#did i have solar panels installed into me as well? ... is my phone full of blood right now.......

[kykybunny1]

Had a dream I had charging ports for all of my devices installed into my arms and at first it was cool but then I couldn't stop thinking about how exactly I was powering everything

[west-melbourne-solar-company]

Doing What Is Right For the Planet - How to Do Something to Help End Global Warming

This is a question I have been asking myself for a while now, and I have a theory that is probably on the minds of most people in the world today. "What is the best thing to do in West Melbourne Florida?" Well, learn more by reading full article and  let me tell you my theory. As a former real estate investor I know one thing about people, they always want to leave something behind for the next generations. When I say next generations I am referring to their children and grandchildren, so if I were to sell my house today, at least I will be able to have my family, and other grandchildren enjoy living in a house that we built together.

Well, I recently did some research on the internet and I found out that there are many real estate investors that do not have any children or grandchildren, but they still make tons of money in real estate. One of those people is Mark Ling, who is an Australian. You might be wondering what the big deal is about this, well, his company, Ling Enterprises, has solar projects in over 30 countries around the world. Some of these solar companies that he has started with other owners have had great growth rates and very good profits. So, if your thinking about going into the solar business in the United States, I would definitely advise you to check out Mark Ling's website and his other companies.

Now, back to my theory on what to do in West Melbourne Florida. I think if you are looking for something to do in a vacation spot, that is beautiful, is cheap, and has beautiful people in it, then you need to check out the solar company that Mark Ling is involved with. He will explain all of the benefits of living with a solar company, and how you can take advantage of it. Because there are so many benefits to using solar power, I think that more people are going to start taking advantage of it, and moving to the sunshine state.

Now, I don't know about you, but I do not want to pay a monthly bill, or anything like that. I am a very environmentally conscious person, so I want to go into this with my eyes wide open. I am going to tell you the top 2 reasons as to why you should go with a solar company over a non-solar company. Number one, because with them you do not have to worry about purchasing any more electricity than you need to. Which means you are saving money in the long run, because you are not going to be paying out more money on the electricity bill than you need to.

The second thing to do in West Melbourne Florida: Solar Company. I would recommend doing a lot of research on the internet before you actually decide to move forward. I would ask around your friends, family, coworkers, and neighbors if they have any good companies that they recommend. And, if you do not have any luck doing this, then you can always go down to the phone book and look for some good companies that will talk to you. Once you find a good company to work with, then it is time for you to call them up and figure out how you are going to pay them each month. Most solar companies do not charge any additional money, so make sure that you find out how much it will cost you.

Now, I know you are probably saying, well that is great, but how am I going to get people to go out there and have solar panels installed? Well, the answer to that is simple. You can do it yourself! There is not a better feeling than waking up, knowing that you did something to help the environment, and you made a difference in the future. So, if you have an alternative desire to do something that will help out the planet, then why not do what you love best, and that is to live in a place where you are producing less harmful emissions, and saving money on your power bill?

[mundaneapocalypse]

Even though we have not finished the cabin, we have made a little progress—mainly the ventilation and the foundation.

Mark is not comfortable with electricity and it frustrates him, but he tries to do it by himself and when it makes him cry, we hire Miguel to fix everything. Miguel is not comfortable with log cabins and they work together. You have not lived until you have seen a native Spanish speaker and a native Latvian speaker carry out a conversation in English about electricity, which the Spanish speaker knows about, and log cabins, which the Latvian speaker knows about. Some of it probably wasn’t English, Spanish, or Latvian.

Last spring, we installed the ventilation. We procrastinated on the ventilation because it intimidated Mark, and I was not even going to attempt it by myself because it would be worse of a disaster if I tried. I helped them, though.

We had to cut holes in the log cabin walls and once you cut a hole in a log cabin and change your mind, you have to replace the log, which is like playing Jenga with a chainsaw.

Mark had a feeling if we did not install the vents before we did anything else, we would have to rip things apart to install them later because our cabin was rotting and growing black mold, and he is a little concerned that he waited a year for it. Whenever we tried to make time for it sooner, he could not, and it is one of the things he needs to work on uninterrupted for hours.

Our roof ridge has box vents, and Mark wants to add wind turbines. Box vents are holes in the roof that are allowed to be there. The wind turbine would move from the wind blowing, so it does not need electricity. This kind is different from the ones on our roof that supply electricity.

Each room or main room zone (kitchen, stairwell, main room) has two fans on the exterior walls. One fan sucks air into the room and one fan sucks air out. To prevent pollen or pollutants from leaving or entering, both fans can have filters. We have to clean them regularly to prevent fires, but we don’t mind. Each room has its own system, meaning the fans are not connected to each other. Mostly, we need them to control humidity.

We don’t like how the vents look, but they are necessary. I spray painted the vents before we installed them.

However, the major problem with the ventilation was power—we needed enough electricity to use the ventilation, crock pot, phones, laptops, and charge batteries on the same day. Angelica and Madison lived with us then, and Mark and I bought Madison a laptop and other things she needed to study. The ventilation, Madison, and the crockpot still hold power strip priority.

After adding one new solar panel a month, we have enough power to run the ventilation, laptops, and crockpot, and charge batteries and phones and the like, if we do not use things like mixers and drills. Mark still woodworks to sell the items and to give away and we plan our power usage so he always has a full battery. If he has a commission, Madison is the only other one who can use a power strip. Always, I avoid using the electric kitchen gadgets, and if the battery-powered toys run out, Marmalade has to buy replacement batteries with her allowance. Mark and I thought we would have limited power, at least at first, and I had the important ones in my hope chest, like a coffee grinder, egg beater, and mechanical timer.

We do not want the solar panels on top of the roof permanently, but will leave them there for now. Also, we do not have space for more on the house and have begun using the privy and barn roofs, other places we do not want them permanently. It works well enough.

Mark and I tried to install the solar panels by ourselves, but we could not do it well, and we hired a guy to do it and he taught us how to do it. We still hire him because he needs the work, but he lets us help.

We did not install it by ourselves, but we got a home security system, a fire alarm and a carbon monoxide detector that notifies the fire department, and a flood detector. With those things, it seems like if people do not have it, they regret it, and we try to learn from mistakes made by other people. The one we have been looking at includes a motion detector and we want the motion detector at the barn. It is something we could theoretically do by ourselves, but it seems safer to use a company.

The home security guy looked at us like we were crazy when we said we wanted the security camera pointed at the chicken coop. That was literally the only reason we got a security camera.

Mark wanted to put the sign in the yard and I said he could, but as long as we were being sign people, I wanted one that said something like, “And until the police get here, we have guns, and bullets are much faster than the police or you.” We looked at different signs and Mark was concerned criminals would not understand them, and he carved one on our porch that says, “This house is protected by the good Lord and a Gun. You might meet both if you enter unwelcome.” Right by the welcome mat in the Hufflepuff colors that says, “Wizards welcome. Muggles tolerated.” We don’t have anything worth stealing, but the burglar might not know that. Mark also made a sign saying, “If you are looking for the log cabin, this is the place” and it has our address.

We really, really wanted indoor plumbing, but got the home security, fire, and flood stuff instead because we are adults. None of them are exciting, but Mark purifies and disposes of the water and cleans the bathroom and privy, Marmalade does the dishes, and I do the laundry. We spend quite a bit of time lugging water and most of the time, we don’t mind, but indoor plumbing would be a huge convenience. We are lucky, though—no walking for miles to get water, we don’t worry about droughts, we don’t have cholera or Ebola here, etc.

We have a landline because the emergency services can track it. It is difficult to find our house sometimes and if a kid has to call 911 because an adult can’t, we want to make it as easy for them as possible.

We have not done other wiring, but we have the places marked. We do not have finished walls yet and it seems like a bad idea to have a lot of wires unless they will be promptly covered up.

Mark built a shelf in the loft for the non-child-friendly liquids (like bleach), flammable liquids, and solar panel batteries and made sure there was a spot for the water heater and water filter when we get them.

He built a cupboard under the stairs, where I store cleaning things, laundry things, and my household binders. He does not know if it will fit under the stairs, but for now, it works well. The real one will have space for sewing, knitting, and crocheting supplies. Right now, I needed somewhere to keep them away from the kids.

For the kitchen, Mark built me a pie safe, and I keep eggs, butter, sourdough starter, bread, other baked things (biscuits, pies, cookies, etc.), seasoning, maple syrup, honey, molasses, peanut butter, and opened sauerkraut, pickles, and jam, potatoes, sweet potatoes, and the produce for the day in it. Grandma says if the pickles are submerged in brine and the jam has sugar, it will probably be fine. We have such a limited fat supply we hardly ever have a full jar. I made some fabric bags, like grocery bag holders, for garlic and onions, since they should be kept at room temperature and in a dark place. We were having trouble finding a place for winter squash, and I tried a willow basket and hated it. It didn’t work without the squash squashing each other or having to be tumbled around and bruised while I look for the right kind. Mark made a stand specifically designed to accommodate pumpkins, Hubbard squash, turban squash, spaghetti squash, and butternut squash. It is based on vegetable bins. Instead of being stacked, they are side-by-side and wide enough to two rows of Hubbard squash, long enough to stack one Hubbard squash on its side, and short enough for me to reach in comfortably, and it stores enough for a month. They schnuck right in. He made sure the pie safe and the squasher were topple-proof because along with the risk somebody would topple it accidentally, Lad and Lassie stand up by pulling on things. (They aren’t allowed to crawl around the kitchen, but Lad is sneaky.)

A couple months ago, we improvised a half bathroom. It has a composting toilet, a bucket of whatever we are using to soak up the sewage, a basin, a bottle of soap, a hand towel, a flashlight, a trash can, a bucket to empty the basin, a bucket to fill it up again for the next person, a stack of toilet paper and feminine hygiene items, and a sign with instructions. When people come over (especially kids), we put a towel over the toilet paper and feminine hygiene items. Most of Marmalade’s friends probably don’t know about periods yet and we don’t want the moms to have surprise questions.

The bathroom floor is not finished and neither are the walls, but it has a window, and we have a towel hung over the window with command hooks. Most importantly, we do not have to go outside to use the privy and Marmalade does not have to wake up an adult to take her after dark.

When we finish the real floor, we will include pipes, but we might not get a toilet and sink, or a kitchen sink. It would be a pain to add after we finish the floors. We have adapted to life without plumbing fine, but sometimes it would be nice to have it.

Mark built a temporary flight of steps into the cabin and he wants to build a porch.

Outside, we dug French drains around the cabin and they drain into a barrel so we can water our garden with the water.

We have been clearing plants around our house until it is bare dirt, which doesn’t look very nice and we might pave over it or cover it with gravel or something. We do not live in an area prone to wildfires, but if our cabin catches fire, we do not want it to spread to the rest of the property.

Bugs have been waging a guerilla war against us and Mark sprays for bugs and fills in any gaps in the logs. He installed a bug guard between the foundation and the first logs.

They might think mud chinking is the same as their natural habitat, and sometimes the mud chinking is drafty, too. If I mop, sometimes it washes away the chinking, and if the rain blows against the cabin for long enough, it washes off. Once it rained and overnight the temperature dropped to about ten degrees and when it melted the next day, the chinking turned back into mud. Maybe our technique is bad, but redoing it is a hassle, and we haven’t figured out what we are doing wrong. Appalachian log cabins were chinked with mud before people invented caulk. Unfortunately, we don’t have anybody to ask if the chinking regularly wore away easily—we might be doing it right and don’t know. I asked my great-aunt if she knew anybody and she said, “Didn’t the Waverleys when I was a girl—No, Irene Waverley is dead.” She said she would ask around the nursing home.

We scrubbed out the chinking, replaced it with weather stripping, and caulked it with a caulk that comes out textured and a color similar to the cabin. We chose grey because our logs have been turning grey, which is fine. If we wanted a different color, we would have used other kinds of logs.

[inanxterra]

The Emergency Goalie

In hockey there are ultimately four lines of defense. The front line of that defense, is of course the two skaters who are, well yeah, playing defense. The second, is the guy on the team with the most expensive paint job on his helmet; the starting goaltender. That’s right, your Patrick Roys, Henrik Lundqvists, Arturs Irbes,  and if you’re watching the Red Wings, whoever didn’t get pulled last game after letting in four goals in the first period. Behind those guys are the backup goalies who play when the starter is sick, injured, doing bad, or might need a break after too many consecutive games. These guys are the real heroes, who often boost morale for the team from the end of the bench usually reserved for the stick rack or medical staff. Who does that leave? The lonely soul who’s phone number lay etched in a bar napkin buried beneath the tattered cardboard from a 20-pack of Powerade crushed under the second row of seats in the coach’s Suburban. The one who’s a foot shorter than the team’s shortest center. The man who works part-time at the fitness center, but full-time in the paint department at an Ace Hardware. The one that’s rarely called. The one that’s never sober. The emergency goalie.

It was two weeks before our very own number one suffered catastrophic engine failure. Which to be clear isn’t any of the times it overheated, needed another new fuel pump or another alternator, or even when it just didn’t want to do anything for months. Two weeks before the inevitable happened, I bought another Xterra. My theory was that if the one I bought for just over $2000 was both a living nightmare and a RockAuto vendor’s wet dream, could you imagine what type of wild pleasure I could unearth after putting my Herbie Hancock amid the stained edges of the title to one for $800?

It was a 2001, one-owner, 231,XXX mile, replacement muffler included in the price, squeals when you turn the wheel too far in either direction dream cruise. You know how anyone with a pink deer decal on the back of either their Pontiac G6 or Jeep Liberty is a tan blonde college girl? Solar Yellow, is that pink deer decal for Xterras. Like that decal, this color too screams I AM PASSIONATE OF NOTHING to strangers in traffic. Many Xterra owners resort to nicknaming their trucks after the retro arcade game that will never die, PacMan, which is fitting because for every year the Xterra was sold up until 2009, the truck was available in Solar Yellow. Complete with the stereotypical damage-multiplier bumper that works as well as a wrist brace in a fist fight, because whatever you’ve just ran into regardless of where on the front of the truck you’ve ran into it, has now equally distributed it’s damage to both headlights and across the top of the hood. And much like any American Cheese yellow SUV, the brush guard front bumpers with matching taillight cages, are fucking ugly.

This four-wheel-drive squinting like you’re taking a shit emoji Xterra had sat for over two years before little ole’ “I should know better” [me] came running to it. It needed work.

All four shocks felt pretty toast, but only the front tires were worn down to the cords. Have you heard of Provider Entrada tires? Neither did I, but if it sounds like a menu item at Chipotle and they come in pairs for $30; as long as my girlfriend doesn’t find out, count me in. The tires from the junkyard held air, so next was a second oil change. The oil was dark, and to avoid a second blown engine, I drove for a few days with the first fresh oil change, but soon changed it again just to be safe. Spark plugs and wires were next, and to my surprise, this truck had 5 champion spark plugs, and one NGK. The lone NGK plug was that pesky sparkplug#6 that apparently if you’re too stupid to figure out a simple combination of wobble extensions and u-joints, you just fucking leave it in there forever hoping it changes itself. It doesn’t.

With a $40 Walmart battery I hit the streets in a truck that was roughly a Dodge Journey Uber ride to work for a week less embarrassing, than having to Uber to work for a week in a fucking Dodge Journey. It had a sunroof, which our Xterra didn’t, but the stock radio was a serious killer. I’m convinced only clinically insane people still listen to AM/FM radio in 2017. The best part about paying for a music subscription is that unlike AM/FM radio, you have access to more than 8 different songs from the last 200 years.

The power steering pump was in bad shape and I didn’t want to replace it. I had hoped soon I could sell this lemon meringue pie eyesore, so I kept maintenance to a minimum. Did it need a timing belt and water pump? Probably. Did it wobble both times I drove it on the highway at 65mph because the original shocks just couldn’t shock anymore? Sure. Was I going to fix any of that? Not this time you fucking money pit.

I did replace the muffler because I knew it would help it sell. The y-pipe did look like it might need replaced soon, but the previous owner only had the muffler section, so there was no sense in not installing free parts. The check engine light had been defeated, and after a junkyard hood latch assembly was bolted on, the hood could now stay closed without the help from ratchet straps or duct tape.

The interior however is where things got really messy. Mold had grown in both of the rear-passenger cupholders and blanketed across each scratched plastic panel and cushion seat sat a layer of neglect. Chicken nuggets and broken Asprins had invaded the carpet. We found over $14 in pocket change, and after removing the front seats to power wash them, through some sort of fake-reality restoration TV magic, brought the interior back to life.Unfortunately on this TV show, none of our wealthy cousins, who we had hired hours before the filming for the episode started, called us willing to pay a lot of money for something so worthless.

During the prolonged downtime, this $800 pineapple-flavored life saver came in handy numerous times. It was used to haul tools and parts back and forth between work at home, as well as go under the knife a few times to test various parts between the two trucks. As humiliating as it was to drive everyday, it spent more days this year as a functioning vehicle, than the silver Xterra has ever achieved consecutively.

After the engine swap hit rock bottom, I knew I had to get away from something old with so many miles, and soon. After only a few days listed on Craigslist, where all project cars begin, someone actually serious about buying it called, and I sold the truck for $1700. The extra money was a huge help, especially because I had to find something, and move away from the every evening and weekend consuming hobby of owning yet another Nissan anything.

It’s a perfect example of being an emergency goalie. You’re on-call for a long time without ever getting called, but when you’re called upon for those meaningless last two minutes in the game, you’re better than nothing, and sometimes, that’s just good enough.

InAnXterra is a blog about two people in Michigan with a Nissan Xterra from Craigslist as they journey to the Dakotas!

[charmingly-evil]

LADIES AND GENTLEMAN IT IS FINALLY HERE!!!!! Enjoy and please leave me your thoughts. I put a lot of effort and energy into this chapter, and it took a lot for me to overcome my fears of screwing it up to write, and my writing has been super rusty, so I would really love your thoughts dear kabby fandom. xoxo 

Public Affairs: Also available here on archiv (which I suggest since tumblr text format kind of screws up the text here). Credit for the stunning collage goes to tinyabbygriffi (which I’m using instead of mine because she somehow got Apikaira into it!) 

Chapter Six: Fearless 

A metallic smart phone fell onto Abby's lap with a small thump, startling her from her paperwork.

“Call him Mom.”

Abby lifted her head up, her eyes blossoming with surprise when she saw Clarke.

“Marcus,” Clarke clarified before Abby could finish. “Call him.”

Abby repressed a heavy sigh and placed the phone on her desk. Pushing her computer chair back, she spun around so she could give her daughter her full attention. Clarke made herself comfortable on her Mom's leather couch, sitting cross legged with her leather-shoulder bag in her lap. She blinked back up at her expectantly. It brought back sudden memories of a younger Clarke who used to race into the office and jump onto her couch after school, bouncing excitedly cross-legged on her couch as she would hurriedly tell Abby about her day at school, the words streaming out of her flying mouth like a school of chased fish.

But Clarke had barely said two words to Abby this week, just days after they got back from their trip with Marcus a week ago, let alone come by Abby's office to chat. Even now, Clarke's tone with Abby was chilly, and her eyes were unforgivingly cold.

It crushed her heart, and Abby wondered if her daughter was trying to punish her.

Abby replied patiently, “Clarke, I'm not going to call him.”

Clarke's eyes flared. “And why not?” She unfolded her legs and sat forward, her tone rising with the flush in her cheeks. “You can't just do this to him. Have someone propose to you and then ignore them for a week. That's not how it works.”

Abby's eyes snapped up at the mention of the proposal, her teeth clenching, with apprehension or outrage, Abby wasn't even sure anymore. “Marcus told you?”

“Of course not. But he hasn't been the same since we left Hill Inlet last week, and well, neither have you. I saw him yesterday and managed to piece it together and get it out of him. Mom, what are you thinking?” Clarke stopped, her tone softening when she saw Abby's eyes sadden at her sharp tone. “Mom, please. He misses you. This silence between you guys is killing him.”

Abby's eyes fell to her lap and she whispered, “I know.”

Lord knows it was killing her too.                      

“But it doesn't have to be like that.”

Abby rested her elbows on her knees, her fingers coming to massage her temple. “Clarke...you don't understand. Sometimes...sometimes adults make bad decisions, regrettable, unforgivable choices. And sometimes we can't predict the damage that we can make...” Abby took in a rattling breath, closing her eyes. “And I don't know how to fix this.”

Then Abby felt a soft hand squeezing her shoulder, and looked up to see her daughter's weak smile. Clarke picked up the mobile and placed it in her hand.

Gently, Clarke said “You can start by calling him.”

Abby wrapped her fingers around the phone. The Samsung felt cool in her hand, yet heavy like a limp fish, heavy with the weight of the conversation that lay ahead of her, one that she had been ignoring for too long now. Of course, the endless stream of patients admitted into the hospital kept her busy, but Abby always knew that in the back of her mind, sooner or later, this affair would catch up to her.

Abby hadn't even processed her daughter's discovery of their affair, news that was surely too heavy for a fourteen-year-old girl to comprehend. But Clarke had never been like other girls. She always had a special ability to shoulder on the weight of everyone's problems and power through them with a fierce determination. Jake's death. Marcus's disappearance. Abby's marriage to Thelonious.

Marcus used to say that she got her strength from her Mother.

Abby met Clarke's eyes, grateful for her daughter's compassion and surprising maturity, but apprehensive nonetheless. “How am I supposed to tell Marcus that I can't marry him?”

Abby watched Clarke's eyes fall, shooting a stab of guilt into her heart. She wondered if Clarke had been hoping that Abby would say yes to Marcus's proposal, or that his proposal would at least knock some sense into Abby and encourage her to end her engagement.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Clarke finally asked, her features crumpling with bewilderment and pity. “You're clearly not happy with Thelonious. You two have barely been able to look each other in the eye, let alone go through with this marriage. You won't eat meals together, you barely say a word to each other and when you're not avoiding each other, you're arguing. It's like a blizzard at home.”

“Clarke-”

“Marcus loves you,” Clarke insisted, her eyes pleading with hers. “And I know you do too. I know that you're scared that he's going to leave you again, but if that's what's holding you back, then you have to tell him.”

Abby swallowed, the pang in her heart expanding throughout her chest and sinking to her stomach.

How could she tell Clarke why she didn't want to be with Marcus, when she didn't understand it herself?

Maybe Abby was in love with Marcus. There was a time when she had lost all meaning of the word, until that day in the caves with Marcus, when he had brought back all the meaning and hope that that word had carried, like a flood of light chasing away the darkness. It was a feeling Abby had said goodbye to long ago when she had agreed to marry Thelonious. Thelonious, who was the polar opposite to Marcus in almost every way. Thelonious, who would scoff at Marcus's carefree and unconventional lifestyle choices, and frown at his reckless and spontaneous behavior.

Thelonious, who sheltered Abby when Marcus had left them all that day to pick up the pieces after Jake’s death, and grieve without him.

Maybe that's why Abby was choosing Thelonious, because whilst her heart ached for Marcus, Abby feared that she needed stability and routine. She feared that she needed a stable marriage and a job and a full savings account to send Clarke off to college and invest in their property and one day, retire. Abby feared that she needed that more than the warm buzz that bloomed in her heart whenever Marcus mentioned her name and stared at her as if she was a work of art. She feared that she needed it more than the salty air and breathless adventures that a life on the ocean could give her, and certainly more than an impulsive proposal from a man who had abandoned her so many years ago.

But maybe it wasn't that Abby needed stability and routine more than all of that.

Maybe it was that she was too scared to let it all go for a chance at love again.

“Mom, if you don't tell him then I'm afraid that he's going to leave.”

Abby's heart skipped a beat, her eyes snapping up urgently. “Leave? Did he say something to you?”

“Not really, but-” Clarke lifted her shoulder up in a shrug, her eyes saddening. “Do you really think that he's going to want to stay here and watch you marry Thelonious? Especially since you won't say a word to him? I mean,” she hesitated, meeting her eyes seriously. “Could you really blame him if he left again?”

…

Seven years ago…

There were two times when Abby had been rushed to hospital to tend to her family.

The first time was last year, when Abby had followed the cries of her wailing daughter and found her sitting in the living room amongst her crayons and scrapbooks, a pair of blood-stained scissors laying by her side and a flap of skin hanging off her thumb. The second time was when Jake had decided to renovate their backyard with a stylish deck. Her husband had only started on the project when he had stepped on a nail sticking out from a wooden plank. The nail had slid right through his rubber flip flop, leading them the fastest trip to the hospital that Abby had ever taken, a tetanus shot and an oath from Abby that she wouldn’t tell a soul just how much her husband had cried out during his shot.

But Abby didn't think that she would one day have to tend to Marcus too.

It was a Sunday morning, Raven had taken Clarke out to the beach, and Abby and Jake were settling in front of their television with a bucket of popcorn between them, when Abby's phone buzzed to life. She saw Marcus's name and answered it instantly.

“Ah, Abby, I made need your help. I ah - had a bit of an accident.”

His tone was calm, but Abby could tell from the way he spoke in-between heaving breaths that he was in pain.

Fortunately, Marcus didn't live far away. Within ten minutes, Abby had pulled up outside his house and let herself in (Marcus never worried about locking the doors when he was at home, shrugging off Abby's concerns about a robbery with a, “Well if anyone ever breaks in to steal something, I may get up and go looking with them.”)

Abby stepped out into the backyard, panic stunning her features when she saw Marcus. He was leaning back against the side of his house, his face twisted in excruciating pain, and a fallen ladder lying next to him. Abby couldn't help but quickly assess just how long that ladder was and how far Marcus had fallen.

She hurried over and knelt down to his side. “My God Marcus, what happened?”

He gestured to the ladder with a weak smile. “I think it's obvious. I fell.”

Abby repressed an eye roll. “Clearly. But what were you doing up there in the first place?”

Marcus shifted his weight and tried to sit up, cringing and inhaling sharply with pain as he did so. “I was installing the new solar panels, but the ladder mustn't have been stable enough. It wobbled, and I tried to get back down before it collapsed, and I wasn't quick enough.”

Abby chewed her lip anxiously at the thought of Marcus falling so high. She asked, “Where does it hurt the most?”

Just as her fingers went to assess his knee Marcus cried out, gritting his teeth. “Right there. I landed on my side, but my leg took most of the fall.”

More gently this time, Abby continued to assess his leg, pressing and prodding as carefully as she could. Occasionally, she would ask 'Is it sore here?' 'Does it feel tender here?' She felt his flesh through the material of his jeans, relieved that she couldn't feel too much swelling.

Finally, Abby finished and withdrew. “Well I don't think it's broken, maybe just a ruptured tendon. You were lucky.” Still, Abby couldn't help but shake her head and huff, “I still don't know what the hell you were thinking.” Seeing his perplexed stare, she chided, “You climbed a ten-foot ladder that barely looks like it can stand by itself, let alone hold your weight, without anyone holding it. Of course you would fall. It was reckless Marcus, you could have gotten yourself killed.”

Marcus, a little taken back at the comment, glanced at the ladder (it looked fine to him) and replied, “It was just a ladder Abby, how was I supposed-”

“It was an unstable ladder,” Abby fired back. “You could have borrowed a ladder from us, or asked Jake to help you with the installations, or better, do what most of us do and hire a technician. Because I don't know how you thought you were going to install those giant panels alone.”

Marcus parted his lips to point out just how ridiculous she was being, that he was more than capable of installing the solar panels by himself and that this fall could have happened to anyone. Then he noticed the distress shadowing her eyes, and the sudden sharpness of her breaths.

Abby was scared.

Then suddenly it wasn't just about Marcus's fall.

It was about the time Marcus had told Abby that he would be going out sailing amidst the stormy ocean waves to take photos of the lightening, always enthralled by the flashing branches of stormy-light that sliced through the darkness. Then Marcus had returned to shore from his trip, and back to two hysterical “Marcus, you've been gone for an hour and the storm's worsening, please call me” voice-mails from Abby. Or it was about the time when Marcus had given Abby a near heart attack diving too close to the shark infested waters, or driving too close to the edge of the mountains because he was captured by the view, or any other reckless activity that had endangered his life.

It wasn't about Marcus's fall at all. It was about every other time Marcus had almost gotten himself killed.

So Marcus swallowed back his pride and replied, “I-I guess I wasn't thinking?”

Abby blinked, once, twice, clearly not expecting this answer. She took a steady breath, composure washing away her anxieties. Quietly, she said “No... maybe you weren’t.” She hesitated, then “I'll get Jake to drop the ladder off for you tomorrow, so I don't get a heart attack next time you call me because you were too lazy to purchase a stable ladder.”

Marcus's eyes lit up for a fraction, his lips tugging into the tiniest of smiles at the thought of Abby worrying about him so much. He raised an eyebrow and asked, “You really got a heart attack when I called?”

Then to his surprise, Abby gave a small shrug and truthfully responded, “I was terrified Marcus.” She stopped mid breath, as if she was going to continue, but decided against it. Instead Abby gestured to his leg. “Will you be able to walk? I want to get you to the hospital to run some more scans. You may have internal injuries.”

Marcus didn't even argue with her. He just smiled and responded, “Of course Dr. Griffin.”

Abby bit her lip, and fought back the smile spreading across her features.

With enough patience and strength, and many sharp gasps and painful grunts from Marcus, Abby got him up and into her car. They were at the hospital within minutes, and Marcus was being escorted by Niko to get some tests done, whilst Abby waited outside with Marcus's belongings.

Abby tried not to mentally replay the scenarios of Marcus falling over – how long was the ladder? Eight feet long? Nine feet long? Ten feet long? Ten feet fall? - or the possible outcomes that could have happened – concussion, broken bones, back injury, spine injury, nerve damage, paralysis, death – and decided to direct her attention to something more productive. Abby unlocked Marcus's phone (she had left her mobile at home amidst her frantic hurry to get to Marcus, and wanted to call Jake to let him know what happened). Then to her surprise, it wasn't a photo of the sunset or a storm flashing above the ocean that greeted her on Marcus's home screen.

It was her.

The iPhone was paused on a video, footage that had captured a close-up of Abby's face. She was caught in the middle of a laugh, little wrinkles outlining the smiles around her bright eyes. Curiously, Abby played the video. She recognized where the footage was taken immediately. It was at Clarke's sixth birthday party, and Abby vaguely remembered asking Marcus to record some videos of them since she couldn't find her phone (lost through the chaos of party decorations, wrapping paper and guests), and Jake was too busy cooking up the food and entertaining the adults and kids to film a video.

Yet as Abby watched the video, there seemed to be little footage of Clarke's actual birthday. Certainly, there was a lot of footage of Clarke; Clarke singing happy birthday and blowing out the candles, sword fighting with her friends, and blowing raspberries into the camera as she got her faced painted. But none of the actual birthday party.

Instead, there was a lot of Abby Griffin.

Abby dressing up with Clarke and braiding Octavia's hair, Abby poking out her tongue into the camera as Raven attached a tiara onto her hair, Abby alternating between singing happy birthday with a silly grin and attacking Clarke with kisses, and Abby dancing. So much of her dancing. Dancing with Clarke and the other kids. Then later on spinning around and swaying her hips with a glass of wine in hand, before she finally noticed Marcus filming her and called for him to “Put the camera down and come join me!” Then she laughed like a bottle of rosé champagne, bubbly, warm and pink all over, and pulled him towards her. The screen shook as the camera was pulled forward. The footage ended.

The door swung open and Abby instantly locked the phone, chucking it back onto her lap. She felt guilty, as if she had seen something that she wasn't supposed too. As if she had discovered a dirty secret.

“Good news, no broken bones.”

Abby snapped her head up to see Niko exiting, his eyes examining Marcus's MRI scans. “He's torn his quadriceps tendons, but that should heal within a few months. There are no internal injuries, so given his fall I'd say he's lucky.” Niko stopped and turned to Marcus who came hobbling out of the room with his crutches, his left leg bound in a cast. “You should be able to make a full recovery within less than three months, but you will need to take time off work though. Do you have insurance?”

Marcus nodded “Sinclair should give me compensation while I have time off.” He turned back to Abby, assessing her reaction to the news and his cast. He raised his eyebrows at her. “No broken bones or acute damage. What do you think Dr. Griffin?

Abby pursed her lips as she handed him back his belongings. “I think I'll breathe easier once you're back at home and I've locked you inside to make sure you rest those injuries.”

Abby knew that Marcus hated staying indoors for too long, but she would fight him on this one. Marcus however, seemed compliant for now, if not a little amused at her fretting over him.  

Abby wondered if she should tell Marcus just how scared she was when she saw him on the ground before, or even when she heard the pain in his voice when he had called her.

Then Abby wondered if she should mention the video. Why was he watching the video today? Why was there so much footage of her? Did he record her all day during Clarke’s birthday? Maybe Jake was right, and sometimes she could be a bit self-absorbed and this was a perceptual misjudgment on her part.

Still, although Abby didn't question him, for the rest of the day Abby couldn't stop thinking about the video and why it made her feel so guilty.

…

Present day…

“Dr. Griffin, I have your fiancé here to see you.”

Abby's and Clarke's eyes snapped up simultaneously. Clarke cast her Mother a questioning look, but Abby looked just as confused. Since Abby and Thelonious got engaged, Thelonious had stopped coming to visit her at work. Abby assumed that her fiancé didn't see the point in trying to woo her anymore, and any romance that had existed between them had fizzled out with age.

Abby hit the answer button on her intercom and replied, “Thank you Niylah, but tell Thelonious that I'm busy attending to a patient.”

She heard a rustle in the background, and her receptionist relaying her message back. Then, “I'm sorry Dr. Griffin, but Mr. Jaha is insisting that it's urgent.” Niylah lowered her tone and hushed, “Abby, he has some lady here with him and she doesn't look like she wants to leave. And frankly, she's starting to give me the chills. Can I please send them up?”

Abby clenched her jaw, feeling a flood of anger and frustration begin to rise within her chest. Nonetheless, Abby relieved her receptionist with a, “Fine. Send them up.”

“What is he doing here? And with Allie too? Weren’t they supposed to be attending another media publicity stunt today?” Clarke asked, equally annoyed.

Abby shook her head. “I wish I could tell you Clarke, but I honestly don't know.”

Abby handed Clarke back her mobile phone. For now, her conversation with Marcus would have to wait.

The door swung open and Allie walked inside, followed by Thelonious. Allie's eyes briefly swept across room, stopping to linger on Clarke before settling her attention on Abby. Allie clasped her hands together and spoke in her usual cool and collected manner. “Hello Abby. Clarke.”

There was always something chilling about Allie, perhaps it was her eyes, expressionless and yet calculating at the same time, almost robotic. Abby didn't blame her receptionist for wanting to banish Allie out of her sight. Despite this, Abby didn't feel fear or intimidation, only rage, like hot, blistering tar expanding inside her chest.

“Thelonious, what the hell is going on? What is so urgent that you have to interrupt me at work?”

“Well it hardly seems like you were working, Clarke is here.” Allie pointed out, as if correcting a child.

Abby looked like she could strangle Allie. Clarke did too.

Sensing the stormy cloud brewing between the two women, Thelonious stepped between them and spoke quickly. “Abby, we're sorry. But we wouldn't be here unless it was urgent.” He hesitated, glancing at Clarke. “Clarke, could you give us a moment with your Mother?”

“No,” Clarke immediately fired back, stepping closer to her Mom. She shifted her gaze between Thelonious and Allie suspiciously. She too, had always gotten a bad vibe from Allie's presence. “I'm not going anywhere. What you can say to my Mom you can say to me.”

“Clarke please.” It was Abby who spoke this time, turning to her daughter. “Let me talk to them for a minute, okay? I'll see you back at home.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, her features scrunching up with fury, as if she was preparing to protest. In the end, it was Abby's stern look that made up Clarke's mind. So with one last filthy glance at the adults, Clarke picked up her bag and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Abby lifted her eyes back up to her partner. “You have my attention now. What is it?”

But it was Allie who spoke with the upward-tilt of her head. “We need you to attend the media conference today.”

Abby almost choked. “Media conference? That's why the two of you are here?” Abby turned to her fiancé. “I told you Thelonious, I will support you with your candidacy, but I am not going to attend your PR events. That's for you and your campaign manager, but I have a full-time job here.”

Allie walked across the room and perched herself on Abby's desk, her clasped hands coming to rest on her lap in a business-like way. “Abby, the election polls have come out today. Thelonious was leading by fifteen percent when he first announced his candidacy, but now he's only leading by fifty-two to forty-eight. I ran some analysis on the recent polls and our city’s demographics, and found that he's lost support from family voters, particularly working-class caregivers.”

Abby shifted her gaze back and forth between the two of them, still confused. “I don’t understand. So, introduce some policies that will appeal to working families then, subsidies childcare services for working mothers or invest in new infrastructure for the kids. What has this got to do with me?”

But Allie shook her head, her eyes seeking Thelonious's for confirmation as she spoke, “Thelonious has already promised to invest in more community services for our youth, and help produce more flexible jobs that can cater towards working parents. His policies aren't the problem. His problem Abby, is the two of you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Abby, Australian families are struggling to relate to us,” Thelonious explained simply. “They see their leader as being a family person, someone who understands family values and is prepared to uphold them and support what the everyday family needs. And David Miller? The people think he has that. His wife and his son are by his side during every media conference and public debate forum, whereas the entire town barely knows that we're engaged. To them, you're still Jake Griffin's widow and single Mother of Clarke, and I’m still the doctor that lost his son ten years ago. We've lost touch with family voters.”

Abby did not look pleased. “Thelonious, Alison Miller does not have a full-time job. Alison Miller did not have to raise her child single-handedly for half of their life. And I made it very clear from the beginning that I will not drag Clarke into this. She wants to stay out of it, and I will support her decision, as I expect you to do too. If it's a family man the public wants, then you'll have to persuade them that you share those values yourself.”

Thelonious's eyes hardened, clearly not expecting this answer. “That's funny, because you always seem to have time to spare for Marcus. How long were you away for last week? Twelve hours? And what about when we first arrived here and you spent more than a day on his yacht? Yet you can't even attend a single public relations event with me.”

Abby's eyes flamed with fury. “Now you're tracking me? And what has this got to do with Marcus? It's none of your business what I choose to spend my time on or who I spend it with.”

Thelonious stepped forward, his tone rising with anger. “Abby, you said that you would support my campaign, and I expected you to keep your word.”

“I said that I would let you operate your campaign in our house and pick up the extra duties around so you could invest your time in your career. But I am not prepared to drop my career so I can stand by your side at every media conference you speak at and play happy family just to persuade the public to vote for you.”

“” Allie began, sitting forward. “You may not have to attend all of Thelonious's public relations campaigns. Given Thelonious's overwhelmingly low support from working class families, and shockingly, emerging families, it may not be enough to have you and Clarke showcase your support for Thelonious during his campaigns. Besides, I question how helpful Clarke's support to our campaign would be anyway.”

Abby ignored Allie's comment about her daughter, and pointedly asked, “Fine, then what do you want?”

Allie smiled, and responded simply, “We need you and Thelonious to attend just today’s media conference, and announce that you will be expecting.”

Abby raised her eyebrows. “Expecting?”

“Yes. Expecting a child.”

Abby choked. Her eyes bulged with shock and disbelief, shifting her gaze between Allie and Thelonious. “You cannot be serious.”

“Sixty-two percent of people do not vote rationally Abby, they vote with their emotions,” Allie articulated, as if teaching a student. “They vote for who they can trust. And one can always trust a man who is willing to support his wife and their new child, it shows commitment to family and commitment to his people. It shows unity. And more importantly, this will give Thelonious a mode to discuss the issues that emerging families face in the current economic environment, and how he is the man that can fix it.”

Abby was flabbergasted. Yet Allie still sat there, blinking at Abby's stunned gaze, calm and collected as she waited for her response. Sick of hearing anymore of Allie’s insanity, Abby spun around to Thelonious, pointing out “You've been silent during all of this. Surely you think that this is insane?”

Thelonious had indeed been quiet, choosing to retreat back behind Allie, hidden by her shadow. He lifted his eyes up and quietly said, “Actually, I think it's perfect.”

Abby snorted, barely containing a ‘ha!’ “Perfect, except for the fact that I am not pregnant. I knew you could be mad sometimes Thelonious, but I didn't think you had lost your mind.”

“You're not pregnant now,” Allie spoke carefully again, staring pointedly at Abby. “But we still have time. Based on what Thelonious has told me, you should be able to conceive by the next week.”

Abby's jaw dropped, her eyes shooting fire at Thelonious (she was always grumpier during her period, and suffered from pounding migraines and cramps that she never bothered to keep quiet about at home, but had Thelonious lost his mind to tell Allie this?)

“If you can conceive within the next week,” Allie continued, as if oblivious to the tension between the couple. “Then we can announce your pregnancy today.”

Abby was shaking her head. “This is ridiculous. Both of you have lost your minds.”

“Why?” Thelonious asked sharply. “Is it that hard to comprehend the thought of sleeping with me Abby? Lord knows that you haven't been intimate with me in years. You haven't been able to touch me since we arrived here.”

Abby's cheeks flushed with rage, the volcanic tar pit of rage spitting and rising within her. She snapped, “Well maybe I had good reason to Thelonious, since I found out that you've been lying to me since we got here. And I am not going to discuss our sex life with your campaign manager in the room.”

Allie didn't even bat an eye. Instead she just turned to Thelonious and said wisely, “I told you that we shouldn't have told her beforehand. Announcing the pregnancy today without Abby's knowing would have been more successful.”

Abby raised her eyebrows. “What? And you thought that I was just going to play along with this bullshit story in front of the cameras?”

“Most likely you would have been in shock, so yes. I doubt you would have said anything.”

“Abby please,” Thelonious pleaded again, his tone softening. “Just listen to me-”

“I am not doing this in front of her,” Abby snapped, waving to Allie.

Taking her cue, Allie bowed her head and with one last flickering gaze towards Thelonious, she left the room.

As soon as the door shut Abby started again. “Thelonious before you speak, no. Absolutely not. I am not going to conceive a child with you just so you can win some votes. You must have lost every braincell of yours to even think that I would be open to this insanity!”

“Funny Abby, that you won't even screw your partner for a child, but you'll happily screw his best friend.”

Abby's breath stopped short.

Thelonious sneered. “You didn't think I knew? How long did you think that you could keep on screwing Marcus behind my back?”

Abby’s heart hammered in her chest, each accelerating boom of her heart like a battering ram pounding against the Trojan Gates of her chest, thumping to the millions of 'hows' and 'whys' that raced through her mind, too many for Abby to make sense of. Clamping her mouth shut, Abby replied “And why didn't you say anything before?”

“Because I was hoping that you would come to me and confess your affair, and that it wouldn't have to come to this.”

Abby knew that she shouldn't ask, but she needed to know. Taking a brave breath, she managed to utter a, “How?”

Thelonious pulled out his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, placing it on the desk. Abby approached it, her eyes widening with horror when she saw all of the pictures on the screen. Pictures of her and Marcus. Marcus holding her up against the wheel of his yacht and kissing her senseless, Marcus and Abby making out under-stars, and Abby pinning Marcus onto the beach of Hill Inlet, her face elated with happiness.

Abby clutched the edge of her desk for support. She felt like she was going to throw up. She could barely breathe out the “Oh my god,” that was circling her mind. Finally, she exclaimed, “You were stalking me since we got here?”

“I was in contact with Allie before we arrived here. When you ran off on that first day I was worried sick, you weren't answering my calls and I didn't know where the hell you were. I was going to contact the police when Allie had noticed my distress that evening and offered to look for you. Nonetheless Clarke later called me and told me where you were. Then Allie sent me that photo of you and Marcus on the yacht just after you returned, and I knew.”

Abby shook her head, taking a step away from her fiancé. “You knew...you knew from the beginning-”

“I was accepting of it Abby, honestly. I was angry, of course, outraged, but I understood. You and Marcus clearly had history, and returning here could have, as you say, rekindled some old flames between the two of you. Nonetheless, when you came home that morning looking guilty and distraught, I hoped that that would be the last of it. Still, when Allie offered to keep an eye on you, I took her up on that offer.”

“This is sick,” Abby whispered. “You're sick-”

“And it didn't end after that evening on the yacht, did it? During the cocktail party and your rendezvous at Hill Inlet you continued your affair. Abby, you lied to me. Cheated on me.” Thelonious stepped towards her with each sentence, like a predator approaching its prey, and Abby stumbled back. “You betrayed me, and this affair ends now. Do you understand?”

Abby shook her head, her fingers digging into hands, nails scarring crescents into her palms. “No Thelonious, no. You can't honestly believe that I'm still going to marry you when-when, you knew all along-” Abby stopped, trying to collect her words together, her heart plummeting in her chest as if she was falling a hundred feet down. “It's sick Thelonious, sick! You lied to me, then you stalked me, then you pretended like you knew nothing when you did. It's insanity!”

Thelonious took a steady breath, his eyes studying Abby. “Maybe to you. But at least I know now that I can't trust you. Clearly, you're too involved with Marcus that it doesn't look like you'll end this affair yourself. Fortunately, you won't need too.”

Abby's heart skipped a precious beat, her blood pounding in her ears. “What do you mean?”

Thelonious pulled out Abby's iPhone, toying with the device as if it was a prized antique. “You have always been careless with your phone. I used to wonder why you bothered owning one when you never answer your calls, and use the land line or Clarke's mobile half the time when you need to make a call. You didn't even know it was missing, did you?”

As soon as he had pulled out her phone Abby's hand had shot into her bag, and just like she knew in the back of her head, her phone was missing.

“How else could I have known that Marcus was with you during the charity benefit?”

Memories of the night of the cocktail-charity benefit flashed through Abby's mind.

Marcus's phone buzzing by his side. Abby, still breathless and dizzy with desire, sitting up underneath the stars and staring at Marcus with confusion as he answered the anonymous number. Then he turned to her with equal confusion, uttering “How did Thelonious get my number?”

Abby snapped her head back up, a mix of caution and apprehension consuming her features. “Thelonious, why do you have my phone now?”

Thelonious passed the device to her. “To do what you couldn't do.”

Abby read the text message on her screen, and her world slowly fell apart.

Marcus, we can't keep on doing this anymore. It's wrong, and you know that. I'm sorry that I let it get this far, but...it needs to stop. It's not fair to Thelonious and it's not fair to you, and I hope you understand. These past few weeks for me were a...distraction, a distraction from everything. And maybe it was wrong of me to use you like that, but there it is. I don't love you Marcus, and I hope you understand.

Sent, 12:00pm today.

Next to it were five missing calls from Marcus himself. Abby almost dropped the phone, slowly breaking inside.

Thelonious pocketed his own mobile. “Abby, forget about it. It's done. I wouldn't even be surprised if he was on the plane heading out of this country already. You know how the man liked to run away from his grief.”

“No.”

Thelonious startled. Abby glared at him through glassy eyes. “No. I'm not letting that happen.”

She grabbed her phone and her handbag and spun around to run to the door, done with this conversation, done with Thelonious, done with the lies and secrets and betrayal. Thelonious grabbed her wrist, yanking her back. Abby cried out and struggled against his firm grip.

“Abby stop, it's done.” Thelonious fought against her violent struggles, yelling in between breathless cries, “Abby, your life, your family, is here with me.”

The volcanic anger within her chest erupted and Abby cried out, kicking Thelonious from behind. He yelped and let go. Abby ran. She just opened the door when she felt Thelonious pulling her wrist back once more, bellowing “Abby stay here, you are my wife!”

Abby yanked her arm away and whirled around, her features twisted with rage. “Not today.”

Then she yanked off her engagement ring, threw it on the ground and fled.

Not today. Not ever again.

...

[carlottaproietti24]

                    How living on a boat has changed my life  

The number of people who consider to change their life and go to live  on a boat in London is increasing more and more.

According to an analysis by Savills ,emerged in 2016, the prices of the houses in London has risen in value by 105£ a day since 2012. This leads  the majority of the people to choose to live on a boat as a more affordable option.

Consequently, the number of people living on a boat has increased, according to the statistic of Canal River Trust on 2016, by almost 60% since 2012.

But, is anyone able to live waterway?

                                           The story of Jonas

                  “I choose to live my life as better fit for me”, Jonas.

Jonas is a 33 years old man from Brazil and he has been living on a boat for more than two years. ” It is this way of life that makes me stay in London”.

Before moving to London, three years ago, Jonas was working in Brazil as a engineer and as he said, his life was well organised, since ” I felt my life was passing and I neededto do something“. ” I was living in San Paulo that is a way bigger and crowded city than London. I have always had a motorcycle to move fast and go hand in hand with my busy lifestyle. I really enjoy the calm and quiete now.”

Why did you decide to live on a boat?

“When I first came to London I was living in a sharing house, one day a friend of mine told me he needed to get rid of his boat for work reasons and he could not take care of it anymore. He offered me to stay in the boat, he spent days showing me how it works and explaining me everything. For me it was just amazing and all I could do was accept.”

How did you adapt your life on the boat?

“I did not really have problems finding myself here. I never felt like I wanted to go back or this is not working. Of course living on a boat is not really practical, it demands a lot of attention, there are always things that you need to fix or improve but I got used to it now. And somehow it is similar to living in a house, you have everything, but just  smaller.”

What about the maintenance and costs?

“Regarding the costs if you have the continuous cruiser license, ( it means you need to move every two weeks) you will have to pay it annually and the cost depends on the size of the boat, for mine it is around 800 £ a year. I also pay the insurance, 170£ a year. This includes all the services you will need.

For the maintenance there are few supplies you need. First the gas (diesel) that you can charge directly from a supply boat passing along the canal. Then concerning the toilet, as I have a chemical toilet I need to throw the tank when it is full in a facility point. My boat does not have any heaters and I usually use stoves and wood for the cold winter. It is important you take care of all of that and think about your daily schedule: heating the boat, moving it every two weeks, empty the toilet. And I learned how to reduce my needs and to save what I can.”

“It is important to always keep in mind your daily schedule”

Have you made any changes to bring more comfort?

“I have made a few changes since I have been here.

First I installed the solar panels so now I usually use only that for electricity. Even during a cloudy winter, it is enough for the fridge, lights, charging phone and computer. Before, I needed to move many times as the battery charges when you move the boat and turn the engines on. Still moving from one neighbourhood to another was not enough to charge it. Now 95% of the energy is provided by the solar panels.

Water, is something else that I needed to change often. I always had to keep in mind how much water I was using as it came from a container. Before I had 100 litres container and I was changing it every 5 days. Then I decided to upgrade to a 1000 litres, meaning that I can change it every two weeks when I need to move.

Also, the boat before had a small transformer that was just plugging 12 volts, which you can actually just use to charge your laptop. I bought a bigger transformer and I changed the plug for 220 volts.”

What are the mooring rules?

“So, as I have a continuous mooring licence, I need to move the boat every two weeks. I have to go to the next borough, following my kilometre area (which is determined by which direction you are coming from). You need to keep going. And also really important is to move really slowly to not create waves and disturb the other boats.”

‘Canal River Trust’ is the organisation which takes care of all the canals and river in UK.

It is its job to examine how far the boats have moved during their cruising licence, and to see if it has satisfied the requirements it needs to follow.

How strong is the sense of community between boat owners ?

“It is really strong. When I first moved I did not know anything, I started to moor and all the people asked me if I needed help. They are really connected and help each other a lot. There is also a group on Facebook called “London Boaters”, there are around 4000 members and anytime you need something or you have an issue you can ask for advice.

“I have an example of the sense of community between us. Once I moored to Victoria Park and at that time I was working, some kids got into the boat and the alarm took around 20 seconds before it went off. When it, immediately the owner of the boat next to mine  went to check and he tried to catch whoever was in there and called the police. He also wrote to the Facebook group, asking if anyone knew the owner of the boat and exactly 15 minutes after I received a call from him. I was impressed, from that moment I started to feel part of a community.”

“I have been forced to slow down my life and appreciate the small things”

How do you do when you are asked for an address?

“This is a big problem and there is no solution. Since I am living on the boat I use the address of a friend of mine.”

What do you enjoy most living waterway?

“I enjoy the quietness of living on a boat. Having breakfast outside on a sunny day and feeling so connected with nature and the environment.I have been forced to slow down my life and appreciate the small things and I like this. Space was a big problem at the beginning. I do not have much space so I just started to give away things that I did not really need. If one day I will be living in a flat I am sure I will follow this routine. I can not tell to people if is worth or not living waterways because it depends on the person, but this way of life is what makes me stay in London.”

[silentdovelove-blog]

HONORING MY LATE HUSBAND NICKOLAI COWELL, Screamin' Olaff Maginski, NEW SONG ROAD SCORE ONIONS I am baaaack. I am having an INTENSE physical transformation. In my 10 Years of horrific illness, I had thousands of tumors/graulomas, and many many badly broken and dissinetegated bones. I had numerous surgeries, including 2 prostetic hips, other human bones, screws, and countless stiches in my throat where they kept on having to save my life with IVs sewed into my neck, for my blood was teribly infected, I had DVT blood clots, and my veins had collapsed. I know it is BEYOND a miracle I am here, typing this, smiling, breathing. I am trying to find that balance that I always struggle with between helping make the world a better place and caring for myself. The past few days, as it was most of the last 10 years, I lost hearing in my left ear and every noise that came to me was garbled into torturous pain in my left ear and eye where so many tumors recently melted, leaving holes so to speak. Since I coud not use music at all, I deeply mediated on the places and people I love so dearly and healed healed healed, am healing healing healing. I am almost COMPLETELY off narcotics, just had to add a bit back with he recent intense pain. I realize I am not yet strong enogh to travel on a plane, so I will not make it to the Portland Memorals May 6 and Music May 7 for my dear late husband, 'Nickolai' Nicholas Cowell, Screamin' Olaf Mcginski. My songs will be there, a dozen of them, on recycled paper, as will my spirit, and I will be there on some form of social media. Every single person that was attracted to the wonderous light of my husbad is an exceptional person, I assure you will not be let down if you attend and meet some of his glorious 'extended family'. This is a small event for friends and family organized by his parents and brother. He never had a friend he didn't consider family, so in that vein: all are very welcome, kids too of course! I will post information soon about the event(s), timing and more details. I am working with my dear sisier on a Funeral close to home, in Massachusets perhaps. My nephew and I will be playing songs, and we are planning some beautiful rituals. I will be honoring this brillinat man for the rest of my life, so after Portland will be a Mass/NJ event, one in Telluride, CO, and on from there Interntionally eventually. This hubmle brilliant unseen man in his lifetime deserves the world, and I internd to give it to him now that I am alive again, taking care to first feed and love and heal myself, which I am deepy working on now. He is truly helping me write the Album, Band of Peace, letting all beings know they are dearly loved, powefrul, and thet unity and peace and susainability are all possible! There will be a non-proft fund in his name associated with this evetually. I have been offline, completely had my phone shut off, and have been in a deep cuccoon. I will check messages and emails etc. soon. I was able to listen to music again starting yesterday!!!!!!!! YEAH! I will be working with many many msicinas! SO EXCITED! Today, I wrote the song Road Score Onions about meeting and inevitably falling deepy in love wih my late husband, Screamin' Olaf Mcginski. The greif is deep, for he is my True Love. The music helps immensely, and I am trying to remind myself not to be so sad, for he is here with me!!! Cheers and peace, y'all! No matter what is going on in your world around you, peace is possible-for is inside you!!! I will be recording music videos of Whanganui River and Road Score Onions soon, as my ear pain allows me to, gives me the green light!!@@ ROAD SCORE ONIONS ************************************** Darlin', you brought me road score onions and I was all in. Singing by the fire your face floated through centuries in my dreams. We had the same visions passions hearts right from the start. Always before I thought I was on a holy mission alone. Until you became my only home I've ever really known. I knew I was on a mission to bring sustanability to our people, solar power to every steeple. But oh, how you gloriously stopped me in my tracks. To join me. There is no looking back. Sundays were our days. You taught me how to telemark ski. You moved with me to New Jersey. To move in with grandma so she didnt have to go alone to a sterile home. To Unite. To fight for new state laws for solar wind and earth energy sustainability afforability city. You designed engineered and installed solar all over. You taught biodisel. Your gigantic heart is so damn lethal! We did what we loved for work. Busmans holidays. Neverending passions to create on earth a new and true heaven from seven stars from very far away, away. Oh, how i remember how tender your touch. It is too much to not have you here as I have awakened. No, I am mistaken. For you are writing this with me! Holy!!!! It was way too much. How sick I fell. We went down the deepest well. It was pure hell. Unable to talk. Unable to walk. You never left me, my darling. 10 loooonnng years, beyond our deepest fears. The waxing new moon lends me these tunes. Any days of breath I have left I give honor to the holy father and deep thanks to you. You. You remove my blue. My boo. My true blue. So may Nick names for the man that means the word to me, Nickolai, how you do Fly, Fly. Fly!! My one true new moon. Bloom. Boom. Bloom. You bring me love from my deepest dreams you benevolnt being! How your life was taken mid-steam. No! I am mistaken! You were not taken! For you are here healing with me. I remember it all so clearly. So dearly. You would sing to me Bob Marley and Michael Franti tunes, under our Harvest Moon. We would dance. dance. dance. Into a trance. Until I could no longer stand. How you always held my aching hand. You demanded peace. In all you did. But for your own self. Self less you are my dar'ling. You couldn't see your worth. Your love is so healing, healing, healing. How it removes my ceilings. So many more peaceful warriors I love so are in heaven. Watching over us. They will rise with us again soon, under a glorious winter solstice afternoon. We have a love so true. I have gone so deep down iside. Where you reside. I am your bride. With deep pride. I have been deep in my cuccoon with you and the moon. Thanks and praises to the one above working with you to heal this weary dove. Oh, how you still bring me road score onions straight to my heart. In the end and right from the start. The number of times we saved eachothers lives. Forged in fire. You satisfy my every desire. Spiritually we are steemed from trees. Fom Luxor, Nepal, Tibet. Peru. We are never through. We come from Water. Earth. Air. Dust. Don't despair. All that is true and holy and sacred will soon rise. Stop the illusions and our people's confusion. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. In the Great Spirit I put all my trust. You must know you will never leave my heart. Your essence from me cannot part. Our trip to Nicaragua. Sabana Grade Village. Our Holy Pillage. Staying with our humble loving beautiful family on their earthen floor, teaching eachother about sustainability. Singing dancing so very free! We learned how to make solar panels. Change the channels. Flooding all lies. Bridge the divide. House sitting in straw bale heaven adobe. Riding horses from the mountian peaks to the sea. Dancing underneath the glorious full moon. For you, I do forever swoon. My big spoon. Look at the moon. Planting gardens composting making the most of what we were given. You were always forgiven. Livin' I am again. Your humble brilliant hands they do heal this sacred land. Oh, how your glance and dance does put me into a trance. Come into my arms. Away from all harm. Sway with me to the rhythum of the soft afternoon. Watch the new blooms. Please, deliver me from evil!. All the countries you worked for peace in. To my deep chagrin too brillant you were for the darkness here you are now devoid of fears darling, you are so damn pure!! I can feel you, ever-presently near. Oh, how my days are filled with rain and my nights are filled with sorrow. The thought of loving you brings me rainbows of tomorrow. The kind bones in your face defy space. Your soothing voice is so very gentle. So choice. Your brilliant mind so divine. Your gigantic heart melted me right from the start. Your addictions and earthly afflictions haunt me. I try to remember that now you are finally at peace. You are my peaceful warrior. How you do deliver me from pain. You are a white buffalo in my dreams: dancin' prancin' singing a dancin' and and a bell ringing. You light my fire deep within, my love twin. Sing to me as we sway to the wind in the trees lighting beings. Erupting into a violet orange sky, no longer shy. His white orange violet indigo blue silver gold halo showed me past lifetimes with this precius soul. I right then did know. I would never go. When I was down, you would bring me kittens donkeys and love poems. How I know them all by heart. You are my man. We are taking a stand with this album you are helping me write. People, Unite!!! You took my hand all over this glorious land. Man oh man. When I was long captured underwater and could not talk or sing, I would bring my visions to the pure of heart above. Owlie was sent to Nahko to sing to you this love song, 'She breaks free a flower. Catches the wave of the wind. She plants it South, far below the canyon walls. We are the mighty rivers, emptying at the mouth and joining currents. Currently, I am waiting for the midnight hour when the moon undresses in all her glory. You are my shell. My ocean as well. Put your mouth to my mouth, breathe along. You are my shell my ocean as well. Put your mouth to my mouth breathe along', he croons. How every single night was freight with the deepest strife. I could not even be touched or held. How tears welled and felled. Of course you had to check out!!@@ I do shout! Your addictions and our afflictions were to much to bear. Bear. Bere. Bare. But for our deep deep undying love, and uconditional love from the one above. I swear, I am being miraculously healed. All was reveled. It happened so damn fast. You did not believe your eyes. You tried and tried while I cried and cried for you to wake up. I had to leave to set you free like you had so often delivered to me. After all is said and done, You returned to me! See!! These songs you are writing with me! Glory!! I open my mouth south to your breath. Dissolving the tumors in my brain, my breasts. Your violet eyes Singing and dancing together on the hightest peaks. In your arms I find the deepest releif. The light in your soul. How it roll roll rolls. Over and over with you down the valleys, we met at the mouth of the river where we are finally delivered back into eachothers' arms. I finally received your ashes. I have been planting them all over. Rebirth Rebirth Rebirth. I will show you your worth that you couldn't see in this particular form on Earth. Oh perfect storm! I will always remember your water. We shall recover. All that was lost. lost. Roots run deep. True love doth forever seep. Oh, in my heart how you bring me road score onions every day to keep me sane. I will always honor your true name, my darlin'! Galloping on horses to the sparkling waters in Dominica. You are a fantastic humble leader. Watching all you do the classes you hold. You are so very bold. A sight to behold. You have zero ego, ergo my heart sings for your ring. Your humble brilliance was definately heaven sent. My love for you does rise rise rise. I will always be your bride. We will not be denied. My Darlin', My Serapin. My Dolphin. My Holy Love Twin Deep Within. Oh. How you bring me road score onions every day. It is a miracle I am healing at all. I can feel you holding me carressing me right underneath me singing to me writing these songs with me. How your mighty heart cures my disease. Please. Pleease. Don't leave me. I deeply believe. In you. My boo. I will soon be honoring you across the world 'From the west coast to the east coast blazing a trail of gold', as our wedding song Katharina wrote us our story is Told. Oh, at first glance, you took a deep stance in my heart. Your exceptional kindness, brilliance, humbleness, compassion, deep beauty had me from day 1. You Sacred Sun. We had to meet to consolodate our grants under the same ubmbrella nonprofit Atals Arkology. Steeprock Jointery. Led by the late, the great, the brilliant, the dear my brother from another mother: Glen Harcourt. Dear Brother, I know you are with my lover in Heaven. Creating glorious breathable buildings that sing! Structures that venerate and create love. They self illuminate, never to take. My grant was for green bulding code changes and education series. His was for Biodiesel for town busses and trucks. What Divine luck. That smile. I could see for miles. Your kindness. Your gentle kiss, that sweet abyss. Many many laughs. I crocheted your favorite hat. After our first weekend together, you left me the most heavenly letter. On the back of a macaroni package. That said 'You are like a perfect red apple on top of a tall twisted tree in a desolate land.' Not long after, you asked for my hand. Photon belt. Starseed Gateway. Gravity. Weightless. Unity. Blue Cosmic Hands Across this Sacred Land. Time to take a Stand. A Stand. On our first date after our grants were given to my house in Telluride you had driven. From your Biodisel Warehouse in Montrose. Our date to the potluck at our friends yurt that glorius fall night by the fire. Your face removed all my hurt, You beamed through centuries in my deepest dreams. I knew that road score onions had been planted so deep in my heat. Right from the start. Oh, darling. I 'aint leaving you again. You breathe life into me eveytime I remember you showing up with your road score onions in my heart. They took deep root right from the start. -Elizabeth Robbins April 29, 2017

[rebeccahpedersen]

Quick Hits!

TorontoRealtyBlog

I have a few things to talk about today, but there’s no one “big” topic per se.

Just a lot of random occurences, questions, annoyances, and/or discussion points.  A little bit of something for everyone.

And, I mean, who doesn’t want to talk about lockboxes again?  It’s the topic that always stays sexy, am I right?

Sunny disposition?

A client of mine emailed last week to ask about the pros and cons of installing solar panels on the roof of his home.

The reaction to that above sentence really only comes in two forms:

1) How can there be any “cons” to solar panels, duh? 2) Ewww.  Solar panels are ugly.

And therein lies the rub…

Installing solar panels on the roof of your home will pay off, no question about it.

As hydro prices continue to soar (or will when Kathleen Wynne’s debt-refinancing BS 8% hydro savings plan is up…), I believe that alternative forms of energy will gain serious momentum.

So solar panels seem like a no-brainer, right?

Not so much.

The problem is – they’re ugly.  They’re unsightly.  They stand out.

And in the context of Toronto real estate, where home-owners are always concerned about curb appeal, the cost savings associated with solar panels might be mitigated by a buyer’s distaste for the look and feel of the home.

Is that crazy or what?

You would think that spending money on a feature of your home, that saves you money, would add tremendous value to the property, and help marketability.  But there is something called a “superadequacy” in real estate, which is a feature of your home that you pay more for, than what it’s worth.

Just because you value a 24K gold toilet, doesn’t mean the next buyer will.

Or from a more realistic perspective, does spending money on solid-core doors increase the value of a simple 1-bed, 1-bath condo?  Do those buyers care?  Do they notice?

Solar panels aren’t quite the very definition of superadequacies, but they’re close.  They’re something that, at least in the present, save money, but offend the delicate senses of much of the buyer pool.

–

What’s the deal with artist’s renderings?

Has anybody noticed that the artist’s renderings for new condo developments are getting more and more unbelievable?

Or maybe they’re the very definition of believable, since the people they “paint” in their little silhouette’s in the marketing brochures are actually who they’re attracting in the end.

They’ll show the lobby, the party room, or the pool, and everybody is good-looking, in shape, young, and well-dressed.

They all seem to be on their phones as well.  So maybe this is an accurate artistic representation?

I’m not sure.

But I do know that most pools at Toronto condos don’t look anything like this, nor do the people dress like this:

Is that girl on the right knitting?  Or just rummaging in her Louis Vuitton purse for some beeswax lip balm?

Come to think of it, the topic of “artist’s renderings” is a blog post unto itself.  Leave this with me…

–

Lockbox lament…

I was in a condo the other day, preparing for a listing, and I asked the concierge “What’s the lockbox protocol here in the building?”

Once upon a time, Realtors just stuck the lockbox in the stairwell near the unit, and gave instructions to buyer agents accordingly.

Today, as condo managers have grown to understand the need for clear guidelines when it comes to the sale, and viewing, of real estate, there’s usually a procedure in place.

But not in every building…

I was told by the concierge last week, “We don’t handle lockboxes,” which I took to mean that they don’t keep them at concierge.

I asked, “Is there a dedicated location for them?  Down in P1, around the corner in the hallway, or on a rack outside?”

He said, “Lockboxes are not allowed on site.”

I asked, “What about the stairwells near the unit?”

He simply said, “Lockboxes are not allowed on site,” and added, “If they’re found, they will be removed.”

I know some buildings are trickier than others, but surely in this building there must be some understanding of how agents access the building.

So I asked him, “What do real estate agents, or the sellers, do when they want to have buyers and their agents access the building?”

He said, “We don’t care what they do.  We’ll have none of it.”  And then he said, “If we see a lockbox anywhere on site, or near the building, we’ll cut it off.”

Okay, now he’s saying “near” the building?  So I asked him to clarify, and he pointed outside: “See that bike rack right there?  If we find lockboxes on there, we’ll cut them off.”

He was almost proud about it.

I went into MLS and looked up the last few condos that had sold in the building, and called one of the listing agents who I knew.  She told me, “David, they’re psychotic in that building.  It’s like they’re living in the 1980’s.  Their expectation is that a buyer will go pick up the key from the seller or some nonsense.  I had a lockbox on the fence twenty feet away from the front door, and they cut it off!  I had to put it down the alleyway on a random door handle at the back of a restaurant!”

It makes no sense to me.

The property manager enforces rules that were decided upon by the board of directors.  The board of directors own real estate.  At some point, they’ll sell, and all the while, they should want the property values to increase.

So how does going out of your way to ensure properties are difficult to show, make any sense?

–

Hey TREB, what the hell are we paying you guys for?

If you think that the Toronto Real Estate Board works for Realtors, you’re sadly mistaken.

It’s so hard to believe, but they tell us what to do, even though technically, they work for us.

And folks like myself, who are living in 2018, think that the people in charge are stuck in 1999, marvelling over the “World Wide Web,” when all the while, our technology is so far behind.

My issue today has to do with open houses.

While you might think that http://www.realtor.ca is somehow linked to our own http://www.torontomls.net, alas, it is not.

So if you want to post your listing on “open house,” it matters not what you have on MLS, but rather you have to go an external site.

Check this out:

So once I’ve gone outside of my MLS listing, where I’ve already specified the day/time of my open house, I post it as shown above.

And then amazingly, it takes TWO DAYS to update!

TWO DAYS!

How in the world is this not automatic?

Post the open house on Friday afternoon, and it might not show up for the public to see, at all.

We need some fresh blood at TREB, not to mention CREA.

Some younger blood too.

–

Superbowl Sunday…

I did something yesterday that I haven’t done in a long, long time.

No, it has nothing to do with the Superbowl, but rather, I went to open houses on a Sunday.

When showing houses to prospective buyers, I always try to avoid 2-4pm on Saturday & Sunday.  What buyers wouldn’t want the house to themselves when trying to make a decision about the largest purchase of their lives?

Yesterday was an absolute mad house in three straight properties.

Looking at properties during the open house hours on a weekend comes with about five or six standard observations and experiences, all of which happen in sequence.

First, you pull onto the street, and there’s not a single place to park on that entire block.  There are cars up on the sidewalk, cars double-parked in the driveway of the house, and some people even park in front of fire hydrants and just “risk it.”

Second, you see a host of people loitering out front.  Buyers waiting for their agents, agents waiting for their buyers.  People waiting for their partners to arrive, and people waiting outside for their partners, stuck inside.

Third, you see enough shoes in the front foyer to start a department at Nordstrom’s.

Fourth, you get a soaker when you take off your shoes or boots.  It’s absolutely unavoidable this time of year, and most real estate agents working the open houses do nothing about it.

Fifth, there’s an agent inside, losing his or her mind.  Caught halfway between trying to pick up buyers and get “digits” like a frat boy, and actually looking out for the seller’s best interests and protect their home, the agent is bouncing off the walls, trying to figure out what to do.

And last but not least, you get caught going up the stairs, coming down the stairs, moving in and out of a bedroom, and just about anywhere else three or more people can bump into each other, with no idea where to move so that somebody can get by.  It’s like Black Friday at the Mall of America.

The sheer volume of people must discourage any buyer in this market.  Not all of them are going to make offers.  But just the idea that even a crummy house can attract 200 people on a weekend speaks volumes about the Toronto real estate market, and the future of this city.

–

A word about the Superbowl…

I’d be remiss if I didn’t give my two cents on the Greatest Show on Earth.

I used to hate the New England Patriots, like everybody else who watches football.  I thought Tom Brady was soft,  I didn’t like how he complained every time he got touched, and yes, I put him in the category of “pretty boy.”

But when Tom Brady and the New England Patriots were the target of a witch hunt in 2015 with the laughable “Deflate-gate” saga, and I saw how people around North America reacted, I was stunned.

Instead of realizing how “deflate-gate” was being used in a power struggle between a couple of exceptionally rich old white men, dragging their nonsense through the Supreme Court, people used it as an opportunity to take down Tom Brady – and this was before it became acceptable in 2018 to take down anybody, any time, for any reason, through social media and mainstream media, with no due process.  But that’s just an aside.

Random fans of awful teams – be it Miami, be it the Jets, be it Tennessee – all started clamouring about how Brady’s legacy was forever tarnished, he was a career cheater, and his records shouldn’t count, and he should have Superbowls stripped, and his children should be sold as slaves, and just about anything else you can think of.

I was amazed at how people could turn nothing into something, all to justify their own teams’ failures, and take down the greatest football player of all time.

So you know what?

I went from being a hater, to a fan.  And I started to cheer for Tom Brady and the Patriots.  I was that turned off by how people piled on to the farce that was “deflate-gate.”

Now, I don’t know what happened in last night’s game.  I do know that two Philadelphia touchdowns would not have been touchdowns two weeks ago, and even though I don’t agree with the interpretation of a “catch” in 2017’s NFL, I think you have to keep the game consistent.

It seems to me, the rule (which had to be addressed this off-season, since it was so ridiculous), was silently changed two days before the Superbowl, or dare I say during the Superbowl.

Nobody wanted New England to win, and it just felt that way, at every turn.

Don’t get me wrong – the outcome was far more meaningful than a sixth Tom Brady win would have been.  Philadelphia has never won the Superbowl, their city and their fans deserve it, and there’s a lot of great stories via the players on that team.

I just didn’t care for how the outcome came about.

–

Well that’s all I’ve got for this crisp Monday morning.

And remember to look around your office today and see who called in sick.  Could there be anything more obvious than somebody who came down with the flu, the morning after the Superbowl?

Oh, and don’t look now – but the market is starting to heat up again.  As unimaginable as it would have seemed, conditions in some segments are eerily reminiscent of this time last year.  Perhaps we’ll talk about that on Wednesday or Friday…

The post Quick Hits! appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

Originated from http://ift.tt/2E5ZRUF

[vvvdh]

In absence of a boat

Let’s talk about the bike and what not: I am riding my steadfast aluminium Eddy Merckx frame, it’s the 2008 Racing model, currently rolling on Scirocco 35 wheels lined with Continental ‘4 Season’ tires. For the first time, I opted for 26mm, and grateful for that choice (after Bert Depuydt’s advice). This machine is powered forward and stopped fully by a still fairly ‘pure’ mix of  Campagnolo Veloce and Chorus groupsets. After three days of riding, including the first serious hills in Galicia, I can not hide my disappointment for foolishly not having re-installed the smaller inner chainring at the front. It means I now have to look for one in a country that seems to be Shimano-dominated. One of the most important things I needed to test and decide on a while before the start was a saddle. I tried the Brooks Cadmium C17 but had a terrible experience as it turned out to be a tiny bit too wide for my bum. Eventually I made a safe bet for the Specialized ‘Power Expert’ model, which is 143mm wide, very short and has a large cutout in the middle. So far so good on this one. Navigating mostly happens with a classic ‘village-list’* made day-by-day, assisted with my new Wahoo Elemnt Bolt and with an old-school Garmin GPSmap 60Cx as digital compass and backup/for more precise location-finding. These bits of electronics are in need of a daily re-charge, and so does the phone that works as an in between to the Wahoo EB. So I carry a Goal Zero ‘Nomad 7 Plus’ solar panel with me as well. I sleep on an Exped ‘Airmat UL 5M’ (335 grams) inside my new MSR ‘Hubba NX’ one person tent (for which I also carry the extra footprint as I expect to encounter some rough terrain). I chose not to carry a full sleeping bag, but rather carry two separate liners: the 100% silk ‘Mummy Liner’ from Cocoon and a cheap synthetic one from Mountain Hardwear. When added together and in combination with a set of thermal underwear, they’ll get me through the coolest summer nights in these territories, or so I hope. I have 3 different solutions for filtering and carrying water, from Camelback to cheap Decathlon stuff. And I also brought the tiniest Curaprox travel toothbrush you’ve ever seen (got it as a gift), it’s even foldable! Rather than fully zooming in on weight, my focus has been on packing volume. After having departed from Porto, and my first days in the saddle I can tell I am fairly satisfied with this setup. I did feel a bit ‘gordo’ on the first few climbs, but it’s getting better, and I am just trying to get rid of weight as I go. I carry all the above spread over three different Ortlieb bike-packing bags, which are a fairly new thing in their product line. In terms of bags I’ve been very loyal to them in the past decade, so I waited for them to get involved in the bike-packing stuff, rather than go shop with the competition, which have lighter options, but are less weather-resistant, durable, and have mostly inferior mounting systems. I have a small bag for the handlebars, it carries a few books, tools, tech equipment and half a roll of toilet paper. Then there’s the triangular Frame Pack, which I’ve used for clothes, soap, etc. And finally the big Seat Pack which carries my tent, mat, sleeping bag-like liners and a pair of normal shoes. Food for the day goes inside the rear pockets of my jersey. I’ve been swapping around stuff pretty much every day so far, working towards a better balanced bike, especially now that the terrain will be getting quite a bit more mountainous in the coming week, so testing will continue. But in any case during longish rides I will always avoid a backpack - or anything else on the shoulders - at any price. Note: obviously cooking gear is missing in this list. That’s because I decided not to take any - except for some basic cutlery - and just stop to eat along the way. This has proven to be efficient so far: not all the food has been esthetically pIeasing perse, but I’ve eaten well and will continue doing so. Hugs x * David Price should be credited for making the most intricate village-lists, although we have a different notation of left and right turns....

[rebeccahpedersen]

Quick Hits!

TorontoRealtyBlog

I have a few things to talk about today, but there’s no one “big” topic per se.

Just a lot of random occurences, questions, annoyances, and/or discussion points.  A little bit of something for everyone.

And, I mean, who doesn’t want to talk about lockboxes again?  It’s the topic that always stays sexy, am I right?

Sunny disposition?

A client of mine emailed last week to ask about the pros and cons of installing solar panels on the roof of his home.

The reaction to that above sentence really only comes in two forms:

1) How can there be any “cons” to solar panels, duh? 2) Ewww.  Solar panels are ugly.

And therein lies the rub…

Installing solar panels on the roof of your home will pay off, no question about it.

As hydro prices continue to soar (or will when Kathleen Wynne’s debt-refinancing BS 8% hydro savings plan is up…), I believe that alternative forms of energy will gain serious momentum.

So solar panels seem like a no-brainer, right?

Not so much.

The problem is – they’re ugly.  They’re unsightly.  They stand out.

And in the context of Toronto real estate, where home-owners are always concerned about curb appeal, the cost savings associated with solar panels might be mitigated by a buyer’s distaste for the look and feel of the home.

Is that crazy or what?

You would think that spending money on a feature of your home, that saves you money, would add tremendous value to the property, and help marketability.  But there is something called a “superadequacy” in real estate, which is a feature of your home that you pay more for, than what it’s worth.

Just because you value a 24K gold toilet, doesn’t mean the next buyer will.

Or from a more realistic perspective, does spending money on solid-core doors increase the value of a simple 1-bed, 1-bath condo?  Do those buyers care?  Do they notice?

Solar panels aren’t quite the very definition of superadequacies, but they’re close.  They’re something that, at least in the present, save money, but offend the delicate senses of much of the buyer pool.

–

What’s the deal with artist’s renderings?

Has anybody noticed that the artist’s renderings for new condo developments are getting more and more unbelievable?

Or maybe they’re the very definition of believable, since the people they “paint” in their little silhouette’s in the marketing brochures are actually who they’re attracting in the end.

They’ll show the lobby, the party room, or the pool, and everybody is good-looking, in shape, young, and well-dressed.

They all seem to be on their phones as well.  So maybe this is an accurate artistic representation?

I’m not sure.

But I do know that most pools at Toronto condos don’t look anything like this, nor do the people dress like this:

Is that girl on the right knitting?  Or just rummaging in her Louis Vuitton purse for some beeswax lip balm?

Come to think of it, the topic of “artist’s renderings” is a blog post unto itself.  Leave this with me…

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Lockbox lament…

I was in a condo the other day, preparing for a listing, and I asked the concierge “What’s the lockbox protocol here in the building?”

Once upon a time, Realtors just stuck the lockbox in the stairwell near the unit, and gave instructions to buyer agents accordingly.

Today, as condo managers have grown to understand the need for clear guidelines when it comes to the sale, and viewing, of real estate, there’s usually a procedure in place.

But not in every building…

I was told by the concierge last week, “We don’t handle lockboxes,” which I took to mean that they don’t keep them at concierge.

I asked, “Is there a dedicated location for them?  Down in P1, around the corner in the hallway, or on a rack outside?”

He said, “Lockboxes are not allowed on site.”

I asked, “What about the stairwells near the unit?”

He simply said, “Lockboxes are not allowed on site,” and added, “If they’re found, they will be removed.”

I know some buildings are trickier than others, but surely in this building there must be some understanding of how agents access the building.

So I asked him, “What do real estate agents, or the sellers, do when they want to have buyers and their agents access the building?”

He said, “We don’t care what they do.  We’ll have none of it.”  And then he said, “If we see a lockbox anywhere on site, or near the building, we’ll cut it off.”

Okay, now he’s saying “near” the building?  So I asked him to clarify, and he pointed outside: “See that bike rack right there?  If we find lockboxes on there, we’ll cut them off.”

He was almost proud about it.

I went into MLS and looked up the last few condos that had sold in the building, and called one of the listing agents who I knew.  She told me, “David, they’re psychotic in that building.  It’s like they’re living in the 1980’s.  Their expectation is that a buyer will go pick up the key from the seller or some nonsense.  I had a lockbox on the fence twenty feet away from the front door, and they cut it off!  I had to put it down the alleyway on a random door handle at the back of a restaurant!”

It makes no sense to me.

The property manager enforces rules that were decided upon by the board of directors.  The board of directors own real estate.  At some point, they’ll sell, and all the while, they should want the property values to increase.

So how does going out of your way to ensure properties are difficult to show, make any sense?

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Hey TREB, what the hell are we paying you guys for?

If you think that the Toronto Real Estate Board works for Realtors, you’re sadly mistaken.

It’s so hard to believe, but they tell us what to do, even though technically, they work for us.

And folks like myself, who are living in 2018, think that the people in charge are stuck in 1999, marvelling over the “World Wide Web,” when all the while, our technology is so far behind.

My issue today has to do with open houses.

While you might think that http://www.realtor.ca is somehow linked to our own http://www.torontomls.net, alas, it is not.

So if you want to post your listing on “open house,” it matters not what you have on MLS, but rather you have to go an external site.

Check this out:

So once I’ve gone outside of my MLS listing, where I’ve already specified the day/time of my open house, I post it as shown above.

And then amazingly, it takes TWO DAYS to update!

TWO DAYS!

How in the world is this not automatic?

Post the open house on Friday afternoon, and it might not show up for the public to see, at all.

We need some fresh blood at TREB, not to mention CREA.

Some younger blood too.

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Superbowl Sunday…

I did something yesterday that I haven’t done in a long, long time.

No, it has nothing to do with the Superbowl, but rather, I went to open houses on a Sunday.

When showing houses to prospective buyers, I always try to avoid 2-4pm on Saturday & Sunday.  What buyers wouldn’t want the house to themselves when trying to make a decision about the largest purchase of their lives?

Yesterday was an absolute mad house in three straight properties.

Looking at properties during the open house hours on a weekend comes with about five or six standard observations and experiences, all of which happen in sequence.

First, you pull onto the street, and there’s not a single place to park on that entire block.  There are cars up on the sidewalk, cars double-parked in the driveway of the house, and some people even park in front of fire hydrants and just “risk it.”

Second, you see a host of people loitering out front.  Buyers waiting for their agents, agents waiting for their buyers.  People waiting for their partners to arrive, and people waiting outside for their partners, stuck inside.

Third, you see enough shoes in the front foyer to start a department at Nordstrom’s.

Fourth, you get a soaker when you take off your shoes or boots.  It’s absolutely unavoidable this time of year, and most real estate agents working the open houses do nothing about it.

Fifth, there’s an agent inside, losing his or her mind.  Caught halfway between trying to pick up buyers and get “digits” like a frat boy, and actually looking out for the seller’s best interests and protect their home, the agent is bouncing off the walls, trying to figure out what to do.

And last but not least, you get caught going up the stairs, coming down the stairs, moving in and out of a bedroom, and just about anywhere else three or more people can bump into each other, with no idea where to move so that somebody can get by.  It’s like Black Friday at the Mall of America.

The sheer volume of people must discourage any buyer in this market.  Not all of them are going to make offers.  But just the idea that even a crummy house can attract 200 people on a weekend speaks volumes about the Toronto real estate market, and the future of this city.

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A word about the Superbowl…

I’d be remiss if I didn’t give my two cents on the Greatest Show on Earth.

I used to hate the New England Patriots, like everybody else who watches football.  I thought Tom Brady was soft,  I didn’t like how he complained every time he got touched, and yes, I put him in the category of “pretty boy.”

But when Tom Brady and the New England Patriots were the target of a witch hunt in 2015 with the laughable “Deflate-gate” saga, and I saw how people around North America reacted, I was stunned.

Instead of realizing how “deflate-gate” was being used in a power struggle between a couple of exceptionally rich old white men, dragging their nonsense through the Supreme Court, people used it as an opportunity to take down Tom Brady – and this was before it became acceptable in 2018 to take down anybody, any time, for any reason, through social media and mainstream media, with no due process.  But that’s just an aside.

Random fans of awful teams – be it Miami, be it the Jets, be it Tennessee – all started clamouring about how Brady’s legacy was forever tarnished, he was a career cheater, and his records shouldn’t count, and he should have Superbowls stripped, and his children should be sold as slaves, and just about anything else you can think of.

I was amazed at how people could turn nothing into something, all to justify their own teams’ failures, and take down the greatest football player of all time.

So you know what?

I went from being a hater, to a fan.  And I started to cheer for Tom Brady and the Patriots.  I was that turned off by how people piled on to the farce that was “deflate-gate.”

Now, I don’t know what happened in last night’s game.  I do know that two Philadelphia touchdowns would not have been touchdowns two weeks ago, and even though I don’t agree with the interpretation of a “catch” in 2017’s NFL, I think you have to keep the game consistent.

It seems to me, the rule (which had to be addressed this off-season, since it was so ridiculous), was silently changed two days before the Superbowl, or dare I say during the Superbowl.

Nobody wanted New England to win, and it just felt that way, at every turn.

Don’t get me wrong – the outcome was far more meaningful than a sixth Tom Brady win would have been.  Philadelphia has never won the Superbowl, their city and their fans deserve it, and there’s a lot of great stories via the players on that team.

I just didn’t care for how the outcome came about.

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Well that’s all I’ve got for this crisp Monday morning.

And remember to look around your office today and see who called in sick.  Could there be anything more obvious than somebody who came down with the flu, the morning after the Superbowl?

Oh, and don’t look now – but the market is starting to heat up again.  As unimaginable as it would have seemed, conditions in some segments are eerily reminiscent of this time last year.  Perhaps we’ll talk about that on Wednesday or Friday…

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