When Life Is Better Than Reality TV

I really prefer a quiet life, planned and paced to my preferences.

Right now, my life is more like a reality TV show. Let's call it "The Ruth Show". It's a combination of "Dog, The Bounty Hunter" and "Antiques Roadshow" with a little bit of "The Housewives of Aviara".

Ruth is the estate sales woman we hired to sell off the remnants of our parents' estate (furnishings, antiques, etc) so that we can then sell the house. Ruth is one of a kind. I think that she should be on TV. Unfortunately, I'm being sucked, unwittingly into this reality,

First, Ruth and her team go into the home and tear it apart, they put up tables and lamps. They log everything in to their computers, organize it and price it. They will sell everything and anything, from the rickety to the antique. She told me that she sold an airplane once. They advertise on websites, post signs and send out emails. Hoards of people come from hundreds of miles away. Ruth's loyal customers come early, to get the "good" stuff.

All this is good, she is doing a great job. But, the neighbors don't seem to think so. This is a middle class neighborhood. But, the kind of middle class neighborhood where everyone drives a Mercedes, even if it's leased. In France, we call this bourgeise and it is not something you'd work toward achieving. But, in N. County San Diego, this is the ultimate -- a new, large house with new large furniture, a television on every wall and an enormous built-in refrigerator.

The minute the sale started yesterday, a woman from the local homeowner's association (HOA) was in the house, delivering a "cease and desist" to Ruth. Ruth didn't miss a beat, she called us and we called the woman. But it was after 5 PM, so the woman didn't answer her phone and the sale continued. Ruth called about 8 PM to say that the sale was going great, her clients were happy, she was happy.

The next morning, the HOA woman called again. We talked to her, told her that even if we closed down the sale, the advertising had gone out and people would be coming. No idea if this will work or not. Ruth continues with the sale, unflappable, she's excited and the house is swarming with people buying our stuff.

Hopefully the HOA will leave us alone until Ruth is done with her job.

Squatters in California

I get so used to the cultural things that happen in one place and not in another. It is often hard on a moment's notice to remember what happens where.

We are having an estate sale to empty my Mom's house before we put it on the market. We've hired an estate agent, Ruth to do this. She takes 40% and we get 60% and at the end of the sale, the house should be empty unless something very valuable goes unsold.

The only people that have keys to the house right now are my sister (in Houston), me (in Manhattan Beach) and Ruth.

This morning, I got a frantic call from Ruth telling me that her father had arrived at the house to start the day's work on the sale and there was a silver Mercedes in the driveway. We don't have a silver Mercedes, Ruth. Her father knocked on the door and a naked woman answered. He is 80, so this was his lucky day.

However, the house is supposed to be vacant. Panic set in -- we have a squatter and the house hasn't even been vacant for three days. Yikes. I told Ruth to call the police.

In Paris, squatters are somewhat common. When a building is vacant, they install large cement blocks in all the windows to prevent squatters. In France, squatters have rights, so if they are living in your place, illegally, you, the owner, don't have the ability to easily evict them. In the US, of course, we could get rid of a squatter quickly. But, a squatter in a house, even for one night can do a lot of damage.

Then, it occurred to me -- this isn't a squatter! Squatters aren't common in California, and they don't normally drive Mercedes!

Ruth's father had gone to the wrong house. And, when he thought she was in the house illegally, he called the police. I guess you can never be too careful when it comes to squatters. Even in the US.

Just Another Day, Chez Nous

Right now, we're in California, having moved Mom to assisted living recently. We're now preparing her house to be sold. For the last two weeks, I've spent most of my time at her house, first with my sister and then with Terry.

I'm not used to living in such a large space. Her house is about twice the size of our house in Manhattan Beach and it is about three times the size of our apartment in Paris. We've gotten used to living in smaller spaces.

Mom's house is also a bit isolated. Both Manhattan Beach and Paris are densely populated cities and there's a weird comfort in being able to see your neighbors. (Notice that I didn't say "hear" your neighbors or "smell (like cigarettes)" your neighbors, as these two things take a lot of getting used to in Paris).

Feeling vulnerable in our new surroundings, we figured out how to use the alarm system and started to use it. We're used to using alarms, but in our new surroundings, we were constantly having to look up the pass code and paste post-it notes on doors when the alarm was set so that we wouldn't have a "false alarm".

Last Friday, we were working at a fast pace, trying to pack and organize the house before the estate sale. We both forgot to turn off the alarm in the morning, despite multiple reminders to each other.

The newspaper has been stopped and it wasn't trash day, so there was no need to go outside. I was tinkering around upstairs when I heard a hellish siren -- Terry had opened a window. We both started running, literally in circles, trying to figure out where the keypads are located. Then, I needed to find my day planner to get the codes. The alarm was screaming, we were screaming...

I found the book turned off the alarm, but now we needed to call the alarm company. We couldn't find the phone number. Pulses elevated, we raced around some more, luckily no police. I tried to call the alarm company and got distracted. Minutes later, Terry asked me to call something else and now the cell phone was AWOL. In a house where everything has been mved, and no surface is empty, finding a cell phone in a black case isn't easy.

Then we remembered we could call the phone. We did, it rang and the familiar black case was located.

Thinking About The Retour

I found this used metro ticket in my coat pocket a few days ago. We don't use metro tickets except at the beginning and end or our trips. They tide us over when we aren't going to need to charge our Navigo cards for a month or even a week.

So, this is a sad reminder of our latest departure. It is now hanging on my computer monitor to remind me that I will be returning to Paris soon.

I still have a few more unused metro tickets in my wallet. The french wallet. We learned long ago that it's easier to have two wallets rather than take all the US stuff out and put all the french stuff in each time. Too many chances to forget something.

But, these metro tickets don't work very well. My iPHONE case has a magnetic closure and I think that it got too near the tickets and de-magnetized them. They are new, but when we tried to use them, they made that bad off-key dinging sound like you're committing a crime against the RATP. We just ignore it, just like the people do who get on the bus without any ticket.