Security, of a Sort

I've been working full-time for a couple of months.  And a couple of weeks ago, Alan started back to work full-time, too.

We're both gainfully employed, as opposed to the self-employment we've been used to for a really long time.

We know what we'll be doing tomorrow, next week, next year, even.

And every two weeks or so, we deposit our paycheques in the bank.

We can start to pay down the debts incurred in the most recent bout of self-employment.

We have security, in other words.

And I can't even begin to tell you how utterly freaked out I am by this.

 

 

Best Line of My Week

Sorry for the sporadic posting.  With three part-time jobs and a disaster of an apartment to fix, I've been having trouble getting to the computer.

But I did want to say 'hi'. And share a little story.

The new apartment needs a new back door.  The one that's there tends to fall off its hinges if you actually try to open it.

So we've ordered a new one.  And Roger came to measure it on Tuesday.  Before we had a chance to bail all the garbage out of the backyard.  Or air out the house.  Or anything.

Now, Roger's a really nice guy.  We've been buying our doors and windows from him for years.  It's always nice to see him.  But he's also really clean.  Really, really clean.  So clean, in fact, that I feel the need to shelter him from the knowledge that dirt even exists.

So as he walked up to our back door, past the garbage and the toys and the bedroom dresser, I started babbling about the tenants and the mess and the fact that they had small children in the middle of all this squalor.  And a dog and cats....

And Roger, who apparently owns a few rental properties himself, stopped dead in his tracks, shook his head sadly and said in a tone that conveyed that this man knows suffering, "Why do they ALWAYS have a cat...."

 

Ballet Rectal

My newest job involves freelance writing and proofreading/editing.  Which is very cool, since I've been an avid reader and writer since the age of five. 

I've always wanted to be make my living as a writer, despite the fact that I've let myself be sidetracked repeatedly.

I have a cautionary tale that I keep in mind when proofreading anything.

A woman I know set herself up as a freelance proofreader several years ago.  She was really excited when her first job came in - proofing the poster advertising a local ballet recital.

It wasn't until the poster was approved, printed and plastered ALL OVER TOWN that she realized.

You know where this is going, don't you?

Yes, the "I" in "Recital" was missing.

She's a yoga instructor now.

You Call That an Apology?

Yesterday was a busy day, taken up with those myriad little tasks that can tear up a day and leave you wondering what you do with your time - job applications, blogging (though not here - sorry!), CSA basket delivery. 

And the kicker.  Tracking down a printed copy of the results of our last water test.  You see, we're on a well here and the new buyers are afraid of it.

Getting the results required making phone calls.  And waiting for people to get back to me.  And running to answer the phone.  And tearing through the files to find things.  And then making more phone calls.

It didn't sound like much when I explained it to Alan, either, but trust me.  It was MUCH! 

What was really annoying about all of this is that everything was supposed to have been taken care of by the buyers and their agent, before 6 PM on Wednesday.  The deal was supposed to expire then.  But while we were signing papers, the buyers' agent said,  "We can have till Friday if we need it, right?"

We said no.  But somehow, he heard yes.

Those of you who keep track of these things will remember that yesterday was THURSDAY.

Their bad, my hassle.

Because of Canadian privacy laws, our local health unit is not allowed to fax the test results to my agent.  Even though I gave permission over the phone.  Even though a real-estate deal was hanging in the balance, along with my sanity.

So a trip to the Health Unit office was added to my list of end-of-day errands.

In the meantime, the buyers agent decided it would be a good idea to come and take ANOTHER water sample and send it in.  On the assumption that we would totally give them till Monday to lift the conditions (oh, we so totally would not!!!!!!!).

When he came for the water, I let him in.  He assured me that things were moving along nicely and we'd likely get our deal.

His acknowledgement that things were running late?  Nearly nonexistent.  The reason he gave for things running late?  The buyers - they're self-employed.

Uh, dude?  D'ya have any idea what it is we do?

 

Like a Humiliating Kick in the Crotch

We accepted an offer on our house today.

For far less than we were asking.  For much less, in fact, than we need to pay off our debts and get back on our feet.

But on the advice of our lawyer and our real-estate agent, we accepted.

And then one of our tenants, one of the good ones, called to say that she really can't stand living in her teeny-weeny studio apartment anymore and will be leaving when her lease is up.

And I've been wondering: what is the word for the opposite of invincible?

Vincible, maybe? 

Because that's how we're feeling.  Totally vincible.  Like we have been well and truly vinced.

Ten More Years of Hellish Debt - Approved!

We will be heading to the lawyer's office on Friday morning to sign the papers on the new mortgage for this place.

And I have to tell you.  When you absolutely need something done?  And everyone is telling you that it can't be done?  And there is no alternative to it being done?* 

The woman with the smoker's laugh is your go-to person. 

We jumped through hoops.  We filled out forms.  I spent a few 3 AM's pacing and worrying, but Holly got it done.

And only two months after the last one expired....

Those of you who don't normally read comments are missing out on a treat if you haven't checked the ones after Menopause Class.  Seems like a lot of us are in the same boat...

*We're already living in the building.  It's not like we're trying to buy it. There's no "deal" to walk away from.  We're trying to sell and have been for awhile.  We were well and truly stuck.

 

On Holidays

Just a quick note to let you know that I'm in Paris for the next two weeks.  Posting will be sporadic while I'm here.

If you'd like to see pictures and read of my adventures, I'm writing about the trip at: Pannifer's Food and Such and May December Home.

Why I Love Working at Home

The lunch-time entertainment is just so much fun.

No idea how dude ended up facing the wrong way, ON THE SIDEWALK. He drove past three houses to get there.

We didn't hear a crash or a screech or anything. Just saw him shovelling madly.

Then the police showed up.

Alan made sandwiches and we sat down to watch and do cartoon voices.

Eventually, he got back on the road. No one was hurt, but he did take out a phone box.

I wonder what he was charged with?

Motivation

One of the challenges with self-employment, especially if you don't have set hours, is just getting yourself out of bed in the morning and getting something done.

I have a few things I can choose from.  Do I blog?  Work on the house?  Try to further my art career? 

Or do I just roll over and go back to sleep?

Most of the time, it's not a problem.  There are deadlines, appointments, that inner drive to see something done.

But on a cold, grey day in February, it's hard to get motivated.  And I fondly imagine that this sort of thing is much easier with a boss to answer to.

As if any boss could be scarier than the threat of bankruptcy, starvation and a cold and lonely death.

So what gets you out of bed in the morning?

It's Not That We're Tired

Is it possible that we're getting too old for the whole "fix up and sell properties" game?

We did some painting in the living room yesterday and admittedly it has a twelve foot ceiling, which we painted.  But should it kill us quite as much as it did?

We were lying in bed last night, sound asleep, when a sound woke us up.  It seemed like a loud sound, I think.  I don't really know, I was asleep.

But a sound that wakes you up at night, a sound that's not part of the normal repertoire of sounds that wake you up at night (like the snow plough dropping its blade from the "high" position right next to your house, or your next door neighbour driving around and around and around his property on a snowmobile at Two In The Morning!!) is a sound that should be investigated.  I thought.

I couldn't get up.  Alan lifted his head an inch off the pillow and with his eyes closed, mumbled, "Everything looks fine from here."

And we went back to sleep.

Post Valentine's Wrap-up

We're not really big on tradition in this house. 

I mean, we have our own traditions.  That we made up.  On our own.  But we don't really follow the Calendar of Tradition as ordained by Hallmark and the like.

So I was very surprised yesterday morning when my husband brought me a steaming cup of tea to start my day.  Just because it was Valentine's Day.

Oh the joy of being basically unemployable....

And how was your day?

Freelance Muffin Bakers

So we started baking. The coffee shop wanted anywhere from four to seven dozen muffins, baked fresh daily. Plus cookies.

And we enjoyed it, especially once we realized that the mystique about muffins, that you're only supposed to stir them until they're JUST MIXED and no more, was not actually true. Muffins, in fact, are a very forgiving baked good. It's pies that are the real primadonnas. You can even add extra flour to muffins after they're mixed, contrary to what all the recipes try to tell you.

Before we had experimented a bit, we followed the recipes exactly as written. It led to disasters. If the batter was too thin, the muffins would rise up and then slop over the sides of the tins and onto the element below.

This would set off the smoke alarms, which, since we were a B&B, were interconnected and hard-wired. There was no way to shut them off. You could only stand under the one closest to the oven, flapping a newspaper and looking like a total idiot.

Which I did one afternoon when I was conducting a potential guest on a tour while an early batch was baking. I nearly fell over when she actually called back later to book a stay!

Once we got into a groove, we really enjoyed it. Alan was still working at General Motors, but I had to wait until he came home from work to start. I'd offered to bake during the day - he reacted like I was trying to take his toys away.

If we didn't have guests, we'd crank up the stereo and bake into the night. It just seemed so cool to be working. At home. AND BEING PAID!

This was a new concept to us. My Dad worked for corporations. Alan's Dad owned a shoe store. Alan worked for a corporation. The idea that you could work at home for money was very new and radical and exciting for both of us.

So I guess we learned a few important lessons from that whole experience. The importance of networking is one I'll come back to. The idea that you can make your own job has stayed with us.

And questioning conventional wisdom is hugely important for anyone wanting to strike out on their own.

On occasion, we'd have company over while we were baking. We'd fix them a drink and they'd pull up a chair while we worked. The gasps as we did all the wrong things to those muffins got to be really funny.

Everyone just knows certaing things. But do you really know what would happen if you tried something else?

Thinking Analytically

When we were in our mid-twenties, Alan and I bought what had been his grandparents' house so that we could fix it up and turn it into a Bed and Breakfast. This after staying in ONE Bed and Breakfast for ONE NIGHT. EVER!!!! Did we do our homework on that one or WHAT?

It took six months to convert it from a duplex with drunken frat boys living in the upstairs apartment to someplace we thought anyone might want to stay.

Needless to say, the cashflow was very tight.

Late one night, we needed to do a bit of grocery shopping. After rummaging through our pockets and the ashtray of the car, we came up with enough cash to buy either milk or some lunchmeat. Alan was still working at General Motors in those days, and brown-bagging his lunches.

I don't remember which item we decided to spring for that night, but I clearly remember standing in the aisle of the 24-hour A&P in downtown Windsor (it's actually hard to forget a moment like that...), carefully weighing the benefits of lunchmeat versus milk.

It was then that I learned a very valuable economic principle, one that we forget at our peril: Money spent on A (let's say, lunchmeat) is no longer available for B (that would be the milk).

This principle holds true from pocket change all the way up to Federal budgets.

And it's a crucial one for us small-business owners to grasp.

Why Self-Employment?

It's not that I object to bosses. Or a regular job.

But I really love being self-employed! There's a freedom here. And a flexibility that you don't get in the regular job world.

You can be let go from a job and never see it coming. But when you're the boss, you know what's going on. You can see disaster looming from a long way off and take steps to avoid it. This, I think, is cool.

When you're self-employed, you don't need to ask anyone's permission to change the rules. I like this, too.

And, because you're the one in charge, you can change jobs as it suits you. Over the years, I've run a Bed and Breakfast (twice), been a free-lance baker (seriously), writer, artist, dog-walker, blogger. Some of these jobs have overlapped and some have overlapped with paid employment.

It's relaxed, it's flexible, it's (dare I say it?) FUN. And to me, that's the very best reason to make your own job.

Job Description

I'm always amazed by the vast array of things you can do to support yourself in this life (and I'm talking about legal activities here).

Not that there's anything wrong with jobs. Doctor, lawyer, teacher. All perfectly acceptable things to do. Just not acceptable to me.

Of course, they do have the advantage of being a succinct answer to the dreaded question at dinner parties: So what do you do?

And how do you explain that, at the moment, you're doing a variety of things in the hopes that you can support yourself long enough to allow the thing that's nearest and dearest to your heart to take off, only you can't quite say what that thing is, because you're sort of inventing a whole new category here and you've been so busy trying to make it work that you haven't really had time to come up with a decent description of what it is yet?

And by the time you get to that point, the beans have gone cold and your dinner companion's eyes have glazed over and you find yourself envying, ever-so-briefly, those who actually have a one-word job description.

My advice? Figure out what that one word is, even if you have to make one up. Then ask brightly, "And what do you do?"

It's just easier.