It is 11:17 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day, and I am wrapped up snug in a blanket at my computer desk in the basement, about as far away from Black Friday shopping as I can get. I can't tell you the last time I made a shopping run to Norfolk or Sioux City. I have had a lot on my proverbial plate for the last five months. In July, I made the decision that it was time to fulfill a dream I have had since I was five years old to own my own business. If you would have asked me back then what I wanted to be, I would have told you a farmer. It wasn't until I was 25 that I realized real estate might be the thing I was truly destined for with just a splash of farmer on the side. This decision had been weighing heavily on my mind for several months knowing that my current employer was moving in the direction of semi-retirement at the end of 2019. Within a matter of a few days in the middle of July, I had purchased the building located at 219 Main Street without so much as telling my husband it was happening. I simply pulled up to his shop after work, and told him I had a surprise. He guessed right away what I had done, and the rest is history. He must trust me because he hasn't questioned a thing throughout this entire process. And, so we begin our 8th year of the do-it-yourself saga that has consumed our marriage.
I've spent the last four months getting i's dotted and t's crossed, and I still have a ways to go. I want to tell all of YOU, my loyal buyers and sellers, that there is no need to panic. I will be relaying more information to you as we enter the month of December. Due to strict sanctions by the Nebraska Real Estate Commission, I am fairly limited as to what I can say just yet. However, be assured that you are my top priority as we enter into the final month of this transition.
Now you know that this new business venture is largely the reason I have been laying pretty low these days. I haven't had much of a chance to come up for air, let alone go shopping or leave town. I spent the bulk of today vacuuming and cleaning carpets, which might not sound like a very glamorous way to spend Thanksgiving, but it was good for my soul. At least I wasn't the poor sap that got stuck reinstalling the toilet after the new flooring was installed in the bathroom (thanks, Tim!) And I don't want to take any credit away from my big brother Tom Hansen, Rug Doctor extraordinaire, who ran the carpet cleaner while I vacuumed...and vacuumed....and vacuumed. Pretty sure I'm going to need a new vacuum after this.
So, for the next few weeks (or years), I'm going to be burning some midnight oil. I couldn't do so without the support of so many understanding friends, family, customers, clients, and colleagues like you. I am truly thankful for all of you, and for your words of encouragement. Goodness, I'm tearing up just thinking about each and every one of you and what a treasure it is to know you. Thanks for your patience and for sharing in my excitement! Change is hard, and life isn't all real estate and roses. So long as we trust in each other and work together, we should be able to make it through. Welcome Home.
A real (often comical) look at life as it happens in the world of Real Estate Associate Broker, Trisha Peters.
Thursday, November 28, 2019
Tuesday, October 22, 2019
"Eye" Don't Know.
Last year, I taught my oldest son what it means to play hooky from school or work. I can't even begin to count how many times over the course of the last year that I have been getting ready for work in the morning only to be asked if today is the day I would play hooky and stay home with him to do something extraordinary. Each request shaved a little chunk off my heart thinking to myself about this precious time we have while our children are young and how we spend so much of it trying to make a living. Thursday of last week was the day I could finally tell him that both his dad and I were playing hooky, and, boy, was he ecstatic!
I was finally able to teach the kids the fine art of skipping out on work on a beautiful fall day. One thing our family is really good at is taking snowy and cold days off of work, but we often do not take the time to enjoy days when the weather is nice. Fortunately, school had fall break, so we made a break for the Henry Doorly Zoo in combination with my follow-up exam at Truhlsen Eye Clinic at Nebraska Medicine in Omaha. (And, my eyes did not get dilated this time, so my husband couldn't trick me out of going to Spaghetti Works due to traffic concerns.) I soccer-mommed super hard in our borrowed minivan all day--w
eaving in and out of traffic, circling the block several times for a perfect parking spot, telling the kids to quiet down so I could focus on driving downtown, and accelerating quickly at stop lights to give the impression that I was doing a burn-out to win back some cool points. I hadn't been to the zoo in 20 years, and I am glad I got to experience it for a second time with my boys at a young age. It was quite a day. We started at the aquarium and the boys were literally running from exhibit to exhibit in awe of the entire experience. No major meltdowns, but we did have a little soldier drop trou(sers) in the middle of a group of site-seers on the Pelican Lake Bridge for a potty break. Attention spans were just long enough to get a general look at each animal throughout the entire excursion. Exception was giving to the lone tiger that was out in the Asian Highlands as he was the primary animal that our youngest wanted to see. Luke would not take his eyes off the tiger, even for a photo, because he thought the tiger would be able to get through the fence if he wasn't watching. The overall expanse of the zoo and the amount of manpower it takes to maintain, winterize, and care for each animal is almost beyond comprehension. It is pretty incredible to have such a fantastic resource right in our backyard, and it is worth at least one day of playing hooky to go see it in your lifetime!
You might be wondering about the results of my eye examination as well. The good news is that my optical nerves have experienced a 15-20% reduction in swelling since June. I am on the right track with medication. I did make a point to ask the pros at Truhlsen what is causing the swelling behind my eyes and the eyes of at least four other people I know. The simple answer was, "I don't know." I had to chuckle because my three year old's favorite answer to any question right now is, "I don't know." "What did you have for lunch today?" "I don't know." "Where did you put your water bottle?" "I don't know." "Who colored all over the wall in the garage with sidewalk chalk?" "Logan did it." He has an answer for everything, even if the answer is, "I don't know." A simple answer that is endearing in tone and annoying in reality!
As a follow up, I asked if the Med Center is doing research to see why such an insurgence of this particular problem is occurring in women my age, and the answer to that was, "People like you are all we see all day long. We don't know if there is an increase in cases or not. We are just here to treat the problem." Not the answer I wanted. It is slightly unnerving to me that such an influx of women in my own circle are experiencing this problem. The doctors attribute some of the cause to the increased use of Retin A, retinol, or retinoid in cosmetic products. It is a common anti-aging treatment that is an ingredient in a number of products. Unfortunately, putting it on your skin results in an absorption into your body that is far higher than if you simply ate the product and digested it normally. Your skin is the largest organ and is not designed to filter out bad juju like your intestinal track. That's your tiny tidbit of scientific advice for today. Ditch the Retin gals, or suffer the consequences later.
So, that was our fun for the fall in addition to the ongoing harvest and real estate hi-jinks. A little R&R is just what the doctor ordered when the stars aligned for this appointment and fall break. Get out of the office, play hooky, and make the most of what you have. Life isn't all real estate and roses, but we can sure make it fun while it lasts. Welcome Home.
I was finally able to teach the kids the fine art of skipping out on work on a beautiful fall day. One thing our family is really good at is taking snowy and cold days off of work, but we often do not take the time to enjoy days when the weather is nice. Fortunately, school had fall break, so we made a break for the Henry Doorly Zoo in combination with my follow-up exam at Truhlsen Eye Clinic at Nebraska Medicine in Omaha. (And, my eyes did not get dilated this time, so my husband couldn't trick me out of going to Spaghetti Works due to traffic concerns.) I soccer-mommed super hard in our borrowed minivan all day--w
eaving in and out of traffic, circling the block several times for a perfect parking spot, telling the kids to quiet down so I could focus on driving downtown, and accelerating quickly at stop lights to give the impression that I was doing a burn-out to win back some cool points. I hadn't been to the zoo in 20 years, and I am glad I got to experience it for a second time with my boys at a young age. It was quite a day. We started at the aquarium and the boys were literally running from exhibit to exhibit in awe of the entire experience. No major meltdowns, but we did have a little soldier drop trou(sers) in the middle of a group of site-seers on the Pelican Lake Bridge for a potty break. Attention spans were just long enough to get a general look at each animal throughout the entire excursion. Exception was giving to the lone tiger that was out in the Asian Highlands as he was the primary animal that our youngest wanted to see. Luke would not take his eyes off the tiger, even for a photo, because he thought the tiger would be able to get through the fence if he wasn't watching. The overall expanse of the zoo and the amount of manpower it takes to maintain, winterize, and care for each animal is almost beyond comprehension. It is pretty incredible to have such a fantastic resource right in our backyard, and it is worth at least one day of playing hooky to go see it in your lifetime!
 |
| Checking out the Tiger |
You might be wondering about the results of my eye examination as well. The good news is that my optical nerves have experienced a 15-20% reduction in swelling since June. I am on the right track with medication. I did make a point to ask the pros at Truhlsen what is causing the swelling behind my eyes and the eyes of at least four other people I know. The simple answer was, "I don't know." I had to chuckle because my three year old's favorite answer to any question right now is, "I don't know." "What did you have for lunch today?" "I don't know." "Where did you put your water bottle?" "I don't know." "Who colored all over the wall in the garage with sidewalk chalk?" "Logan did it." He has an answer for everything, even if the answer is, "I don't know." A simple answer that is endearing in tone and annoying in reality!
As a follow up, I asked if the Med Center is doing research to see why such an insurgence of this particular problem is occurring in women my age, and the answer to that was, "People like you are all we see all day long. We don't know if there is an increase in cases or not. We are just here to treat the problem." Not the answer I wanted. It is slightly unnerving to me that such an influx of women in my own circle are experiencing this problem. The doctors attribute some of the cause to the increased use of Retin A, retinol, or retinoid in cosmetic products. It is a common anti-aging treatment that is an ingredient in a number of products. Unfortunately, putting it on your skin results in an absorption into your body that is far higher than if you simply ate the product and digested it normally. Your skin is the largest organ and is not designed to filter out bad juju like your intestinal track. That's your tiny tidbit of scientific advice for today. Ditch the Retin gals, or suffer the consequences later.
So, that was our fun for the fall in addition to the ongoing harvest and real estate hi-jinks. A little R&R is just what the doctor ordered when the stars aligned for this appointment and fall break. Get out of the office, play hooky, and make the most of what you have. Life isn't all real estate and roses, but we can sure make it fun while it lasts. Welcome Home.
Thursday, June 13, 2019
3-2-1...Ka-blam!
Eleven years ago this week, I went on my first date with the man who is now my husband. I remember walking into his house for the first time a couple of weeks after this momentous occasion to find him scrubbing his bathroom on his hands and knees to try and impress me. Little did I know that all of those pretty little lies would go by the wayside once he had me locked down in marriage.
Perhaps every household is like this, but a hot mess follows my husband wherever he goes within the four walls of our home. Does anybody else's husband use the stovetop as an extension of the countertop?? Literally, within 10 minutes of cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom, my husband can make it look like a bomb has gone off in there. I am constantly in awe of how he can possibly make such a huge mess! Clearly, our cleaning styles are 100% opposite because this is the same guy who lovingly wipes down the tools he uses each day with a shop towel to make sure he doesn't get any grease in his toolbox. What about the lump of stinking coal he burned onto the large front burner of the ceramic stove top?! I mean, c'mon, dude! You have your tools and I have mine, but the stove is like everyman's tool of the trade. He thinks I'm crazy because I "wax" the stove top twice a week. Don't even get me started on the order in which he does dishes (by the way, pots and pans before Tupperware is not the right order, and rinsing with cold water does not "remove the soap suds more effectively"). Plus, he doesn't swirl the water when he drains the sink, so a lump of dried soap scum and tiny food particles can greet me the next morning. Yummy.
I know, I know, many of you are thinking, "Well, at least he DOES the dishes." And, you're right. Everything we do at home has to be a team effort. With both of us working full time, we don't leave much room for error when it comes to household chores. That being said, I'm not telling you all about his flaws to belittle his efforts. On the contrary, these are the goofy little things that really tell me he cares about doing what he can to help (as crazy as it makes me sometimes). Most days, we are dog tired by supper time. Most days, we have two hangry boys voicing their opinions over the meal. Most days, we eat in shifts while we deal with upset juice glasses or requests for seconds. Most days, we let the Hamburger Helper boil over between calls from work or family or friends who also need a little piece of us. Most days, I'm impressed that the hubs will put up with as much guff from me as he does and still keep coming back for more. Most days, I'm just glad to have someone who will help me with the most menial tasks in life, even if it leaves the kitchen looking like Kim Jong-un's nuclear testing grounds. Life isn't all real estate and roses. I love hugs, and I love kisses, but what I love most is help with the dishes! Welcome Home!
Perhaps every household is like this, but a hot mess follows my husband wherever he goes within the four walls of our home. Does anybody else's husband use the stovetop as an extension of the countertop?? Literally, within 10 minutes of cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom, my husband can make it look like a bomb has gone off in there. I am constantly in awe of how he can possibly make such a huge mess! Clearly, our cleaning styles are 100% opposite because this is the same guy who lovingly wipes down the tools he uses each day with a shop towel to make sure he doesn't get any grease in his toolbox. What about the lump of stinking coal he burned onto the large front burner of the ceramic stove top?! I mean, c'mon, dude! You have your tools and I have mine, but the stove is like everyman's tool of the trade. He thinks I'm crazy because I "wax" the stove top twice a week. Don't even get me started on the order in which he does dishes (by the way, pots and pans before Tupperware is not the right order, and rinsing with cold water does not "remove the soap suds more effectively"). Plus, he doesn't swirl the water when he drains the sink, so a lump of dried soap scum and tiny food particles can greet me the next morning. Yummy.
I know, I know, many of you are thinking, "Well, at least he DOES the dishes." And, you're right. Everything we do at home has to be a team effort. With both of us working full time, we don't leave much room for error when it comes to household chores. That being said, I'm not telling you all about his flaws to belittle his efforts. On the contrary, these are the goofy little things that really tell me he cares about doing what he can to help (as crazy as it makes me sometimes). Most days, we are dog tired by supper time. Most days, we have two hangry boys voicing their opinions over the meal. Most days, we eat in shifts while we deal with upset juice glasses or requests for seconds. Most days, we let the Hamburger Helper boil over between calls from work or family or friends who also need a little piece of us. Most days, I'm impressed that the hubs will put up with as much guff from me as he does and still keep coming back for more. Most days, I'm just glad to have someone who will help me with the most menial tasks in life, even if it leaves the kitchen looking like Kim Jong-un's nuclear testing grounds. Life isn't all real estate and roses. I love hugs, and I love kisses, but what I love most is help with the dishes! Welcome Home!
Sunday, May 19, 2019
A Few Dry Days
I needed to take a moment this morning to thank everybody for their kind words and prayers as I underwent follow-up tests last week for my late April eye exam. Several of you took time to check-in personally and for that, I am very grateful! I culminated last week's events by undergoing a spinal tap to measure the pressure of my spinal fluid and take some samples for analysis. Essentially, they attached me to a tire pressure gauge to see if my head was going to explode. Fortunately, I won't be splattering up anybody's walls anytime soon. The best news is that I do NOT have a brain tumor as was suspected. I also have not been in any pain or discomfort (except the anxiety). The bad news is that we are still in search of a cause for the pressure surrounding the nerves in my eyes (which is a significant indicator of a tumor and increased spinal fluid pressure). I have been referred to the eye gurus at the Med Center and will be visiting them next month for further testing. Thanks for giving me a couple of days to get through the preliminary tests and ease my worst fears.
For now, we are back to business as usual. I am trying to get used to my glasses, which has been a struggle, especially when a certain 2-year-old always wants to smear his smudgy fingers on them! How is it that a $6 pair of sunglasses from the local dollar store can fit perfectly, but I have to be constantly adjusting a custom pair of Kate Spades? My apologies to all of my friends who have been wearing glasses for years. I now feel your pain and will be eternally empathetic!
If things are meant to be a certain way in life, I would have to say that all of this has played out favorably considering that the rains came last week when I needed some help from my family with driving, child care, and appointments. The few dry days we have had this week has kept everybody on their toes planting corn and beans, fertilizing, and spraying. I'm not much for running the heavy equipment these days, but I can provide ground support for the hoard of hungry children my family has produced in the last several years. Each one is good for about 30-60 minutes in the tractor, but that is about all the longer we can keep them in one place unless they are asleep. Good thing there are chores to do, baby kittens to harass, sand piles to play in, and Big Wheels to race. A head count every ten minutes gives assurance nobody has snuck off to try to make the golf cart do a Tokyo drift.
Rest assured, I haven't quit my day/night/weekend job. The real estate market is still very active in and around Wayne, and it has been exciting to meet new people moving to town as well as help past clients make new transitions. I'm so glad I'm able to have my cake and eat it too when it comes to helping out at the farm...even if it means we have supper at 9:30 p.m. followed by temper tantrum filled mornings because I didn't have time to wash the only two pairs of short pants that my 6-year-old will wear (even though he has 14 to pick from). Two more days of school and then summer "break." (I think we have more scheduling issues and plans for June than we have had for any other month this year! Looks like I better go buy a couple more pairs of "slick" shorts so I don't have to do laundry every other day! You know, because the pockets on jean shorts hurt your bottom when you have to sit on them. Kindergarten logic.)
Thanks again for the many kindnesses shown to me and my family as we power through the stages of life. Life might not be all real estate and roses, but we have much to be thankful for, little to complain about, and a whole lot to look forward to. Welcome Home.
For now, we are back to business as usual. I am trying to get used to my glasses, which has been a struggle, especially when a certain 2-year-old always wants to smear his smudgy fingers on them! How is it that a $6 pair of sunglasses from the local dollar store can fit perfectly, but I have to be constantly adjusting a custom pair of Kate Spades? My apologies to all of my friends who have been wearing glasses for years. I now feel your pain and will be eternally empathetic!
If things are meant to be a certain way in life, I would have to say that all of this has played out favorably considering that the rains came last week when I needed some help from my family with driving, child care, and appointments. The few dry days we have had this week has kept everybody on their toes planting corn and beans, fertilizing, and spraying. I'm not much for running the heavy equipment these days, but I can provide ground support for the hoard of hungry children my family has produced in the last several years. Each one is good for about 30-60 minutes in the tractor, but that is about all the longer we can keep them in one place unless they are asleep. Good thing there are chores to do, baby kittens to harass, sand piles to play in, and Big Wheels to race. A head count every ten minutes gives assurance nobody has snuck off to try to make the golf cart do a Tokyo drift.
Rest assured, I haven't quit my day/night/weekend job. The real estate market is still very active in and around Wayne, and it has been exciting to meet new people moving to town as well as help past clients make new transitions. I'm so glad I'm able to have my cake and eat it too when it comes to helping out at the farm...even if it means we have supper at 9:30 p.m. followed by temper tantrum filled mornings because I didn't have time to wash the only two pairs of short pants that my 6-year-old will wear (even though he has 14 to pick from). Two more days of school and then summer "break." (I think we have more scheduling issues and plans for June than we have had for any other month this year! Looks like I better go buy a couple more pairs of "slick" shorts so I don't have to do laundry every other day! You know, because the pockets on jean shorts hurt your bottom when you have to sit on them. Kindergarten logic.)
Thanks again for the many kindnesses shown to me and my family as we power through the stages of life. Life might not be all real estate and roses, but we have much to be thankful for, little to complain about, and a whole lot to look forward to. Welcome Home.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
M R...Eye?
For years, my dad has told us kids that you get one perfect day when you are 17 years old when everything in your body works right, looks good, and feels perfect. It's all downhill from there. I would have to say that my downhill slide started more around the age of 23, but who's counting? My eyesight decided to take its downhill slide this year. I hobbled through a couple of months with some cheaters from the
local dollar store, but my husband grew concerned that I was doing more damage than good after trying them on. Two weeks ago, he finally convinced me that it was time to visit the eye doctor. Much to the dismay of Dr. Hopkins, I had not had a routine eye exam since they were offered in grade school! Thankfully, a divine power prodded me to get this checkup.
So, on April 25th, I was sitting in Dr. Hopkins' exam room as he reviewed by retinal scans and he started raising his eyebrows and saying things like, "Hmmmm, interesting" and "Oh, that's not good." I laughed thinking he was pulling my leg, and it took some time to convince me that what he was seeing really wasn't good. For crying out loud, all I wanted was a simple eye exam and a $350 pair of glasses to carry around in my purse! Turns out things weren't so simple, and I was being sent on to my medical doctor to more tests.
Last Friday, I was scheduled to have an MRI of my head performed to pinpoint what is going on in my noggin'. I had myself completely convinced that this machine is like a jacked up tanning bed. Both ends are open, it makes a consistent humming noise, and the lights are on the whole time. I was ready. The technician inserted my IV on the first attempt (a piece of medical hardware I despise) and took me around the corner into the MRI room. All was good. She had me insert the ear plugs, lay down on the table, and then she showed me the halo that fits over your head. Oh, that's cute, I thought. Then, she packed my head in the positioning mechanism like she was shipping me to Abu Dhabi, and started screwing the halo down to the table. You ain't moving now sweetheart. Oh boy. Nope. No way. Get me out of here.
So, I'm psyching myself back into this thing and telling myself I can do it. I laid back down on the table, halo-less, and ask her to simply insert my body into the MRI machine so I can see what that is like. I'll tell you what it's like. A coffin. A torture chamber. A suffocation room. Turns out I am indeed claustrophobic and the gig was up. Big, tough Trish was going to have to come back another day because she needed to be knocked out for this test.
Fast forward to yesterday. I spent the whole weekend waking up in cold sweats about this MRI machine eating me alive and nobody being able to hear my screams. I was the first patient at the outpatient clinic, and Nurse Gretchen took me back into the bowels of the hospital to prepare me for the day's events. Considering my blood pressure was like 347/120 at this point, she did a wonderful job getting my IV started on the first try. In walks my anesthesiologist, Todd, and he asks me why I'm having this procedure done. Trying to make a joke, I say "the doctors are finally trying to figure out exactly why I am the way that I am." Todd, who only laughs at his own jokes, says, "No seriously, why are you here." To which I reply, "we don't know yet, but this test is hopefully going to give us some answers." Good enough. Onward we go.
It's a little after 7 a.m., we are back in the room with the beast, I've got my earplugs in and my arms/torso are strapped down to the table. Someone asks if I'm doing OK, I give the thumbs up, and all goes black. Sometime during the next two hours, I entered the belly of the beast and made it back out alive. A much better experience. Except the twelve hour hangover afterwards. I could have done without that. Thanks a lot, Todd.
We don't have any answers yet as to why I am the way that I am, but we will soon have some results. I do want to take this time to thank all the doctors, nurses, and staff who work so diligently to take care of us each and every day. We are very fortunate to have this level of care available in our community, and to have an outpatient clinic that provides the kind of services it does. Let's take the time on this National Nurses week to honor these special caretakers who make such a huge difference on a daily basis, even with difficult patients like me. Life isn't all real estate and roses, but they do all they can to make a bad situation just a little bit better. Welcome Home.
So, on April 25th, I was sitting in Dr. Hopkins' exam room as he reviewed by retinal scans and he started raising his eyebrows and saying things like, "Hmmmm, interesting" and "Oh, that's not good." I laughed thinking he was pulling my leg, and it took some time to convince me that what he was seeing really wasn't good. For crying out loud, all I wanted was a simple eye exam and a $350 pair of glasses to carry around in my purse! Turns out things weren't so simple, and I was being sent on to my medical doctor to more tests.
Last Friday, I was scheduled to have an MRI of my head performed to pinpoint what is going on in my noggin'. I had myself completely convinced that this machine is like a jacked up tanning bed. Both ends are open, it makes a consistent humming noise, and the lights are on the whole time. I was ready. The technician inserted my IV on the first attempt (a piece of medical hardware I despise) and took me around the corner into the MRI room. All was good. She had me insert the ear plugs, lay down on the table, and then she showed me the halo that fits over your head. Oh, that's cute, I thought. Then, she packed my head in the positioning mechanism like she was shipping me to Abu Dhabi, and started screwing the halo down to the table. You ain't moving now sweetheart. Oh boy. Nope. No way. Get me out of here.
So, I'm psyching myself back into this thing and telling myself I can do it. I laid back down on the table, halo-less, and ask her to simply insert my body into the MRI machine so I can see what that is like. I'll tell you what it's like. A coffin. A torture chamber. A suffocation room. Turns out I am indeed claustrophobic and the gig was up. Big, tough Trish was going to have to come back another day because she needed to be knocked out for this test.
Fast forward to yesterday. I spent the whole weekend waking up in cold sweats about this MRI machine eating me alive and nobody being able to hear my screams. I was the first patient at the outpatient clinic, and Nurse Gretchen took me back into the bowels of the hospital to prepare me for the day's events. Considering my blood pressure was like 347/120 at this point, she did a wonderful job getting my IV started on the first try. In walks my anesthesiologist, Todd, and he asks me why I'm having this procedure done. Trying to make a joke, I say "the doctors are finally trying to figure out exactly why I am the way that I am." Todd, who only laughs at his own jokes, says, "No seriously, why are you here." To which I reply, "we don't know yet, but this test is hopefully going to give us some answers." Good enough. Onward we go.
It's a little after 7 a.m., we are back in the room with the beast, I've got my earplugs in and my arms/torso are strapped down to the table. Someone asks if I'm doing OK, I give the thumbs up, and all goes black. Sometime during the next two hours, I entered the belly of the beast and made it back out alive. A much better experience. Except the twelve hour hangover afterwards. I could have done without that. Thanks a lot, Todd.
We don't have any answers yet as to why I am the way that I am, but we will soon have some results. I do want to take this time to thank all the doctors, nurses, and staff who work so diligently to take care of us each and every day. We are very fortunate to have this level of care available in our community, and to have an outpatient clinic that provides the kind of services it does. Let's take the time on this National Nurses week to honor these special caretakers who make such a huge difference on a daily basis, even with difficult patients like me. Life isn't all real estate and roses, but they do all they can to make a bad situation just a little bit better. Welcome Home.
Monday, April 15, 2019
Big & Little Brothers
Any successful person will tell you that a strong support team is essential to their achievements. In my case, a strong support team is essential to my survival and my sanity. I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by a network of very talented people. The ones I lean on the most include my family members. For example, I have a little brother, Dale, who can fix anything. Car broke down on the side of the road? He can get you towed home and then have you back up and running the same day. Have a plumbing leak? He'll bring some PEX tubing and fittings over and have you doing a load of laundry in minutes. Need a light fixture installed? He has a roll of electrical wire on hand to get you going. Need a tree trimmed for a closing? Here he comes with his bucket truck. Those who know him, know he's always willing to lend a hand when a project needs done.
The guy is as handy as they come. Even though he is my little brother, he has taught me a thing or two. I guess it's payback for all the proofreading and school work I helped him with during grade school and college. (Not to mention, dressing him up like the little sister I so desperately wanted a time or two!)
Then, there's my big brother, Tom. Have a tax question? He'll have an answer for you in minutes flat. If not, he'll be doing the research to get you the answer. This guy has more information stored in his head that you could write into the entire tax code each year. Want to depreciate something? Although his answer is usually a firm "no," you can rest assured that he didn't miss the legitimate items that can indeed be depreciated. He is coming off of a hectic tax season filled with new tax code. In fact, even the IRS encouraged the American public to file an extension because they didn't have all of the information out to preparers in a timely fashion. There are two things in life you don't mess with: the Federal Government and Tom Hansen, CPA.
(Speaking of which, my mom asked me the other day if I had my book work all up to date for my accounting appointment this year. After a brief pause and some quick calculations I determined I am about 13 months behind on bookkeeping. "Give me three solid nights of nothing else to do, and I'll have it knocked out," I told her. She laughed and simply said, "Good luck. Don't make your brother angry." Bookkeeping is the curse of the small business owner. I enjoy doing it, but finding the time can be the real challenge. Just ask Tom.)
With National Siblings Day being last week, I thought it worthy of a post to toot my horn about my brothers. They can walk you through a engine diagram in nothing flat or talk you into a major purchase to keep the tax man at bay. Life isn't all real estate and roses, so we have our moments just like any family does. As long as you don't show up unexpectedly while we are working on a major project where we all want to be the boss, you probably won't see that side of us too often. Welcome Home.
The guy is as handy as they come. Even though he is my little brother, he has taught me a thing or two. I guess it's payback for all the proofreading and school work I helped him with during grade school and college. (Not to mention, dressing him up like the little sister I so desperately wanted a time or two!)
Then, there's my big brother, Tom. Have a tax question? He'll have an answer for you in minutes flat. If not, he'll be doing the research to get you the answer. This guy has more information stored in his head that you could write into the entire tax code each year. Want to depreciate something? Although his answer is usually a firm "no," you can rest assured that he didn't miss the legitimate items that can indeed be depreciated. He is coming off of a hectic tax season filled with new tax code. In fact, even the IRS encouraged the American public to file an extension because they didn't have all of the information out to preparers in a timely fashion. There are two things in life you don't mess with: the Federal Government and Tom Hansen, CPA.
(Speaking of which, my mom asked me the other day if I had my book work all up to date for my accounting appointment this year. After a brief pause and some quick calculations I determined I am about 13 months behind on bookkeeping. "Give me three solid nights of nothing else to do, and I'll have it knocked out," I told her. She laughed and simply said, "Good luck. Don't make your brother angry." Bookkeeping is the curse of the small business owner. I enjoy doing it, but finding the time can be the real challenge. Just ask Tom.)
With National Siblings Day being last week, I thought it worthy of a post to toot my horn about my brothers. They can walk you through a engine diagram in nothing flat or talk you into a major purchase to keep the tax man at bay. Life isn't all real estate and roses, so we have our moments just like any family does. As long as you don't show up unexpectedly while we are working on a major project where we all want to be the boss, you probably won't see that side of us too often. Welcome Home.
Thursday, March 28, 2019
Muddin'
Two days ago, my brother decided to work with our yearling calves now that the weather is finally cooperating a bit. I didn't mind heading out to the farm for a little fresh air on what was a very nice day in town. I figured it would be a pretty muddy, so I threw on my boots, loaded up the kids, and headed down the highway. Muddy was an understatement. Thanks to the recent rains and the winter thaw, the cattle yards are giant soup holes. The yearlings are rambunctious too, considering we haven't had much nice weather to speak of. Couple this with the fact that Penguin the giant farm mutt decided to follow us down to the lower place and you can about imagine how our project started out. Seeing the dog and a few extra warm bodies in places where they usually don't belong set the calves in a dead sprint around the yard. Imagine the sound of thousands of suction cups taking hold and letting go as each pounding hoof bogged down into the the heavy Nebraska clay. Now, imagine a human walking through that mud and muck with nothing more than a thin rubber boot between you and imminent disaster. Within the first five minutes, everybody had expressed their feelings toward the land and the livestock as well as each other. My sister-in-law was the unlucky winner of the mud lottery by being the first to lose her boot in the yard. It was evident that man and beast were getting a run for our money that day.
We were finally able to get the herd up in the processing pen after one bovine genius decided to wriggle its way behind the gate versus going through the gate hole. That trick cost everybody a third trip through the yard to round up the stragglers who managed to escape. No level of training or athletic ability can prepare you for mud season on the farm. Walking through a mile of mud is better than any workout you can get at the gym. It might not show, but it takes a high level of aerobic and calisthenic mastery to dodge anxious 800 pound calves and keep a steady marching pace so you don't get stuck in place at a critical time. My brother asked if we wanted to invest in a concrete plant when we got done so we could at least have a solid surface to do this kind of work. I'm thinking he might be on to something.
Nevertheless, we prevailed, and all the calves got treated. Nobody was physically injured, and, despite our pride, we are all well aware that any words shared under such circumstances are not to be taken personally. The work that farmers do, particularly livestock producers, is not for the faint of heart. It is stressful for both man and beast, it is dirty, it can be scary, and it is often thankless. In that work lies an expectation that everyone knows their part, and they will pull their weight to make sure everything gets done. The unpredictability of each and every situation involving livestock is what wears on a person. It makes you lie awake at night, it makes you think quickly on your feet, and it instills a sense of danger that you don't really understand or appreciate until you have something to lose, be it your fencing, your equipment, or, heaven forbid, a life. In spite of it all, you have to keep muddin' through to make sure you do the job for which you signed up. I sure do enjoy my days at the farm, but it sure does make me appreciate the comforts of a nice clean real estate office after getting home from a project like that. No matter what happens in the world of real estate, odds are, the decisions that have to be made are not life and death for man or beast. No matter what happens, I know that I won't be in a position where I am going to lose my boot in a muddy yard. And, no matter what happens, we usually have a little more time to figure out a solution than in the time it takes the whole herd to turn tail and bolt out of the yard because we got stuck in the mud and couldn't make it to the gate fast enough to shut it. It's not all real estate and roses around here, but somedays you just have to keep muddin' through. Welcome Home.
We were finally able to get the herd up in the processing pen after one bovine genius decided to wriggle its way behind the gate versus going through the gate hole. That trick cost everybody a third trip through the yard to round up the stragglers who managed to escape. No level of training or athletic ability can prepare you for mud season on the farm. Walking through a mile of mud is better than any workout you can get at the gym. It might not show, but it takes a high level of aerobic and calisthenic mastery to dodge anxious 800 pound calves and keep a steady marching pace so you don't get stuck in place at a critical time. My brother asked if we wanted to invest in a concrete plant when we got done so we could at least have a solid surface to do this kind of work. I'm thinking he might be on to something.
Nevertheless, we prevailed, and all the calves got treated. Nobody was physically injured, and, despite our pride, we are all well aware that any words shared under such circumstances are not to be taken personally. The work that farmers do, particularly livestock producers, is not for the faint of heart. It is stressful for both man and beast, it is dirty, it can be scary, and it is often thankless. In that work lies an expectation that everyone knows their part, and they will pull their weight to make sure everything gets done. The unpredictability of each and every situation involving livestock is what wears on a person. It makes you lie awake at night, it makes you think quickly on your feet, and it instills a sense of danger that you don't really understand or appreciate until you have something to lose, be it your fencing, your equipment, or, heaven forbid, a life. In spite of it all, you have to keep muddin' through to make sure you do the job for which you signed up. I sure do enjoy my days at the farm, but it sure does make me appreciate the comforts of a nice clean real estate office after getting home from a project like that. No matter what happens in the world of real estate, odds are, the decisions that have to be made are not life and death for man or beast. No matter what happens, I know that I won't be in a position where I am going to lose my boot in a muddy yard. And, no matter what happens, we usually have a little more time to figure out a solution than in the time it takes the whole herd to turn tail and bolt out of the yard because we got stuck in the mud and couldn't make it to the gate fast enough to shut it. It's not all real estate and roses around here, but somedays you just have to keep muddin' through. Welcome Home.
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