Saturday, June 23, 2018

SURVIVAL









Piping Plovers hatch

Four chicks all wet and wobbly

Only Wylie now









Photo credit Neal Mutiger

© 2018 UNDERCOVER CONFIDENTIAL aka PHYLLIS MAHON … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH CONTENT FROM THIS WEBSITE WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION.




Wednesday, June 13, 2018

NEW AND IMPROVED?


  
My daughter was born almost 44 years ago.  Today, when I was walking by the credenza, on which I keep a few framed photographs, her newborn baby picture, the one taken right in the hospital by one of those professional outfits, caught my eye. 

Why, you ask?  Well, firstly because it’s black and white.  And secondly, because I started wondering how many people still keep framed photographs on display in their homes.   Then I started thinking about how much this world has changed during my lifetime.  Who woulda thunk it?

          

My daughter arrived during ‘the transitional decade’ in the photography field, about three or four years too early, before colour became more common place and more importantly, economical for the average ‘Joe’ to afford.   

Now, modern technology, is as I like to describe the world I’m living in now, offers so much.  It’s quite bewildering and somehow, to me, somewhat incredible, yet not.  It also, I believe, could very well be the end of society as we know it. 

At least my daughter was born during the time that people actually still took ‘pictures’ and got them developed.  They would occasionally enlarge one or two of their favourites and have them framed, showing them off around their home, sometimes completely covering the top of that old, massive, heavy-as-hell stereo/TV cabinet combo.  
  
You know the kind I’m talking about – big, old black and white TV in the lower middle of the unit, sometimes concealed behind swanky sliding doors.  The record player would be in the top centre and sometimes, there would also be a built-in am/fm radio, usually on the right-hand side.  On the left side, there may be a handy bar area, with built-in compartments for a fancy, crystal decanter and matching highball glasses.

My middle grandchild, her nose out of joint, once asked why there were so many pictures of her older sister on display and hardly any of her.  I told her to ask her mother about the coming of the digital age. 

With the availability of affordable computers, cell phones and digital cameras, our world has changed, and not necessarily for the better.  Oh sure, cell phones come in handy, especially when you slide off the road during a blizzard but it’s only really helpful if you know where you are.  That’s where a GPS comes in handy, although, these days I think ‘smart’ cell phones have a ‘find me’ feature.  My cell phone, is a little ‘flip’ phone which I get teased about, a lot.  The only thing smart about it, is the person using it.

My newest GPS (I only buy GARMIN), gives me verbal directions to wherever it is I’m going and it also has a small field at the bottom, which tells me where I’m at – bonus!  I frequently don’t know where I am when I’m out jaunting, even with this great feature, because I forget that it’s there.  In a way I think I liked it better back in the ‘olden days’.  I used to get so mis-directed that not only did I not know where I was but I didn’t even know what direction in which I was travelling.  Somehow, being so totally lost was an adventure and, eventually, I always made it home.
  

Luckily, if I slide off the road and don’t know where I am, my GPS has a ‘WHERE AM I?’ feature.  This not only tells you your elevation but also and more importantly, it gives you your coordinates in longitude and latitude degrees, which pinpoints your location precisely.  Useful to have, so emergency services can find you.  That particular feature came in handy a few years ago when I slid into very deep tire tracks, cut into a muddy road, used mostly by farm tractors, in the back of the beyond, around Glen Huron.  That experience taught me to never go off-roading (not intentional believe me) during a rainy, spring season.  I was in those muddy ruts up to my hubcaps (nowadays called wheel covers, I believe) and even my friend, a homegrown farm girl, who drove tractors from the time she could reach the pedals, couldn’t chivvy us out.  The tow-truck operator used the coordinates to find us and was able to tow us out from about 100 feet away (about 30 meters) from where we were stuck.  There was no way in hell he was going to drive his freshly washed white tow truck through the muck to get any closer.  That’s one adventure I will always remember.  I have not been back to that road since.

I also have a digital camera, which is slowly, but surely, being challenged by smart phones, which have a built-in camera and some even take high quality images.   Even my little flip phone has a camera but I can tell you that downloading the photos and sending them is quite complicated and it makes my head hurt trying to figure it out, so I rarely use it for shooting.   

The days of having to pay for developing are dead and gone.  Now we have free software, which enables us to fix (edit) our images, and then transmit them immediately to all our friends and family.  Talk about instant gratification.  I can tell you that makes me very happy, since I describe myself as an enthusiastic amateur photographer and rarely go anywhere without my camera at my side.  I have discarded hundreds if not thousands of images, which just aren’t very good.  Back in the ‘olden days’ I had rolls of film developed, good and bad pictures alike and paid a good buck for the service, only to throw out half the photographs.
                                                                                            

Nowadays, if anyone has a question, the resounding response is, “Google It!”, and I do, for any number of topics.  Over the weekend for instance, I was able to fix my toilet seat and feel very proud of myself for being able to do so, after I 'Googled It' to figure out how.   
             



I have a weird kind of soft-close seat I’ve never had the pleasure of adjusting before.  It was pretty simple, once I knew how.  I’ve also printed out the instructions to keep for the next time I think I’m going to toboggan off the porcelain.        

So many inventions, so little time, especially when you’re in your early 60s.  But along with all the inventions, comes change, big change.  Good, bad or … Stay tuned.



© 2018 UNDERCOVER CONFIDENTIAL aka PHYLLIS MAHON … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH CONTENT FROM THIS WEBSITE WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION.  

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

CAVEAT EMPTOR







In almost the same amount of time it takes to have a baby, based on the average of 9 months, my life changed.

Way back in September last year, I decided to sell my house, which I had purchased about 5 years before.  My house, brand new when I bought it, (although used as a builder’s model for a couple of years) is situated in a land lease community, just north of Toronto.  Described as a retirement community, it was where I planned to live until I died.  And then I moved.

I still remember my move-in day vividly, a flawless spring day in 2012.  The movers arrived at my new home well
before me and, when I finally got there, they said, “No wonder you wanted to move here.  Look at that blue, blue sky and smell that fresh air.  We’ve been listening to the birds singing and squirrels are playing everywhere.”   Sofie, The Wonder Dog, was equally impressed and nose to ground, checked out her new territory.  

I really loved it there, but, regretfully, that feeling only lasted about a year, until we were sold by the original developers and owners, I’ll call MomAndPop Co.  They owned and ran 'The Park' for over 40 years and treated the owner-tenants like they were part of their Family. 

About a year after I moved in, ‘The Park’ was sold to a BIG land lease company, I’ll call LL Biggie Co.  Land lease communities are not all they’re cracked up to be.  This is especially true when ‘The Park’, which sprawls out over 300 or so acres, was now owned by a very large company, based here in Canada, whose only concern seems to be making its deep pockets even deeper.  And never mind some of the other people who inhabit ''The Park’ who fight hard to control owner-residents and the local politics, masquerading as a homeowners association.  This particular ‘Park’ is larger than some villages.  Population-wise, there's about 1,200 homes, in which some 2,000 tenants are contained. 


And, not too long after LL Biggie Co. bought ‘The Park’ and which they used to advertise as ‘One of Ontario’s most beautiful retirement communities’, it's now being marketed and targeted  to ‘mid-age couples and singles looking for an exceptional adult lifestyle community’.  Its location so close to Toronto, and lower purchase prices, makes it attractive for unenlightened commuters.

One day, not too long ago, surfing the net, I came across an article where one of the company’s regional directors made a comment, that, to this day I’m still shaking my head over.  Apparently he thinks that owing your own home, and because it has a yard, this will protect you against the politics.  Apparently, this protection is lacking if you’re a tenant in an apartment or you own a condo.  Huh?  

You ARE a TENANT in a land lease community.  At least in a
condo you have input as to what happens in your complex.  In a land lease community, YOU NEVER have a say, ever!  The land owners can do whatever the hell they want, doesn’t matter the cost, and then hike up the rent by asking for an ABOVE GUIDELINE INCREASE, which may happen every year, to pay for the work.  AND, they are usually awarded at least a big chunk of what they want, if not all of what they're asking for). So, boy, in my opinion, is this LL Biggie Co. regional director ever wrong.  

And I can tell you, that if anything, the politics are THE WORST I have ever experienced in any community I’ve lived in as an adult, with power-hungry megalomaniacal cliques ruling the ‘Park’ through their roles in a homeowners association, tentacles spreading wide to encompass the zombie sheep, the naïve and the unwary.  The 
LL Biggie Co. director who said, “Unlike renting an apartment or even buying a condo, with all of the politics that can come with that, a land lease program gets them their own home with their own yard.” [1] (McLean, 2016) has obviously never lived in one of 
LL Biggie’s communities.  And, I would like to know, just how does owning your own home and having a yard protect you against the politics?  Does that make sense?  It doesn’t make sense to me.


[1] Property Biz Canada 



[2] meg·a·lo·ma·ni·a
   (mĕg′ə-lō-mā′nē-ə, -mān′yə)
n.
1. A psychopathological condition characterized by delusional fantasies of wealth, power, or omnipotence.
2. An obsession with grandiose or extravagant things or actions.




[2] The Free Dictonary by Farlex 


What is a land lease community you ask?  Hmmmm, good question.  I describe a land lease community as a place where you buy and own your house but the land underneath it and all around it, is owned by someone else, in my case,  a company called LL Biggie Co..  Said company is supposed to maintain the grounds and common areas, including storage sheds and provide the necessities of living, like snow clearance, road maintenance and functioning infrastructure, such as water and sewers and garbage collection.  You pay a monthly rent for the land, on which your house is situated.  You also pay your house taxes to LL Biggie, which then remits to the town, so you never see or get a tax bill from anyone.  Getting a value from MPAC (Municipal Property Assessment Corporation) may be problematic.  You also pay for your other utilities, such as heat and hydro, internet and telephone.  Even getting decent TV service is a problem, because the service provider for The Park has a monopoly on cable TV and you have no choice as to which company to use.  I was told by the president/owner of the cable company that “We don’t have time for customer service.”  My response was, “Well, then I hope my cable TV service is perfect.”  It wasn’t.

Essentially, you don’t own the rocks and dirt under your house, which may make it, oddly enough, pricier for insurance.  Sometimes A LOT pricier. One company I contacted, quoted me $4,000.00 a YEAR for my not-quite 1,100 square foot house, rocks and dirt not included.  Obviously, they did not want my business.  For some reason, insurance companies seem to place greater value on the strata under your house, rather than on the structure itself.  I am still gob smacked over that one but don’t really care anymore, because I have moved and most definitely not to a land lease community. 
                                          
The biggest advantage, I believe, buying a house in a place where you don’t own the land, is that the price of the house may be lower than a conventional, comparable home, BUT, remember you have to pay monthly rent.  I can say that since LL Biggie bought out MomAndPop Co., the rent has been going up by leaps and bounds.  The Landlord & Tenant Act limits annual rent increases in some communities, depending on when ‘The Park’ was built, until the tenant moves. Then it’s open season on how high the Park owner can jack up the rent. Doing a little simple math – say monthly rent is $500.00, multiply that by 12 months, then multiply that by 5 years, that equals (Ta Da) $30,000.00 on top of what you originally paid for your house and which doesn’t include your taxes.  And believe me, that’s just a basic figure – calculate in a rent increase of about 1.8% (average) for each of the 5 years and add an Above Guideline Increase (AGI) of say, 1%.  Still think your bargain is still such a bargain? 

With a starting rent of $6,000.00 per year, over the course of a few short years, using an average annual increase of 1.8% per year (which landlords can raise the rent by rote, without having to get approval from the Landlord & Tenant Board and now you’re paying about $6,650.00 over those years.  But wait, there’s more …

NOW, for example, add an average 1% annual award for ABOVE GUIDELINE INCREASES on top of the ‘usual’,  and that equals an additional $255.00 (or approximately 56%) after just 4 years.
  

      SUB-
   ANNUAL      TOTAL            ABOVE
    RENT        NEW   GUIDELINE           SUB-        NEW
END OF RENT/           INCREASE      ANNUAL   INCREASE          TOTAL      ANNUAL
YEAR YEAR 1.8%        RENT 1.0%              INCREASES        RENT
1 6,000.00 108.00 6,108.00 61.08 169.08 6,169.08
2 6,169.08 111.04 6,280.12 62.80 173.84 6,342.92
3 6,342.92 114.17 6,457.10 64.57 178.74 6,521.67
4 6,521.67 117.39 6,639.06 66.39 183.78 6,705.45
450.61         254.84 705.45


So, now you’re up to $6,705.00, or $705.00 MORE than when you moved in 5 years ago.  And if you keep doing the calculation over 10 years and 15, your skin should be starting to crawl right about now with the implication.  I can tell you that the annual increases for CPP and Old Age Pension DO NOT even come close to covering the average, annual rent increase.  Now, ADD an ABOVE GUIDELINE INCREASE,  which LL Biggie will apply for every year and most likely will be awarded, on top of it.  I ask you again, is your bargain house such a bargain?

The number of listings for my former little village, which I see on the local real estate site and LL Biggie’s website, seems to be at an all-time high.  Some of the places have been languishing on the market for 6 months or more, including my old place, which ironically had been purchased by LL Biggie Co..  I don’t really wonder why.  Methinks that LL Biggie’s bad rep (greed) is starting to catch up with them.


Also, keep in mind, that because you don’t own the rocks and dirt, equity will usually take longer to accrue and may be lower than a conventional house, especially in an older place which needs updating.

And then, add the 30% or so increase in my house tax, which the town imposed.  When I called, I was told that ‘they’ changed the business model as to how the taxes were calculated and, man, my bargain house was not such a bargain anymore.

All-in-all, my 5 + years of living in LL Biggie land, was an eye-opener and the drama still continues to this day.  Between yesterday and today, I got 3 robo calls from LL Biggie Co., because of what turned out to be a water main break and a subsequent boil water advisory.  Uh, oh.  Not good.  I am very glad that I’m not living there anymore.  That happened a few times over the short time I lived there and now again.  Obviously they’re not maintaining their robo call list either, since I haven’t lived there in 6 months.

Do your homework, people, before you buy anything and especially when the $$$$$$ are in the hundreds of thousands.  The impact of the stress living in a place where the owners worship money and the homeowners group worships power, may be very detrimental to your health.  I doubt very much I would have bought where I did, had the new (current) owners been in power when I was looking.  
CAVEAT EMPTOR.       



Swimming anyone?  Many ‘pools’ like this throughout the ‘Park’.



                   Storage sheds are not being maintained. 
                    What do you think this does for your property (house) value?



\
This is the way they clear the roads, clear the roads, clear the roads …



    The bitterness of low quality lingers longer than sweetness of low price


© 2018 UNDERCOVER CONFIDENTIAL aka PHYLLIS MAHON … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH CONTENT FROM THIS WEBSITE WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION.     

































































Tuesday, January 30, 2018

A TEMPEST IN A COFFEE POT or ABOUT BLOGS




People sometimes ask me why I write the blogs I do.  Honestly, I don’t know.   Something happens; could be insignificant, could be big and then one day (mostly very early in the a.m.), I just sit down at my laptop and it comes out my fingers.  


An everyday, mundane event may start my creative juices flowing, such as having dinner out, buying a bar-b-que chicken, trying to help my (now) ex-fellow tenants, the power going out, coyotes howling …doesn’t sound like much, eh?  I never know what will cause the words to start flowing like the Mad River, which then causes me to get kinda Noisy and then you just don’t know what in the Nottawasaga will happen next.


I think the biggest thing which causes my mind to burble like one of those old-fashioned coffee percolators, with the glass knobie on top, are narcissistic bullies.  This description can apply, broadly, to either persons or companies.  AND because I believe in standing up for people who are being bullied, doesn’t matter by the who or the what,  I’ve had more than my share of those very same bullies trying to hound and intimidate me into stopping.  The Irish half of me don’t stop so easily.


One of the other things I’ve learned in life is that ‘The Truth Will Out’ and sometimes in the most unexpected ways.


Occasionally I ponder on the saying, ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ and wonder if that’s true to life, in these days of the excess glut on social media.  Fake news, fake posts, fake dying but that's a whole other story for another day.


Back in the 'olden' days, before the advent of the cell phone with camera, people would express their lives with the written word, some by keeping a diary (men would keep a journal, a 'diary' just not manly enough maybe)?    Your memories, perceptions and experiences are always in your head and heart, a pen and notebook handy or, typewriter or these days, a laptop.  Yes, time has a way of blurring some of those memories but what does that matter?  They’re your memories, your thoughts, your words and there is no right or wrong about ‘em. 



One of my favourite memories, growing up, is of my dad making coffee on Sunday mornings, in the battered old aluminum coffee pot with “that glass knobie thingie in the middle of the lid”.  





My dad would get up early, more or less his normal ‘get-up-to-go-to-work’ time, around 6:00 a.m.(ish) … yech.  I guess I’ve always been a light sleeper ‘cause my dad moving around the kitchen, getting his Sunday going, would quickly wake me up, even at 6:00.  If his bumbling about didn’t do it, I can tell you that the smell of fresh perked coffee, wafting throughout the whole house, did.  The tantalizing scent of fresh brew would lift me out of bed and almost cartoon-like, coax me on a zephyr, to join my dad in the kitchen. I think he did it on purpose!             
      
                                       
I try to get up before my Dad gets to his coffee-making ritual and enjoy watching how he goes about making “a pot of joe”, as he calls it.  First he has to find the pot, ‘cause my mom doesn't always put it back in the same place in the cupboard, which drives him crazy!  Then he rinses it out under a blasting stream of hot water, inspects it carefully for any minuscule ort which dares to remain and then refills it with cold, cold, cold water.  Opening the fridge door, he peers about nearsightedly, trying to find the can of coffee grounds.  This could take a few minutes, depending on when my mom last did grocery shopping.

It’s our special time, just my Dad and me on Sunday mornings, when I would join him for a coffee.  Until I get old enough to drink ‘real’ coffee, I have to settle for a glass of milk, in a coffee mug, with only a splash of the almost-black java.  It’s barely enough to taste and certainly not enough to change the white milk to even café-au-lait (just in case my mom decides to join us – she doesn’t think an 8-year- old should be drinking coffee).  We jaw about the week behind us and the week coming up.  I can talk to my dad about anything and everything and most of the time he knows what to pass onto my mom and what has to stay just between us.  

I sit at the battle scarred kitchen table and watch my dad assemble all the required ingredients, including the ‘secret’ one, on the speckled Formica counter.  He  pauses for a moment or two, as if to prepare himself mentally and then methodically begins to create his perfect pot of Sunday joe.

My favourite part watching this whole megillah (my mother’s favourite Yiddish word to describe an event), is delighting in the moment that something as mundane as cold tap water in the battered old aluminium pot starts to boil enough to drive the now transmogrified dark brew up the slender, hollow stem, which spears through the centre of the grounds basket and stops just short of the flat, round glass knob on the top.  

His most important job done for the moment, Dad wanders into the living room and peruses the Sunday comics.

Finally!  I let my dad know the coffee is perking and we both watch the glass knob, mesmerized by the steady burbling of the boiling brew and definitely revitalized by the aromatic steam coming from the slightly dented spout.   The scent is heavenly and blends well with the smoky trail coming from the cigarette dangling  at the left corner of my dad’s mouth, a white ribbon curling up and away.

How special those times were, with my Dad.  I moved out of the house when I was not quite 18 and my dad died when I was in my early twenties.  ‘They’ say that only the good die young and he did.  




And yes, I am a dedicated coffee drinker to this day.  My favourite saying – A Yawn is a Silent Scream for Coffee. 


And my second favourite -

                      My  

                                           

             belongs to   




            
                                         So there you go! 


Isn’t it funny, how thinking about narcissistic bullies reminds me of coffee burbling in the glass knobie thingie in an old coffee pot?  And that brings back such wonderful childhood memories?  And then, voila, it comes out my fingers?

Weird, huh?  But that’s just the way it happens.  AND, one day, probably one day soon, I’ll share with you more stories about my now ex-landlords, their henchmen, two-faced friends and living in Zombie Cove Acres.  I feel a blog coming on.

© 2018 UNDERCOVER CONFIDENTIAL aka PHYLLIS MAHON … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH CONTENT FROM THIS WEBSITE WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION.