Sunday, February 21, 2010
Tips for claiming the Homebuyer Tax Credit
Seven Important Facts about Claiming the First-Time Homebuyer Credit
IRS Tax Tip 2010-27
If you purchased a home in 2009 or early 2010, you may be eligible to claim the First-Time Homebuyer Credit, whether you are a first-time homebuyer or a long-time resident purchasing a new home.
Here are seven things the IRS wants you to know about claiming the credit:
You must buy – or enter into a binding contract to buy – a principal residence located in the United States on or before April 30, 2010. If you enter into a binding contract by April 30, 2010, you must close on the home on or before June 30, 2010.
To be considered a first-time homebuyer, you and your spouse – if you are married – must not have jointly or separately owned another principal residence during the three years prior to the date of purchase.
To be considered a long-time resident homebuyer you and your spouse – if you are married – must have lived in the same principal residence for any consecutive five-year period during the eight-year period that ended on the date the new home is purchased. Additionally, your settlement date must be after November 6, 2009.
The maximum credit for a first-time homebuyer is $8,000. The maximum credit for a long-time resident homebuyer is $6,500.
You must file a paper return and attach Form 5405, First-Time Homebuyer Credit and Repayment of the Credit with additional documents to verify the purchase. Therefore, if you claim the credit you will not be able to file electronically.
New homebuyers must attach a copy of a properly executed settlement statement used to complete such purchase. Buyers of a newly constructed home, where a settlement statement is not available, must attach a copy of the dated certificate of occupancy. Mobile home purchasers who are unable to get a settlement statement must attach a copy of the retail sales contract.
If you are a long-time resident claiming the credit, the IRS recommends that you also attach any documentation covering the five-consecutive-year period, including Form 1098, Mortgage Interest Statement or substitute mortgage interest statements, property tax records or homeowner’s insurance records.
For more information about these rules including details about documentation and other eligibility requirements visit IRS.gov/recovery.
Links:
1040 Central
First-Time Homebuyer Credit Information Center
Saturday, February 13, 2010
I am so excited!
The mail came yesterday! My seeds are here!
This weekend I get to plant 3 kinds of lettuce, radishes, peas, chard, and spinach. I also get to start tomatoes and chili in egg cartons, for transplanting later.
So why did I have to wait for the mail? Why not just schlep on down to Wal-Mart and buy my seeds there? Why start the salsa in the window instead of buying already started plants and plopping them into the ground next May?
I made a big mistake. I read "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver. Then I started researching heirloom seeds and GMOs and local economies and now I think that I'll get struck by lightning if I go to Wal-Mart. (I remember one of my favorite Emo Phillips comments: "I went to Wal-Mart, which is where everybody goes sooner or later if they've lived a life without God.")
So the seeds that came in the mail are heirloom seeds. They're not hybrids, they're not Genetically Modified Organisms or what ever the "O" stands for, they're, wow, like, tomatoes and lettuce that looks like what Thomas Jefferson grew in his garden. They're (hopefully) going to be those strange bumpy, warty vegetables that you see in the health food stores.
The seed packages came with handwritten titles and instructions, all packaged in a brown paper envelope. I felt a little illicit opening it, like I had gotten contraband or maybe porn. I chuckled at what the postman had to have thought - how disappointed he would be if he knew that it was just heirloom seeds! I will never tell him.
Old seeds - I confess that I like this idea.
I like that the food that my family and I will be eating will be real, instead of Monsanto mutants.
I like that next year I won't have to buy these specific seeds again, because the seeds out of the vegetables will be viable, just like they should be. It's disconcerting that I've become so accustomed to the limitations of hybrids that I think that it's pretty cool that seeds will sprout.
I'm actually a little bit nervous. Me, who has been gardening for 45 years. (My first garden was when I was 5 or so. My Mom gave me radish and zinnia seeds. I was so proud of my radishes, and refused to harvest and eat them. I wonder if they're still there at that house in Prescott, those poor petrified radishes?)
So here's my holiday weekend. I get to go out to my listing at Merritt Ranch (Ooh! An opportunity for a shameless plug!) in Cornville, the beautiful 10.41 irrigated acres of horse property, Arizona realtor.com ID# 144467, and see if Megan will let me carry away some good aged horse manure. I'll get blisters working it into the dirt. I'll fix the electric fence, I will certainly get into it a time or two, I will cuss, and I will plant some good salad and salsa.
Yes, this is my idea of fun. The Jeep will smell funny for a while, but it's a good funny.
Life is good, warty tomatoes and all.
The mail came yesterday! My seeds are here!
This weekend I get to plant 3 kinds of lettuce, radishes, peas, chard, and spinach. I also get to start tomatoes and chili in egg cartons, for transplanting later.
So why did I have to wait for the mail? Why not just schlep on down to Wal-Mart and buy my seeds there? Why start the salsa in the window instead of buying already started plants and plopping them into the ground next May?
I made a big mistake. I read "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver. Then I started researching heirloom seeds and GMOs and local economies and now I think that I'll get struck by lightning if I go to Wal-Mart. (I remember one of my favorite Emo Phillips comments: "I went to Wal-Mart, which is where everybody goes sooner or later if they've lived a life without God.")
So the seeds that came in the mail are heirloom seeds. They're not hybrids, they're not Genetically Modified Organisms or what ever the "O" stands for, they're, wow, like, tomatoes and lettuce that looks like what Thomas Jefferson grew in his garden. They're (hopefully) going to be those strange bumpy, warty vegetables that you see in the health food stores.
The seed packages came with handwritten titles and instructions, all packaged in a brown paper envelope. I felt a little illicit opening it, like I had gotten contraband or maybe porn. I chuckled at what the postman had to have thought - how disappointed he would be if he knew that it was just heirloom seeds! I will never tell him.
Old seeds - I confess that I like this idea.
I like that the food that my family and I will be eating will be real, instead of Monsanto mutants.
I like that next year I won't have to buy these specific seeds again, because the seeds out of the vegetables will be viable, just like they should be. It's disconcerting that I've become so accustomed to the limitations of hybrids that I think that it's pretty cool that seeds will sprout.
I'm actually a little bit nervous. Me, who has been gardening for 45 years. (My first garden was when I was 5 or so. My Mom gave me radish and zinnia seeds. I was so proud of my radishes, and refused to harvest and eat them. I wonder if they're still there at that house in Prescott, those poor petrified radishes?)
So here's my holiday weekend. I get to go out to my listing at Merritt Ranch (Ooh! An opportunity for a shameless plug!) in Cornville, the beautiful 10.41 irrigated acres of horse property, Arizona realtor.com ID# 144467, and see if Megan will let me carry away some good aged horse manure. I'll get blisters working it into the dirt. I'll fix the electric fence, I will certainly get into it a time or two, I will cuss, and I will plant some good salad and salsa.
Yes, this is my idea of fun. The Jeep will smell funny for a while, but it's a good funny.
Life is good, warty tomatoes and all.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Sedona Verde Valley Association of REALTORS® has a message and a request for all of you Buyers out there.
Congratulations on your decision to take advantage of this buyer’s market, and kudos for collecting the tax incentives available to you! The REALTORS® are glad that you have chosen to investigate the purchase of a new home, and of course we’re happy to help you with it. We understand that viewing properties is exciting and fun – it is for us, too.
However, we’re seeing a problem and we need your assistance.
When Buyers make the choice to start looking, they usually play around for a while on realtor.com, and then they choose a REALTOR® to work with. Your REALTOR® will enter you into our system that automatically emails you whenever a property that fits your needs comes up.
This is where the fun starts.
As a Buyer, you get emailed a listing. It looks like a winner and so you jump into your car to go see. This is all fine and wonderful, and we’re glad that you’re looking at the outside of the house and checking out the neighborhood – that’s always a great idea!
But (Isn’t there always a “but?”) here’s where the problem happens.
A potential Buyer finds a house and it looks intriguing and so they jump out of their car and wander around the yard and then they put nose prints on the windows and suddenly the owner or the tenant comes out of the door, wondering loudly why these people are trespassing?
This situation can get ugly, and it’s been happening a lot.
Buyers, please don’t assume that a house is vacant. Even if it is empty it’s still private property and you need permission to be there. Often, the police have been alerted to patrol and watch these homes closely, especially the bank owned homes.
So here’s the plan. Absolutely drive around and scope out the homes and decide which ones you want to see inside. Then call your REALTOR® and have them make an appointment. Don’t worry about bothering us. Thank you, but this is one of the best parts of our job. We like to show houses.
Thank you so much! If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to call or email the Sedona Verde Valley Association of REALTORS® at 928-282-5409, or email us at info@svvar.com.
Happy hunting!
Congratulations on your decision to take advantage of this buyer’s market, and kudos for collecting the tax incentives available to you! The REALTORS® are glad that you have chosen to investigate the purchase of a new home, and of course we’re happy to help you with it. We understand that viewing properties is exciting and fun – it is for us, too.
However, we’re seeing a problem and we need your assistance.
When Buyers make the choice to start looking, they usually play around for a while on realtor.com, and then they choose a REALTOR® to work with. Your REALTOR® will enter you into our system that automatically emails you whenever a property that fits your needs comes up.
This is where the fun starts.
As a Buyer, you get emailed a listing. It looks like a winner and so you jump into your car to go see. This is all fine and wonderful, and we’re glad that you’re looking at the outside of the house and checking out the neighborhood – that’s always a great idea!
But (Isn’t there always a “but?”) here’s where the problem happens.
A potential Buyer finds a house and it looks intriguing and so they jump out of their car and wander around the yard and then they put nose prints on the windows and suddenly the owner or the tenant comes out of the door, wondering loudly why these people are trespassing?
This situation can get ugly, and it’s been happening a lot.
Buyers, please don’t assume that a house is vacant. Even if it is empty it’s still private property and you need permission to be there. Often, the police have been alerted to patrol and watch these homes closely, especially the bank owned homes.
So here’s the plan. Absolutely drive around and scope out the homes and decide which ones you want to see inside. Then call your REALTOR® and have them make an appointment. Don’t worry about bothering us. Thank you, but this is one of the best parts of our job. We like to show houses.
Thank you so much! If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to call or email the Sedona Verde Valley Association of REALTORS® at 928-282-5409, or email us at info@svvar.com.
Happy hunting!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
The Mago Earth Park Statue that's been erected between Cottonwood and Sedona. OK, OK! I 'll comment.
Let's start with some background. Within the outer City limits of Cottonwood, right next to and looking at the new Immaculate Conception Catholic Church, a statue has been erected. The Korean owner of the property explains that she is a representation of Mago, (pronounced "mah-go") which translates roughly as "Mother Earth."
She's huge. The statue and base total 50 feet high. She also has an entourage of numerous other statues, (all comparatively tiny, all slightly ludicrous) of Jesus, Kokopelli, the Virgin Mary, 2 funny headed guys, 3 Disney-esque dwarfs, a Native American, Poseidon, a bunch of brightly colored and sparkly children............ you get the idea, all capering around her feet. I find the Mago circus to be kind of charming and amusing when I drive by.
Nobody that I've spoken to about Mago agrees with me about the whole thing being amusing. The vocal locals are up in arms. We've had weeks of poisonous letters to the Editor in the Verde Independent. The objections seem to be:
She's big.
She's a pagan idol.
There are tentative plans for her to be lighted at night.
She's not a Christian.
She's wasn't there before and it's a change.
She's mostly white, and doesn't blend in with the mostly brown landscape.
Even though she's white with blond hair her features are Asian.
Why is she named "Magoo" when she doesn't look anything like Mr. Magoo? Where are her horned-rimmed glasses?
Why does the Mago Earth Park get tax-deferred church status?
She's different and we don't like different.
If you're not from here, one of the things to understand is that Mago went up shortly after they opened the brand new Catholic Church next door. Like Mago, the Church is gorgeous. Like Mago, the Catholic Church is also huge and lighted at night and much lighter in color that the surrounding landscape and gets tax-deferred status and also wasn't there before. On my own personal hugeness scale, Mago is a 2 or 3 and the Church is an 8 or 9. See the picture, above? That's Mago to the right of the Church.
But you know what? It doesn't matter what my opinion is. If Mago was legally installed then I have no more right to complain than my neighbor has if I paint my house a color that they don't like.
But you know what else? This is my blog and I can say what I want, so I will voice my opinion, whether it matters or not.
We've had months of citizens yelling and almost coming to blows and writing letters to the Editor and showing up at City Council meetings, voicing opinions on both sides of the Mago issue.
Folks! It's a statue! We have hungry children in Cottonwood. We have homeless people. We have abused people, we have people sleeping under the bridge, we have animals dying in the shelters, we have life and death issues around here and YOU SHOW UP TO COMPLAIN ABOUT A FREAKIN' STATUE? Where were you when that baby was beaten into the hospital a few weeks ago? Did you show up then, expressing your outrage? Where were you when The Mission was concerned that they were running out of food? Did you write a letter to the paper? Did you show up with coats and blankets and food for the homeless when it got cold? People are homeless and dying and yet you sing "God Bless America" about THIS? If Mago is the only place that you're outraged then you should be ashamed of yourself.
That's what I think.
Monday, January 4, 2010
I've been pondering humans and our natures. If you had asked me a few days ago if I was a civilized human being or not, I would have told you, "Yes, most of the time." I've had moments in my life where I was not the least bit well-mannered, but I usually do OK in the civilization department.
But then something happened.
Instinct is incredible. Before I even had the thought process that my granddaughter and I were in danger from these dogs, I had hoisted Turtle up onto my back. She was holding on with her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. I suddenly had a stick in one hand and a big rock in the other, and I'm still not sure where those came from. These dogs were going to have to come through me to get to Turtle. I roared "BAD DOGS! NO!" in my biggest alpha-female voice.
The only difference between the Neanderthal that I might have been thousands of years ago and the woman on Mingus View Drive last Saturday is the quality of our clothes.
Once I stopped shaking I noticed how many of Turtle's and my actions during that 5 or 10 seconds were pure instinct and reflex. I did what I did, and Turtle scurried up my back like a spider instead of stopping to explain that she can talk to the dogs, or that she's Wonder Woman or that she should just fly away.
When we got home to family dinner I paid attention to how much of our interactions follow old prehistoric paths. Pecking orders are strong, yet fluid. (Jess, my youngest son, stepped aside to let his older brother to fill his plate first. But then when a child screeched we all stepped aside so that Jess, the medic, could get down the hallway. Like that.)
The next day I showed property. The Buyers and I talked about leverage and investments, but the driving force was shelter and roots. This couple wanted safety and their own territory and their own place to be, inviolate from the rest of the world. We all want that - a safe, warm cave.
I showed them a bank-owned repo, and we saw some more primal human fallout. The previous owner had not only taken everything of value from the property, but he had fouled this nest to the point that nobody else would ever want to live there. This previous owner had literally marked the corners of his territory.
So the next time somebody brags about how civilized they are I'll remember what happened with those dogs. I'll remember that my "civilization" is just a thin veneer over a cavewoman that would have taken those dogs on with her teeth, if necessary to protect a dearly beloved child. I'll remember that we all operate from truths and patterns that are identical to the truths and patterns of our ancestors, with very few alterations.
I realize that I am not a fully evolved, civilized human being - I am a cavewoman who wears Reeboks.
But then something happened.
My just-turned-5 granddaughter Turtle and I went for a walk. We were moseying along, discussing the weighty question of whether or not a troll could beat a dragon if they got into a fight. We had pretty much decided that the troll would win, but only if he had captured some fairy dust and harnessed its power. I had to bow to Turtle's expertise in this subject and blindly agreed with her reasoning and conclusions.
Suddenly, four big dogs boiled out of a hole in a fence and came at us, snarling and barking and growling and snapping.Instinct is incredible. Before I even had the thought process that my granddaughter and I were in danger from these dogs, I had hoisted Turtle up onto my back. She was holding on with her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. I suddenly had a stick in one hand and a big rock in the other, and I'm still not sure where those came from. These dogs were going to have to come through me to get to Turtle. I roared "BAD DOGS! NO!" in my biggest alpha-female voice.
The dogs screeched to a halt, surprised to see Turtle and I in the middle of their rumpus - they were playing and hadn't even noticed us. Instead of a pack of carnivorous predators bent on tearing us limb from limb, they were just a bunch of goofy slobbering Black Labs.
Some things are interesting about all this.- I didn't think about any of my actions. My body knew what to do to protect the child that was with me, with no help or interference from my brain.
- I had no conscious thought about the stick and the rock. I guess that as we make our way through our lives our lizard brains note every possible weapon available in each area.
- Turtle also had instinct working. That she was on my back so quickly amuses me. (She doesn't normally do anything without at least 15 minutes of discussion first.) Her body knew what to do and did it.
- I had absolutely no thought for my own safety - I only thought about Turtle. Those dogs would have had to go through me to get to her. That instinct was fascinating. I've had my children - survival of the species mandated that I was going to sacrifice me to save the young female. I would have, too.
The only difference between the Neanderthal that I might have been thousands of years ago and the woman on Mingus View Drive last Saturday is the quality of our clothes.
Once I stopped shaking I noticed how many of Turtle's and my actions during that 5 or 10 seconds were pure instinct and reflex. I did what I did, and Turtle scurried up my back like a spider instead of stopping to explain that she can talk to the dogs, or that she's Wonder Woman or that she should just fly away.
When we got home to family dinner I paid attention to how much of our interactions follow old prehistoric paths. Pecking orders are strong, yet fluid. (Jess, my youngest son, stepped aside to let his older brother to fill his plate first. But then when a child screeched we all stepped aside so that Jess, the medic, could get down the hallway. Like that.)
The next day I showed property. The Buyers and I talked about leverage and investments, but the driving force was shelter and roots. This couple wanted safety and their own territory and their own place to be, inviolate from the rest of the world. We all want that - a safe, warm cave.
I showed them a bank-owned repo, and we saw some more primal human fallout. The previous owner had not only taken everything of value from the property, but he had fouled this nest to the point that nobody else would ever want to live there. This previous owner had literally marked the corners of his territory.
So the next time somebody brags about how civilized they are I'll remember what happened with those dogs. I'll remember that my "civilization" is just a thin veneer over a cavewoman that would have taken those dogs on with her teeth, if necessary to protect a dearly beloved child. I'll remember that we all operate from truths and patterns that are identical to the truths and patterns of our ancestors, with very few alterations.
I realize that I am not a fully evolved, civilized human being - I am a cavewoman who wears Reeboks.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Christmas musings
I hate what I sometimes do to myself during the Holidays. If I’m not careful, ‘Tis The Season To Be Jolly becomes ‘Tis the season to be stressed, overwhelmed, snappish and broke.
I find myself snarling at Christmas Carols, saying inappropriate things to the Santas and planning middle of the night forays on Wal-Mart. (In case you ever wondered, Santa seldom has a coherent answer to “Hey, Santa! What are you wearing under the suit?”)
This is not a good thing. No matter who or what you believe is the reason for the season, growling at songs and then harassing the Santa is not congruent with the Holiday Spirit.
Just about every religion has a place for a celebration around this time of year. Whether we’re celebrating Winter Solstice or Jesus’ birthday or Hanukah or Kwanza or any of the thousands of other reasons for a smile and a party, let’s remember why we’re doing it. I celebrate because I like to be reminded that I’m part of something way bigger and way more important than my own little corner of the world.
Whatever your preferred deity or symbol, I’m sure that we can all agree on a philosophy of “Peace on Earth, Good will towards all.” I hope that we can all agree that the pain of one human diminishes everyone. We can agree that nothing is more important than family, no matter if it’s the family that you were born into or the family that you’ve gathered around yourself through the years, or the family of humanity.
Maybe this year I can better triage my time and energy. Maybe instead of spending half an hour getting the ribbon on a present just exactly right I could take a coat and a sandwich to one of the people who sleep under the bridge.
Maybe instead of getting up in arms over something that really doesn’t make any difference I’ll remember to get excited about real stuff, about life and death problems. Maybe instead of showing up to yell about somebody’s decorating scheme I need to be showing up to help serve dinner at the Mission.
Maybe instead of trying to get every Barbie Doll known to man for my granddaughter I need to remember the little kid who doesn’t have any toys at all.
I’m just saying - maybe we need to check our priorities.
My friends, Happy Holidays. Remember to count your blessings, and remember to be a blessing. (You are, you know. You are a blessing to this world. Don’t forget it!) In the midst of all of the Holiday hustle, remember to stop and smell the fruitcake.
I find myself snarling at Christmas Carols, saying inappropriate things to the Santas and planning middle of the night forays on Wal-Mart. (In case you ever wondered, Santa seldom has a coherent answer to “Hey, Santa! What are you wearing under the suit?”)
This is not a good thing. No matter who or what you believe is the reason for the season, growling at songs and then harassing the Santa is not congruent with the Holiday Spirit.
Just about every religion has a place for a celebration around this time of year. Whether we’re celebrating Winter Solstice or Jesus’ birthday or Hanukah or Kwanza or any of the thousands of other reasons for a smile and a party, let’s remember why we’re doing it. I celebrate because I like to be reminded that I’m part of something way bigger and way more important than my own little corner of the world.
Whatever your preferred deity or symbol, I’m sure that we can all agree on a philosophy of “Peace on Earth, Good will towards all.” I hope that we can all agree that the pain of one human diminishes everyone. We can agree that nothing is more important than family, no matter if it’s the family that you were born into or the family that you’ve gathered around yourself through the years, or the family of humanity.
Maybe this year I can better triage my time and energy. Maybe instead of spending half an hour getting the ribbon on a present just exactly right I could take a coat and a sandwich to one of the people who sleep under the bridge.
Maybe instead of getting up in arms over something that really doesn’t make any difference I’ll remember to get excited about real stuff, about life and death problems. Maybe instead of showing up to yell about somebody’s decorating scheme I need to be showing up to help serve dinner at the Mission.
Maybe instead of trying to get every Barbie Doll known to man for my granddaughter I need to remember the little kid who doesn’t have any toys at all.
I’m just saying - maybe we need to check our priorities.
My friends, Happy Holidays. Remember to count your blessings, and remember to be a blessing. (You are, you know. You are a blessing to this world. Don’t forget it!) In the midst of all of the Holiday hustle, remember to stop and smell the fruitcake.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Aaron
I sometimes train the new agents. My plan for training is to tell people what works for me, explore what might work for them, introduce them to resources that can help and then throw them to the winds. I’m not real big on structured instruction agendas.
I helped a woman that we will call Rosie. My haphazard training and Rosie’s fastidious brain did not mesh.
The first problem was that she needed to know exactly what to do, exactly when to do it, and precisely how to go about it. If I said, “Rosie. Every day write a letter to a FSBO or an expired listing,” she wanted to know what time she should write it, (“3:31 PM, Rosie.” “Okay!”) should it be handwritten or typed, if handwritten then what color of ink should she use, on letterhead or not, which sort of stamp would be best……………….
Then she would finally write it and I would red-line it and she would re-do it and then bring it to me and then to the Broker and then back to me and then back to the Broker and the silly letter never did make it to the mailbox.
We made each other crazy because I don’t think like Rosie. (I confess that in my secret brain, and in my most private thoughts, I called her Rainman.)
The second problem was that I had competition for that meticulous mind of hers. One time I got exasperated and snapped “Quit thinking about it and just go bring me a freakin’ letter!” Rosie stumped away and then circled back with a marvel of a farming letter. It was awesome! Amazingly, she also had 3 other letters, all of them dealing with different real estate situations. These were wonderful letters. I coveted these letters.
Rosie did not write them. I knew that she didn’t write them because they started out:
Dear [Recipient Name]: My name is [REALTOR® Name], and I am associated with [Company Name].
“Rosie! Where did you get this? It’s perfect!”
“Aaron gave it to me.”
“Wow! Well, get it in the mail! Wait – fill in the blanks first.” She did, and good things started happening for her.
So one day I asked Rosie to do something and I told her how I thought that she should do it and she pops off with “But Aaron says that I should do THAT in my 5th week of training. Aaron says that I should do THIS in my 3rd week.” Pretty soon it’s “Aaron says this……..” and “Aaron says that……...” and tiny puffs of smoke are coming out of my ears.
My gripe is that Aaron’s suggestions are excellent, and certainly better thought-out than mine. This Aaron guy is starting to irritate me. He seems to have unlimited resources, unlimited time, and unlimited patience for Rosie. Aaron is making me look bad.
One day “Aaron said” something brilliant and I noticed that my left eye was twitching. “Rosie. I would like to meet this Aaron guy. Could you go call him right now and see if he would come to an office meeting and share his wisdom with all of us?”
“Oh, I don’t know Aaron.”
“Then how did you get all of this information from him? Where did this letter and all of this good advice come from? Why is Aaron giving you things? What have you done, Rosie?”
“Aaron is in my computer. He has all of this stuff, and he likes to help me. Some of it is free and some of it costs. I only get the free things.” Rosie showed me where Aaron is in her computer.
Turns out that Aaron is aaronline.com.
Rosie had gone to the Arizona Association of REALTORS® website and from there accessed NAR’s “Right Tools, Right Now” and found free letter templates and downloaded them.
http://www.realtor.org/archives/website200505021?presentationtemplate=rmo-design/pt_articlepage_migratedcontent_print&presentationtemplateid=06ad608049e7ba93ab3dab87f8d337ee
She had been watching training webinars at http://www.realtor.org/prodser.nsf/RightTools/OnlineTraining?OpenDocument
she was starting a free REALTOR® blog at http://blogsignup.realtor.com/learnmore.aspx
she was learning about short sales at http://www.realtor.org/prodser.nsf/RightTools/ShortSales?OpenDocument
she was figuring out Facebook and Twitter at http://www.realtor.org/rmotechnology/Articles/2009/0909_socialnetworking_virtualrealities
and pretty soon Rosie was doing the right things without any input from me at all.
Rosie started doing really well, which relieved me immensely. She became a self-starter, or at least an Aaron-inspired starter. She established a farm area and got some very well priced listings, which sold.
Once Rosie developed some confidence, she was able to stop clenching quite so hard and she started specializing in short sales. Once she understood the process, we found that short sale listings suited her linear brain.
While I taught Rosie a few things, she showed me something, too. She didn’t introduce me to Aaron, but she did make me decide to get to know him a whole lot better.
Aaron is a good guy to know. Go to www.aaronline.com and see.
I helped a woman that we will call Rosie. My haphazard training and Rosie’s fastidious brain did not mesh.
The first problem was that she needed to know exactly what to do, exactly when to do it, and precisely how to go about it. If I said, “Rosie. Every day write a letter to a FSBO or an expired listing,” she wanted to know what time she should write it, (“3:31 PM, Rosie.” “Okay!”) should it be handwritten or typed, if handwritten then what color of ink should she use, on letterhead or not, which sort of stamp would be best……………….
Then she would finally write it and I would red-line it and she would re-do it and then bring it to me and then to the Broker and then back to me and then back to the Broker and the silly letter never did make it to the mailbox.
We made each other crazy because I don’t think like Rosie. (I confess that in my secret brain, and in my most private thoughts, I called her Rainman.)
The second problem was that I had competition for that meticulous mind of hers. One time I got exasperated and snapped “Quit thinking about it and just go bring me a freakin’ letter!” Rosie stumped away and then circled back with a marvel of a farming letter. It was awesome! Amazingly, she also had 3 other letters, all of them dealing with different real estate situations. These were wonderful letters. I coveted these letters.
Rosie did not write them. I knew that she didn’t write them because they started out:
Dear [Recipient Name]: My name is [REALTOR® Name], and I am associated with [Company Name].
“Rosie! Where did you get this? It’s perfect!”
“Aaron gave it to me.”
“Wow! Well, get it in the mail! Wait – fill in the blanks first.” She did, and good things started happening for her.
So one day I asked Rosie to do something and I told her how I thought that she should do it and she pops off with “But Aaron says that I should do THAT in my 5th week of training. Aaron says that I should do THIS in my 3rd week.” Pretty soon it’s “Aaron says this……..” and “Aaron says that……...” and tiny puffs of smoke are coming out of my ears.
My gripe is that Aaron’s suggestions are excellent, and certainly better thought-out than mine. This Aaron guy is starting to irritate me. He seems to have unlimited resources, unlimited time, and unlimited patience for Rosie. Aaron is making me look bad.
One day “Aaron said” something brilliant and I noticed that my left eye was twitching. “Rosie. I would like to meet this Aaron guy. Could you go call him right now and see if he would come to an office meeting and share his wisdom with all of us?”
“Oh, I don’t know Aaron.”
“Then how did you get all of this information from him? Where did this letter and all of this good advice come from? Why is Aaron giving you things? What have you done, Rosie?”
“Aaron is in my computer. He has all of this stuff, and he likes to help me. Some of it is free and some of it costs. I only get the free things.” Rosie showed me where Aaron is in her computer.
Turns out that Aaron is aaronline.com.
Rosie had gone to the Arizona Association of REALTORS® website and from there accessed NAR’s “Right Tools, Right Now” and found free letter templates and downloaded them.
http://www.realtor.org/archives/website200505021?presentationtemplate=rmo-design/pt_articlepage_migratedcontent_print&presentationtemplateid=06ad608049e7ba93ab3dab87f8d337ee
She had been watching training webinars at http://www.realtor.org/prodser.nsf/RightTools/OnlineTraining?OpenDocument
she was starting a free REALTOR® blog at http://blogsignup.realtor.com/learnmore.aspx
she was learning about short sales at http://www.realtor.org/prodser.nsf/RightTools/ShortSales?OpenDocument
she was figuring out Facebook and Twitter at http://www.realtor.org/rmotechnology/Articles/2009/0909_socialnetworking_virtualrealities
and pretty soon Rosie was doing the right things without any input from me at all.
Rosie started doing really well, which relieved me immensely. She became a self-starter, or at least an Aaron-inspired starter. She established a farm area and got some very well priced listings, which sold.
Once Rosie developed some confidence, she was able to stop clenching quite so hard and she started specializing in short sales. Once she understood the process, we found that short sale listings suited her linear brain.
While I taught Rosie a few things, she showed me something, too. She didn’t introduce me to Aaron, but she did make me decide to get to know him a whole lot better.
Aaron is a good guy to know. Go to www.aaronline.com and see.
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