Stuff happens that makes us feel like we got the salt kicked out of us.
“The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco,” wrote Mark Twain.
I am surprised but forgiving (as I suppress a desire to either laugh or be offended) when anybody suggests I’m only in it for the money.
The petite, muddy handprints of raccoons splayed over the outdoor cushions, reminding me there must have been quite a (wildlife) party last night.
Removing the only means of egress to a teen’s bedroom is the sort of move guaranteed to ruin a parent-child relationship.
“A home. Not a house.”
As a kid I couldn’t even sell Girl Scout cookies. Fast forward to 1987 when – on a whim after being “let go” from my PR job at GAP/Banana Republic – I got my California real estate license. I’ve been a top agent in San Francisco ever since. Not because of my sales acumen but because I learned that residential real estate is about sanctuary, not sales. More…
Partner, McGuire Real Estate
“HOME IS THE NICEST WORD THERE IS.”