My Name is Pearl, and I’m Sorry Your Toilet Isn’t Flushing

I like trees. I like tree houses. And if the logical conclusion of having little maple trees growing out of the cracks near the foundation/in the sidewalk of our rental property was gorgeous maples lifting the duplex up and creating a tree duplex, I could die a happy woman.

But owning rental property isn’t about getting what you want. It’s about buying at the height of the market, nanoseconds before the real estate market goes upside down, and collecting just enough in rent to pay the mortgage.

That’s what rental property is about.

You know, I had never considered how many chores there are associated with landlordism. Everything is yours; and at first, that sounds wonderful.

Everything is mine!

And everything certainly is – and your responsibility as well. With three two-bedroom units available for rent, our own unit, plus a loft, that’s five fridges, five stoves, three washers, three dryers, not to mention sinks, toilets, roofs, sidewalks, garages…

So Sunday afternoon, when the temperature was 84 F/29 C, the humidity left us just short of requiring gills and the smart money was on air-conditioned movies, what was I doing?

I was a lumberjack (and I was okay).

You know, we bought the house in a euphoric, name-signing haze. This would be our fiscally conservative and “good citizen” way of investing: we’d have these sweet little places and be good landlords; and in exchange, there’d be a slow building of wealth, however modest.

We were so naïve.

Oh, don’t listen to me. It’s just the dirty nails and the salty neck talking. We love our buildings, and we even love our tenants in that totally innocent landlord/tenant kind of way. And I actually enjoy gardening, but I really had nothing I was dying to say today, and I thought, why don’t I do a little light complaining?

Sorry about that.

Happy Monday, everyone. Welcome back to the workweek.