to match hers, only putting a foot down when she did. That helped, but nothing we did made our passage silent. After a couple of minutes the absurdity of it all struck me and I giggled. Lauren turned and we all but fell about laughing.
"This is the sort of thing my friends and I do when we're drunk," laughed Lauren.
"Who needs to drink?" was my reply. "I can be an idiot any time."
We were both still grinning when we finished our walk an hour later. I'm still smiling. Those few precious moments sharing joy are lasting a long time. I have a lot of moments like that with Lauren.
I must be the luckiest woman on earth.
I watched Lauren's feet shift and crunch the gravel as she put them down, one after the other. "How do you suppose all those people in books and movies move so silently?" The question was out of my mouth before I could think about it.
Lauren, bless her, didn't hesitate. Within half a second she'd bent her knees, slowed her stride and begun placing her feet carefully on the path, rolling heel to toe, trying to be as quiet as possible. I followed suit, but we still made too much noise. I changed my stride to match hers, only putting a foot down when she did. That helped, but nothing we did made our passage silent. After a couple of minutes the absurdity of it all struck me and I giggled. Lauren turned and we all but fell about laughing.
"This is the sort of thing my friends and I do when we're drunk," laughed Lauren.
"Who needs to drink?" was my reply. "I can be an idiot any time."
We were both still grinning when we finished our walk an hour later. I'm still smiling. Those few precious moments sharing joy are lasting a long time. I have a lot of moments like that with Lauren.
I must be the luckiest woman on earth.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Do not go gentle
The father of a friend of mine suffered a massive stroke a couple of days ago. Prognosis isn't good. How I hate this. The lives of so many people are turned upside down, pierced with pain and uncertainty. For them, the grief starts now, even though he's still alive and they suddenly have to deal with the horror of his illness and care. I wish there was something I could do to help them, to make things easier for them, but this is a time for family and holding it all together, dealing with things, because if you don't, you'll succumb to the quiet terror and never be able to cope with anything again.
I remember the day my father died. The call to say he'd been taken to hospital came at 11pm. At 11pm the next night I was standing in the grounds of the hospital with seven year old Lauren, telling her that the newest, brightest star was her grandfather; that people we love never really leave us even though we might never see them again. It didn't work then, for either of us; it doesn't work now. The grief never ends, it never diminishes. It just gets easier to hide, easier to pretend that it doesn't hurt all the time anymore.
Dylan Thomas's "Do not go gentle into that goodnight" lives with me at times like this:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Sometimes I think it would be better not to fight it, but to just gently slip away, then those who loved can begin their raging sooner, come to terms with it sooner. Hide the grief sooner.
I remember the day my father died. The call to say he'd been taken to hospital came at 11pm. At 11pm the next night I was standing in the grounds of the hospital with seven year old Lauren, telling her that the newest, brightest star was her grandfather; that people we love never really leave us even though we might never see them again. It didn't work then, for either of us; it doesn't work now. The grief never ends, it never diminishes. It just gets easier to hide, easier to pretend that it doesn't hurt all the time anymore.
Dylan Thomas's "Do not go gentle into that goodnight" lives with me at times like this:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Sometimes I think it would be better not to fight it, but to just gently slip away, then those who loved can begin their raging sooner, come to terms with it sooner. Hide the grief sooner.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
My sound of choice
My sound of choice is silence - well as silent as I can get in my little part of the world. It annoys me when I wake up at 3am and can hear the trains go by. I don't live anywhere near a train station but the prevailing wind at 3am seems to be in exactly the right direction to bring the sounds straight to my bedroom window.
I'm always the one who turns the tv off if no one is sitting in front of it actively watching (that includes the times someone falls asleep in front of the tv). What's the point? You're either watching it, or you're not. Using it as white noise is irritating.
This week I got a little more silence than I usually ask for. I lost my voice. I'm not talking croaky or husky, I'm talking no volume at all, not even a whisper. It's amazing how much difference it makes to my world. Because I'm silent, most people around me become quieter. A lot of people even whisper at me - I can't make a noise therefore my hearing must be acute. Other people come right up close to me and speak slowly like my hearing has been affected along with my voice. My sense of humour is having a ball.
It's not the first time this has happened. I spent most of my 20s losing my voice three or four times a year, then in my 30s I had 12 months without a voice. I had no volume at all for nearly five months, then had to use a portable voice amplifier for another eight months before my voice was back to normal volume. I've had to do voice exercises every day since to maintain easy volume.
With all this difficulty I have even getting a speaking voice to work, you can imagine what my singing voice is like! It's not that I can't hold a note - I'm just never sure which note I'll get or how long it'll last.
Lauren was 11 or 12 during that year and very quickly learned to respond to a click of my fingers. We developed our own sign language and had quite involved conversations with me not saying a word and her talking in shorthand. She can still say an awful lot to me just by raising an eyebrow. It actually fitted in really well with the dog obedience techniques I used throughout her childhood. I know it sounds odd to say I used dog obedience to raise a child but I did: lots and lots of praise when she did something good and growled at her when she did something wrong, just like we learned when we were training our dog. Of course I didn't realise until we took the dog obedience classes that that's what I was doing.
Now I have a few days of absolute silence inside my head. It's come at the most inconvenient time of the semester - right at the beginning - but there's nothing I can do about that. I'm scared if I don't take the time to rest and get it all working again I'll have another year with no voice. While it was an interesting experience, it's not something I want to repeat.
I'm always the one who turns the tv off if no one is sitting in front of it actively watching (that includes the times someone falls asleep in front of the tv). What's the point? You're either watching it, or you're not. Using it as white noise is irritating.
This week I got a little more silence than I usually ask for. I lost my voice. I'm not talking croaky or husky, I'm talking no volume at all, not even a whisper. It's amazing how much difference it makes to my world. Because I'm silent, most people around me become quieter. A lot of people even whisper at me - I can't make a noise therefore my hearing must be acute. Other people come right up close to me and speak slowly like my hearing has been affected along with my voice. My sense of humour is having a ball.
It's not the first time this has happened. I spent most of my 20s losing my voice three or four times a year, then in my 30s I had 12 months without a voice. I had no volume at all for nearly five months, then had to use a portable voice amplifier for another eight months before my voice was back to normal volume. I've had to do voice exercises every day since to maintain easy volume.
With all this difficulty I have even getting a speaking voice to work, you can imagine what my singing voice is like! It's not that I can't hold a note - I'm just never sure which note I'll get or how long it'll last.
Lauren was 11 or 12 during that year and very quickly learned to respond to a click of my fingers. We developed our own sign language and had quite involved conversations with me not saying a word and her talking in shorthand. She can still say an awful lot to me just by raising an eyebrow. It actually fitted in really well with the dog obedience techniques I used throughout her childhood. I know it sounds odd to say I used dog obedience to raise a child but I did: lots and lots of praise when she did something good and growled at her when she did something wrong, just like we learned when we were training our dog. Of course I didn't realise until we took the dog obedience classes that that's what I was doing.
Now I have a few days of absolute silence inside my head. It's come at the most inconvenient time of the semester - right at the beginning - but there's nothing I can do about that. I'm scared if I don't take the time to rest and get it all working again I'll have another year with no voice. While it was an interesting experience, it's not something I want to repeat.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Walk like a dog
My daughter walks like a dog. I'm serious, it's not a joke.
The last few months Lauren has been getting some work done in her yard - major earthworks. She's still waiting for the digging to be finished so she can lay a lawn. She misses her grass and plants. She's the kind of person who will spend a couple of hours a day sitting in the grass destressing, and she hasn't been able to do that for nearly four months. It's driving her crazy.
Yesterday we went to a native forest for a long walk, just so we could get close to some trees. Today we visited a friend who lives on a mountain that has a significant national park, and went for walk around the neighbourhood.
I realised today that Lauren walks like a dog. We'll be walking along and she'll suddenly deviate from the path a few metres to sniff a flower or feel the texture of a particular leaf. Then she'll return to the path only to slide off the other side after a few metres to press her hand to the bark of a tree to feel the roughness and the warmth left by the sun. She'll get down on hands and knees to watch the dappled sunlight under the fronds of a tree fern. That was the pattern for our walks yesterday and today. If something catches her eye, Lauren will go and investigate, just like an inquisitive dog would.
It's a beautiful thing to watch and to be part of. I remember similar walks when she was a child. I always loved the way she saw the world - as a thing of peace and beauty, to be nurtured and enjoyed. I no longer have to field the never-ending questions of 'why' and 'how', but she still retains that same joy of nature around her. Spending time with her has reminded me of the simple joys in life.
Looking at the world the way Lauren does really works. I haven't felt so relaxed and happy for a long time.
The last few months Lauren has been getting some work done in her yard - major earthworks. She's still waiting for the digging to be finished so she can lay a lawn. She misses her grass and plants. She's the kind of person who will spend a couple of hours a day sitting in the grass destressing, and she hasn't been able to do that for nearly four months. It's driving her crazy.
Yesterday we went to a native forest for a long walk, just so we could get close to some trees. Today we visited a friend who lives on a mountain that has a significant national park, and went for walk around the neighbourhood.
I realised today that Lauren walks like a dog. We'll be walking along and she'll suddenly deviate from the path a few metres to sniff a flower or feel the texture of a particular leaf. Then she'll return to the path only to slide off the other side after a few metres to press her hand to the bark of a tree to feel the roughness and the warmth left by the sun. She'll get down on hands and knees to watch the dappled sunlight under the fronds of a tree fern. That was the pattern for our walks yesterday and today. If something catches her eye, Lauren will go and investigate, just like an inquisitive dog would.
It's a beautiful thing to watch and to be part of. I remember similar walks when she was a child. I always loved the way she saw the world - as a thing of peace and beauty, to be nurtured and enjoyed. I no longer have to field the never-ending questions of 'why' and 'how', but she still retains that same joy of nature around her. Spending time with her has reminded me of the simple joys in life.
Looking at the world the way Lauren does really works. I haven't felt so relaxed and happy for a long time.
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