I look nothing like a Venus Flytrap.

I know you feel compelled to wipe out your caller ID when you call me.  I know you weigh the pros and cons of giving me your address with the gravity of considering whether to have another child.  I know you don’t want to give me your last name.  And some of you don’t even want to give me your real first name  

I know this because you called me this weekend asking about my listings and about other homes for sale in Montreal West Island.

You feel it necessary to approach me in a way that will make it impossible for me to grab you in my clutches, never to let go of you again. You want to avoid an unending, and unrequested, barrage of e-mails from me, phone calls, calendars, magnets, letters of ANNOUNCEMENT!!!, UPDATES YOU MUST READ NOW!!!, and all of the other endless ways some of us in this crazy business of real estate (and other businesses too) trap you and never let you go.

But you should know this: I am not a Venus Flytrap, and I never will be.  I promise.

I will not harass you.

I will not devour you.

I will not add you to an endless, automated, meaningless, e-mail drip campaign.  I will not call you with feigned excitement in my voice announcing, “The market has NEVER been better!!  You’ve GOTTA jump in right now!!  RIGHT NOW!!!”

If you have questions for me about Montreal West Island homes for sale or the real estate market in general, you can be comfortable firing away. My contact with you will be meaningful and respectful of you, your time and your privacy.

I may be from Venus, but I’m not a Venus Flytrap.  I promise.

1. What’s the name of that dude who showed up at our Christmas party the year we had a Michael Jackson moonwalk contest?

This will come as a shock and as a dreadful burden to many real estate agency executive officers but….hold onto your seats now…you will now be required to keep a list (ghack!) of brokers working for your real estate agency, complete with their full names! 

Shocking and time-consuming, I know.  Better get another assistant, ‘cause it’s time to blow the dust off those files and try to remember who works for you.

2. Put your shoulder pads and big hair away…or it’s off with your head!

If a real estate broker (formerly called an agent) is going to use a picture of themselves in their advertising, the picture must not be more than 5 years old. 

Ha! 

We have a little over a year to implement this last one.  Better book my hair appointment now if I want to continue selling Montreal West Island real estate : )

I guess sometimes there’s a need to legislate common sense.  Better than legislating absurdity!

First, a confession: I am a Facebook neophyte.  I still don’t quite understand what all of the links do, how they differ from one another, what messages go nuclear and what stays local, etc. 

Unfortunately, though, my Facebook Faux-Pas Extraordinaire has nothing to do with my Facebook ignorance!  I WISH I could blame it on that.  Rather, it has everything to do with my proclivity to make assumptions and then…yes, you guessed it…subsequently make a complete ass of myself.

Without giving away details that will result in the people in question being identified – and thus resulting in me making an ass of myself two days in a row – here goes.

A blurb came up on my Facebook page where a friend (I’ll call her “Jewel”) posted a picture of herself with some friends at a reunion of sorts.  Standing next to her was her husband, a very, very good friend of mine (whom I’ll call “Joshua”).  I’ve known him since we were kids.

Jewel posted a caption to the effect of, “Still looking good after all these years.”  And she was right; they did look good after all these years — except for Joshua who I thought HAD aged.  In fact, he had gone from having mostly brown hair to mostly gray hair….in just a few months.  Well, I couldn’t let that go.  Remember now, we’re very good friends and I’ve known him since we were kids.  So I made a comment to the effect of:

“You’re right, Jewel. You guys do look amazing…except for that gray-haired old fart standing next to you!”

Happy with my witty output for the moment, I click on “home” again and up comes the same picture from a different angle.  This time, the shot is head on.  There’s Jewel.  And…oh Lord…THAT’S NOT JOSHUA STANDING NEXT TO HER!!!!

I have just called a perfect stranger a gray-haired old fart!  I squirm and start hyper-ventilating.

I race back to the original picture, delete my comment as fast as I can — was it fast enough? — and then…I wait for it.  And it comes.  While laughing her butt off at work, Jewel writes to say that she’s sure her non-Joshua friend will appreciate being called a gray-haired old fart by a perfect stranger.   

I squirm some more.

Until I read that he’s not a Facebook user.

I’m still an ass.  But at least I’m laughing now.

But there’s a big lesson here for me.  It’s not the first time I’ve made an assumption and looked like an idiot.  I’ve been with new clients before, going through their home, and assumed there was an intact couple living there.  Upon seeing the guest bedroom with the bed unmade, I have said stupid things like, “Oh, do you have guests?” In fact, the couple had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for some time. They were headed for divorce. I’ve done this twice.

The next time I feel the need to make conversation or to be witty, both personally and professionally, I’m going to think twice…or maybe three times…and I’ll remember my Facebook Faux-Pas Extraordinaire.  Fool me once, I’m an idiot.  Fool me twice, well…you…I…how does that go again?

It’s a country setting in the suburbs, with an almost 18,000 square foot lot surrounded by mature trees and a creek in the back.  The house itself has a fieldstone exterior, and wood siding on the upper level.  Got lots of cars?  This home has a 3-car garage, 3-car carport and 6-car driveway.

Some of the best features about this house are its uniqueness, the attention paid to the infrastructure (the stuff that counts but that nobody likes to have to invest in), and its location.

Inside, you quickly see that this is not your average, cookie-cutter home.  The central staircase is open and splits off into two wings, with the master suite (and ensuite bath) having a wing all their own.  On the other wing, you have a full bath and three more bedrooms, one of which has a stone wall.

The central fireplace is gorgeous.  It opens on two sides – one side to the family room and the other to the dinette - and is two stories high.  It is also clad in fieldstone.

Also on this main level you find:

* a large living room with skylights, bow window and a marble floor;

* a large dining room with coffered ceiling, two bow windows and a wood floor;

* powder room and separate laundry room:

* home office;

* family room with fireplace;

* the kitchen, with marble countertops and a top-of-the-line stovetop (Thermador); and

* the dinette area, with fireplace, large windows and two-story ceiling.

Going into the basement, you find a huge, professionally finished living space that measures approximately 50 feet by 37 feet, well lit, with a powder room.  The storage space is also big (about 50 feet by 13 feet). 

A significant investment has been made in the infrastructure of this home:

* two heat pumps;

* two hot water heaters (owned, not rented);

* newer roof;

* alarm system; and

* irrigation system.

And the location is wonderful:

* no neighbour on one side;

* close to children’s park, without being too close;

* neighbours in back obscured by mature trees;

* easy access to highway 20 — anyone commuting to work in the city?

* walking distance to Beaconsfield Recreation Centre and Beaconsfield Library;

* close to Beaconsfield High School;

* close to commuter train — anyone have kids commuting to schools in the city?

* close to the Lakeshore.

The municipal assessment for this unique 4-bedroom home for sale in Beaconsfield Quebec is approximately $922,000.

It’s just been put on the market for $995,000.  MLS# 8393118

Want to see it? I’d love to show it to you.  Give me a call at 514-919-8468.  Or feel free to email me at tanya@readysetsold.ca

But today, I am envious of my husband, who kisses me and the boys in the morning and goes off to work, where he gets to…work!  And he works all day, knowing his kids and his home are well taken care of and that supper will be ready (most days) when he arrives home at the end of the day.

He gets to do his job, without worrying about:

How to be in three places at the same time.

How to say no…again…to our son’s having a friend over because I have an appointment later.

How to schedule a breakfast meeting, photo shoot and uploading of an MLS listing around our kids’ activities and sleepover plans.

Whether there’s enough food in the house to get through the next day.

How to find time to walk the dog.

Whether we have clean sheets for tonight’s guest in the spare bedroom and if not, what then!

How to find the quiet, uninterrupted space necessary to study the market for properties fitting my new client’s needs and schedule showings that make sense.

How to keep the kids happy, entertained and nourished while I’m buried in paperwork.

How to schedule a quick one-day trip to the country to visit a friend who is in from California when I’m about to get a new listing.

How to speak with the developer I’m working with without the sounds of cartoons and “Mom, I’m hungry!!!” in the background. 

And whether the boys really will turn into violent psychopaths because of the number of hours they’ve spent playing video games yet again!

Don’t get me wrong.  I love all of my various roles: mom, wife, dog owner, home owner, real estate broker, home stager, sister, daughter, friend, etc.  And I would not trade any of it…well, not for any length of time anyway : )  

And I have a really and truly supportive husband.  I really, really do.  He’s a partner in every sense of the word.  But even so…

What I find hardest is not the hard work, the scheduling, the organizing, the management and over-seeing of most things home and children related.  What I find hardest is the feeling that I’m not doing anything really well.  I’m doing some things really well, but not all of them.  And yet they’re all important to me. 

Ah, the angst of the working mother.

If anyone knows of an antidote to this angst, beyond an evening glass of wine, spill your beans!  Please! 

As for me, I’ll begin my research on cloning…

I used to work for the federal correctional system in Canada.  Most of my 18-year career there was spent at national headquarters where we studied things like riots, hostage-takings, suicides and murders that took place inside our prisons to see whether they could have been prevented and what lessons we could apply in the future to avoid these things from happening again.

We also did loads of research to develop and deliver treatment programs for inmates and for those who eventually got let out on parole to help them avoid crime in the future.

I also worked for a short time inside a medium-security prison with a caseload of inmates.  It was fascinating and rewarding work. 

People always ask me whether I was afraid.  I wasn’t usually.  These guys were like some of the guys I had gone to high school with.  But they had taken a wrong turn, many wrong turns, and didn’t have the inner strength or the outer support to get back on the right track.  When you looked at their family histories, at how they were raised, you were left saying, “Well, no wonder they ended up here.”

In most cases:

Their parents were not in a position to help guide them as they were alcoholics or drug addicts themselves.  Their home environment was not stable, and their parents were often out of work.

They were abused, either sexually, physically or emotionally.

They did poorly in school.  And they were not one of the lucky few who got taken under the wing by a concerned teacher prepared to go above and beyond the call of duty.

They weren’t involved in organized sports, so they didn’t have the opportunity for a coach to guide them and give them the structure that will sometimes “save” a child who does not have stability at home.

And sometimes, all of the above occurred in response to a tragic event in their life, like the violent death of a parent, sibling or grand-parent.

Every one of us has come from somewhere.  We were all two-year-olds at one point, running around, laughing, with a shine in our eyes, all the hopes of our parents upon us for a good life, the world being a safe place to explore and play.

And then life happens.

And we turn into who we are.

We are, today, responsible for who we are and the choices we make as a result.

But we can also recognize that everybody comes from somewhere.  That inside every one of us, despite our words, attitudes, grievances, crappy behaviour, hurtful actions, successes, bumps and bruises, scars and weaknesses, there remains a part of that two-year-old.  And the more we can do to find it in ourselves and in others, the better off we will all be. 

It’s a softer, more open view of the world.  And it does not mean being naive.  It simply means recognizing that everybody comes from somewhere.  Even you. 

And there’s grace, humility and kindness in that.

As we spoke, it became clear that she had outgrown her home.  The things that had appealed to her when she bought it — big home, quiet neighbourhood, away from the action, young families around — now imprisoned her, in a way.  Her days of raising little ones were over.  Her grown daughter had a life of her own.  She herself had developed interests and hobbies that weren’t there when she bought her home some 20 years ago.  She wanted more action around her, cafés and people and shopping and the water.  She wants Pointe Claire Village, that much is clear.

But she and her husband had lovingly — and expensively — updated parts of their home over the years.  And she was hoping to get that money back when it came time to sell.

It got me to thinking that, sometimes, you need to throw what seems like common sense, as well as the opinions of others, and what you may have been led to believe is the “right” thing to do RIGHT OUT THE WINDOW and do what’s good for you. 

Six years ago, my husband was painting the garage of our home when my girlfriend called and said, “Hey, I know you’re not looking at all, but my next door neighbour’s house is going on the market.  Why don’t you just come and see it?”  Me to my hubby: “Sweetheart, we’re not going to buy it, obviously, but let’s just go have a look to make her happy.”

So we did.

And we’ve lived there ever since.

We weren’t planning to move.  But the allure of the quality of life this place could offer…which our then-home could not…was so appealing: quiet cul-de-sac within a cul-de-sac, no traffic, loads of kids the same age as ours playing outside, friendly neighbours who actually chatted with each other outside, zoning for a great school, close to parks and the bicycle path, easy access to the highway – just to name a few.

So we took the plunge.

Despite the increased cost — which we could afford, in the end.

Despite the hassle — I’m NEVER moving again.

Despite the contravention of common wisdom that says you should stay in a house for many, many years – which we chose to rebel against, and took major flak for.

Despite the resistance we encountered from people who said, “Why wouldn’t you be happy where you are?” — Because we knew we could be happier where we were not!

Sometimes, you’ve gotta make the decision that’s right for you, the one that will warm your heart, that will bring out the best in you (or maybe just bring out other parts of you that have not yet blossomed), that will help you lead the kind of life that soothes your soul, wraps around your shoulders like a comfortable blanket on the beach in front of a bonfire at night, and says to you, “You’re home.” 

What feels like home changes over the course of our lives, as our lives change.  And sometimes, you need to sell your house to find your home. 

We met to sign the exclusive brokerage contract.  We fill in all of the details, as previously negotiated and agreed to.  In the section of the contract on Other Conditions and Declarations, I include the clause that is now supposed to be standard in Quebec real estate:

This is not an offer or promise to sell that could bind the seller to the buyer, but an invitation to submit such offers or promises.

This clause now appears on all MLS listings in Quebec, and we’ve been advised to put it into our brokerage contracts too.  It is based on a recent case whereby the court decided that, even when an offer comes in that meets all of the criteria set out by the seller, the seller is not bound to sell the property to the buyer.

My client is happy.  He likes the disclaimer and the new jurisprudence.  It gives him an out…sort of.  But this does not affect my commission, I tell him.  Should I come through with an offer that meets your price and conditions as set out in the brokerage contract, I am entitled to my commission because the courts have determined that in such cases, the broker has fulfilled her contractual obligations and, as such, is entitled to her compensation as laid out in our contract. 

Avoiding disaster means tediously reading the maps.

Oh.  Wait a minute.  He needs some time to think. 

So he’s thinking…and I’m waiting patiently.

No matter what happens, though, I am so glad that I’m a stickler — and take the time to read and explain every clause of every contract to my clients, as boring and tedious as this is each time. 

And I’m glad that I’m still fresh enough out of real estate school to remember what the contracts actually mean.

And that I’m a fraidy-cat — or aware enough of the risks and liabilities involved in selling real estate that I actually read the communiqués put out ad nauseum by our governing association.

Sometimes being a green, stickler-ish fraidy cat is good, no?  It can be tedious in the short-term, but it sure saves aggravation and liability in the long-term.

NOTE:  I am not a lawyer, and this post is not meant to constitute legal advice.  Should you require legal advice relating to real estate, please contact a real estate attorney, or feel free to contact me and I’ll put you in touch with one.

What does an octopus know about soccer anyway?  He was wrong once; he can be wrong again.

My dad would have been so excited.  Wish we were in London today with my crazy Dutch family…or in Newfoundland with the crazier ones : ) 

Hup Holland Hup!

When they arrived at the port in Montreal, there was a telegram waiting for them. It was from the farmer in Alberta who had hired them. Their work was no longer needed. They were on their own.

Devastated, they eventually found their way to a community near London, Ontario, where other Dutch immigrants were settling.  A year after they settled, my grandfather died of lung cancer. The family was devastated. (Yes, I just used that word twice.) My father was the only boy in the family.  He lost his dad at a critical time in his life.

After a few years of tremendous upheaval, grief, instability and unbelievable difficulty, the family eventually found their way and carved out a new life.

When my mom was 3, her father was taken prisoner by the Russian army.  She was living in a part of Poland that was being taken over by the Russians, and they declared my grandfather a political prisoner.  He was later released to fight in the Second World War, and eventually found his way to Canada. But my mother grew up fatherless in Russia. 

Then in the late 1950s, the Russian government allowed people living in Russia who were of Polish descent to move back to Poland, which is what my mother did with her mom and her brother and sister and their families.  They stayed in Poland for a year, and then came to Canada and were reunited with their father, in London, Ontario.  My mom was 21.

I remember being 13, feeling out of place in my own skin, still such a kid and needing my dad.  I can’t imagine being 13, in a foreign country, without my father.

I remember being 21.  And how hard it was to find my way.  To be confident.  To feel like I belonged somewhere.  To keep up with the ever-changing trends and the styles.  I can’t imagine being 21, landing on foreign soil, not speaking the language, and not knowing what it took to fit in with the culture.

But my parents did it.  And because they did it, and survived, and met each other at a dance at the Polish Hall in London, I am here.  And so are my sister and brothers.

Because of them, I got to grow up in Canada.  This big, beautiful, remarkable, kind, rugged, gentle, welcoming, vast, magnificent, FREE country.  I’m so lucky.

Thank you, Mom and Dad.  For what you gave me, and for what I’m able to give my kids.

Happy Canada Day, everyone.