Oh what a miserable day it was with the light snow which turned into a cold drizzle, and of course just like every year, when the first snow hits, that’s when buyers and sellers are kicking into high gear where they’re either wanting to buy now or sell yesterday. I did look at our 10 day forecast, and if it remains accurate, we should have at least one pleasant day next Thursday, and you can be sure I’ll have myself busied outdoors tying up a few loose ends.
I already have two appointments scheduled for this weekend, but I should still have time to get some inside work done over at one of my projects. I also have another bucket of black walnuts to clean and set out to dry, and hopefully that’ll be the last of them. I did take one of those walnuts from the drying floor today and grabbed a hammer to see how it cracked. After I finally hit it hard enough to crack it in two, I was able to get the center meat out, and then when I split those halves, I tried a trick I saw online and it worked, so I’ll be digging around in search of a small but powerfully gripped wire cutter because when I tried the larger one I have, I was able to clip off enough of those inside members to get the remaining meats released. If it works as I plan, it shouldn’t take me so long to get those meats out, along with having larger pieces. I did eat the meat out of that nut and it was just as good or better than I remember.
A very long time ago I was invited to see a mechanical nut-cracking contraption that was in the basement of a home I could drive you right to, and to this day I could kick myself for not having that old gent show me exactly how it worked. After his retirement, he created his own hobby of gathering walnuts from around the area, cleaning and drying them, and then running small pails of them thru his electric motorized machine. All I can remember is that it took up a six foot by six foot area, and had a noticeable number of belts an pulleys. With pride in his eyes, he opened the door to his basement cold storage room and there before my eyes were shelves filled with pint and quart jars of black walnut meats. By the looks of those numbers, I figured he must’ve had a list of buyers waiting to be called. Now if he would’ve patented that machine, we’d all be better off where there’d be the many walnut gatherers out in the Fall who’d either have one of those machines, or sell them to one who did. I knew both he and his wife died and the home was sold, but to this day I have no idea what ever happened to his nut-cracking machine. There’s no question he was a mechanical genius.
I could go on for hours when speaking about all the talented people that have passed who were either master woodworkers, carvers, metal designers, quilters, rug weavers and the list goes on. Fortunately, I have a few treasures which I either purchased out of their estates or were given to me as a remembrance. One particular item I have at my office, is a hand-made stool which I continue to marvel at because of the way in which is was built, and the only reason I ended up with it, was the buyer of that home insisting that all those hand-made ladders and boxes were to be removed from the decedent’s garage before he would close on it. The Executor felt those things would come in handy for that buyer, but unfortunately for him, he didn’t think so at the time. Well, I hired a guy with a pickup truck to go over and get everything and deliver it to my storage room so we could close on that sale. I would say it must’ve been a year or so later when that buyer showed up at one of my open houses which was near his home, and wouldn’t you know, he shamefully said, “I wish now that I didn’t insist those things be removed.” I said nothing more than, “We followed your instructions and had it all hauled off.” I think part of the problem at the time, was his Realtor making herself look like a hero by charging into battle over something she shouldn’t have. I’m sure his neighbors must’ve said something about how talented the previous owner was with his woodworking.
I received a text from an appraiser today regarding her wanting to do an appraisal inspection on 207 N. Hampshire this coming Tuesday morning which I agreed to open at that time. I was glad that little shingle job got finished on it before the cold arrived, but when I received the bill in an email today from the roofer, I noticed he’d added another $100 to it which I told him not to because when he first looked at the roof, I told him he had to do another very small section which would’ve taken four shingles to do, but when I went out to inspect the job, he didn’t do it, so I insisted. He said he was going to charge more, and I replied that if he did, I’d personally never use or refer him to any of my clients. Well, he must’ve thought I was kidding because he added it to my clients bill which I forwarded on to her.
After getting a good look at his bill, I got the answer to something that’s been bothering me, and that being where some of these young buyers living on a shoe-string are getting the money to re-shingle their homes when needed. Clearly written at the bottom of that bill was a contact name and number of a lending company which must specialize in giving loans to people who’re in need of money to pay for a new shingle job. There’s no question they most likely slap second mortgages on the homes of those who can’t pay. Now that’s one very scary way to set oneself up for failure, and if that’s happening a lot, then we’re going to be seeing even more households struggling to make ends meet. I understand we all need a roof over our heads, but do we have to take out loans to keep them shingled?
While waiting for a client to arrive, I took the time to read an article out of the Atlantic regarding how our general public is reacting after getting themselves vaccinated. One comment I appreciated was, “It’s not just about how many doses I have in my body. It’s about how many doses the people around me have in their bodies.” How very true.
Tonight’s One-liner is: Age does not protect you from love, but to some extent, love protects you from age.