The Sleeping Mama Bear

An area I've always considered 'MagicLand' is the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in northwestern Michigan. The area conjures thoughts of exquisite natural beauty, relaxation, and a major 'pattern interrupt' from the day-to-day.

I was able to introduce a friend to the area this summer. Since we only had a few days and didn't want to burn out trying to do too much during his initial visit, I pared it down to the 'gotta do's.'

Two of those were Art's Tavern, the landmark-local-color-dive-restaurant-bar in the tiny town of Glen Arbor where we stayed, and the Pierce Stocking Scenic Drive (in no particular order).

We were blessed with hot, clear weather and had sufficiently rested to spend the final day of our trip exploring the area on bicycles, a common mode of local transport.

We rode around Big and Little Glen Lakes, turquoise in color, and, if I'm not mistaken, listed by National Geographic as among the world's top ten most beautiful. From there we dovetailed into our scenic drive adventure.

Only 7.5 miles long, the drive through the dunes is named after it's creator, Pierce Stocking, a former area lumberman who's vision created the road with its series of scenic overlooks. It first opened in 1967 and was operated by Mr. Stocking until his death in 1976. In 1977 it became part of the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.

I don't know if it was the fact that it was 85 degrees and humid and we had already been riding about 15 miles to get to the entrance or the fact that it had been seven years since I'd last done the route, but, leg muscles straining, I toppled off my bike as we reached the final ascent to overlook #2, with its bird's eye view of the glacier-carved Glen Lakes. After a pause for pictures and an 'I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can' mantra, we continued from one spectacular overlook to the next with views of Lake Michigan and the Manitou Islands. I did notice that while there was a healthy stream of car traffic, apart from us, the bike lanes were empty.

After resigning to walking up an extended, crazy-steep incline (the kind where you stand on your pedals with full body weight trying to move against gravity and they're not budging), the crowning glory of the drive was the Lake Michigan Overlook. From the top of the dune it is a steep grade, 450 feet down, to sparkling waters and a lake vista that stretches 54 miles across to Wisconsin.

By the time we finished our ride, I told my friend: 1) I had new appreciation for a micro-inkling of what Tour de France guys endure, 2) imagined what great shape one would be in if this was done once a week and 3) was never so glad to see a sign that said I was leaving a scenic area.

We did return later that evening—by car—to appreciate what we did accomplish (Gary said he was getting thumbs up from passing drivers who saw us on bikes—I was too busy trying to breathe) and watch the sunset.

This area is a national treasure that, thanks to visionaries like Pierce Stocking, will continue to enrich the lives of many fortunate visitors for decades to come.

Note: A dune high on a bluff covered with thick vegetation was christened "sleeping bear" by the Chippewa Indians. The accompanying folklore describes a mother bear fleeing a raging forest fire by swimming across the lake and waiting for her two cubs to follow her to land. Not to be the purveyor of sad stories, but the cubs drowned within sight of the shore. The Great Spirit Manitou created two islands (North and South Manitou) to mark the spot where the cubs drowned and the solitary dune to represent the faithful mama bear.

©2010 catherine lenard

The Art of Genuine Presentation

I had the opportunity for a first-time meeting with the Director of Events for an upscale facility who was beautifully made up, coiffed, and dressed. When I asked if there was an event that day to merit her striking appearance, she said, "No," and explained that she had worked for Mary Kay Ash, of Mary Kay Cosmetics, in a past life and was therefore, conditioned.

Whatever I came in to see her about took a back seat to finding out more about the Pink Cadillac Lifestyle (she'd had more than a few). Seems that Ms. Mary Kay insisted that her sales force have their acts together when they set foot out the door whether to pick up a half gallon at the mini-mart or give a presentation.

Having worked in design, marketing, and now staging, which is design, marketing, and presentation, discussion ensued on the, relaxed, shall we say, way people present themselves these days. She mused about the look of a man in a suit (I will add well-tailored) and how nice that is to witness—rare in the area where I live where khakis and a golf shirt are 'perty special.'

I commented that I now think twice about 'flip flopping around,' because although I live in a resort area, you never know who you're going to run in to. Case in point, unexpectedly being introduced to my friend's esteemed big-city colleague at a local produce market. She, perfectly put together, mind you, and me, in local-lay-back mode, hoping I didn't have a toothpaste drip lurking on my tee shirt.

We're all familiar with, "Don't judge a book by it's cover," but it seems to be true that people who are well-dressed and groomed are treated with more deference than those who are not (unless they're just really obnoxious). I suppose there are a few ways to look at this.

I went through the phase of getting used to not wearing make-up in a quest for natural authenticity by dropping the Flame Red (excuse me, Flamme) lipstick I had worn for years. The process embodied a curious mix of vulnerability and defiance. Then, at a particularly dark point in my life when family members were dropping like flies, it took every bit of strength to get myself out the door—let alone look presentable doing it.

Having traversed these passages, I'm now at a balance point. While I am comfortable with myself with or without makeup, in public or private, I'm in a phase of life where I prefer and enjoy the effect of packaging myself nicely (most of the time). Is it the reward of the journey to date? I think so.

The Events Director had an interesting business perspective. She said something to the effect of, "If someone cares enough to take care of themselves, I feel they are going to take good care of me."

It may not have been said in so many words, but I think when we care for ourselves from a place of healthy and genuine self-love, it naturally cascades into love and respect for others.

Thanks, Joyce. It was a fun and thought-provoking afternoon.

©2010 catherine lenard

The IRS & The Black, White, & Greys of Home Staging

Rather than take rumor as truth, I called the IRS to get an answer from the 'horse's mouth' on whether or not home staging to sell a property is tax deductible.

I spoke with Mike, a surprisingly personable customer service agent, who didn't know much about staging, but spent a great deal of time researching my questions. During the course of several days of intermittent conversations, he did confess that his wife gave him insight on what staging was from HGTV. Fortunately, he was interested to learn more about my business services for his resource repertoire. He also consulted with an IRS attorney for additional input. While I was hoping for a simple, black and white answer, here is what I learned:

• There is a lot of grey area within the IRS. There are no specific codes directed specifically to Staging. The closest code addresses real estate selling expenses and is referenced in IRS Publication 523.

• That being said, the IRS' position is that Staging is a legitimate selling expense for primary and secondary homes and therefore tax deductible.

• As my business also provides decluttering/organization services in preparation for selling a house, I did ask if those fees were tax deductible as well. Mike said yes, with the caveat that it came down to common sense, logic, and judicious use of how those services are used—for selling a house, not personal convenience—in case of an audit.

• When asked about the deductibility of furniture rentals, he said if a property is vacant, yes. If a client is living in the house and using furniture rentals while the house is for sale, no.

• If the house is staged and taken off the market, staging expenses are not tax deductible.

• Cost basis adjustment versus selling expense was also discussed. He said cost basis adjustments are referenced as permanent improvements which add value to a home such as a roof, landscaping, central air, new fence, etc. Those are not tax deductible. Minor repairs or cosmetics to get a house ready for sale are a selling expense and are tax deductible.

To recap, according to the IRS:

• Professional staging services are tax deductible

• Decluttering and organizing services are also deductible, as long as judiciously used for preparing a house for sale.

• Contracting services and repairs are in the grey area and depend on facts and circumstances. Home improvements—no; minor repairs to prepare a house for sale—yes.

While it was enlightening talking with a friendly and informative IRS rep, as you hear in disclaimer-ville, "I'm not an attorney or CPA," so please discuss your specific circumstances with your own professional. That's the black, white, and grey of it.

©2010 catherine lenard

Breathing New Life Into a Simple, Deserving House

I was asked to submit an article as the 'Expert du Jour' for a 'before and after' feature for a national home staging web site. To see how an ugly duckling was transformed, please visit this link to their site.



©2010 catherine lenard

A Study in Contrasts

I had the opportunity to visit Shipshewana, Indiana last month. I'd heard about it for years and associated it as an Amish-oriented location for flea markets and auctions. As I was joining family members for a pre-planned afternoon, I had no expectations other than enjoying their company.

My cousin's girlfriend was familiar with the town and led us to a grand emporium. The building was the centerpiece of the shopping district and housed fabric, clothing, antique and candy shops, food service, and a full-size carousel on the top floor. The open staircase and building were recently rebuilt around the massive girth of a 386 year-old Douglas fir tree after a mysterious fire destroyed the original complex.

Cynthia introduced us to a friend during the course of the afternoon, a personable, older, gnome-like man with a beard and no mustache, simple, dark clothes that had seen fresher days, socks in sandals, and rough hands that belied work.

He paused to talk with us as we sat on a hand-made wooden bench near the country-decorated-red-painted food court and told the story of his building. A religious verse he referenced with emotion struck me as he recounted personal and professional tragedies, the predecessors of the impressive building that now was. I can't remember the beginning, but the ending was ostensibly God speaking to a biblical character saying, "I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to prosper you." Interspersed within the story he subtly mentioned a jet had flown him over the building to survey the post-fire damage. Did I hear right? He left us only when his i-Phone beckoned a late afternoon meeting.

We later met an older woman who was wearing traditional Amish-style garb. She apologized that the end bathroom stall was not functional. She pleasantly chatted with us as she adjusted paper towel rolls in the immaculate ladies room while holding an i-Phone in her other hand. Heeding a call, the owner's wife then disappeared into an elevator.

The contrast of 19th century dress coupled with i-Phones fascinated me as did the humility of accomplished individuals performing the most basic of work. I later heard someone describe Mennonites as 'hip Amish' where they believe in simplicity and specific religious doctrine as the Amish, however, may use the benefits of modern technology and transportation. I'm sure this is a matter of gross oversimplification, but it did reconcile the deliciously rich visual of these two lovely people.

©2010 catherine lenard

On Lightening Up: Afterthoughts

It's been a few weeks since I turned in the keys to my storage locker. We all know hindsight is 20/20, but I'd like to pass along an insight. Over the years I've kept storage lockers more than a few times to accommodate various moves. The thought process was to retrieve the items that had always traveled with me when I had sufficient space to accommodate them. It never occurred to me that the cost to keep a storage locker may more than compensate for purchasing replacement items for the stored items if, by then, I wanted them at all.

When I assess my current situation, even though I'm still sorting through retrieved boxes, I am making progress and thrilled that I do not have excess baggage tailing me in the form of a monthly check and the mental burden of "I really gotta get to that someday."

There is a freedom and lightness that grows weekly knowing I'm divesting of outmoded 'stuff' and making room for whatever it is that will reflect who I now am. Simplification is the key and only keeping that which I need or feel good about, in whatever form, is my mantra.

We all have seasons for priorities and I'm grateful to have the season and motivation to 'get it done.' The reward of the end result is too exhilarating to not!

©2010 catherine lenard

On Sifting, Sorting, and Letting Go . . .

I recently emptied my rented storage space. It was a dreaded process, but one I was determined to go through in a continuing quest to simplify my life. For years I have been opposed to collecting unnecessary 'stuff.' Yet, I've had a difficult time letting go of certain things and have not wanted to devote time or emotions to making decisions about items that, for whatever reason, have been dragged along over the years.

Having moved to a smaller house with a small garage, no basement, an attic that isn't really usable and few closets to boot, I figured my desired state of 'storage locker free zone' would force a grand purge.

While the storage space is now empty, I'm still working on finding homes for possessions temporarily stacked in the corners of my living room. It's a work in progress that has a direct correlation to feeling an increasing sense of freedom.

An owner of a moving company told me the greatest boon to his company's storage division is guilt. He said that adult children of parents who had passed didn't want their parent's belongings, but felt guilty about letting them go so they sit in storage year after year.

If we choose to remember someone or something, it's helpful to remind ourselves that if we only keep a few select items, it's not the memory that is being let go of, it's the material 'stuff.' Having a clear distinction between the two is helpful when we are ready to literally and figuratively lighten our loads.

©2010 catherine lenard