It is a yearly Saratoga phenomenon; when teems of local residents vacate their homes to rent to the summer crowds.
Hundreds of seemingly emotionally and financially stable Saratogians sign contracts, clean and de-clutter their homes and ultimately move out and find new digs while someone takes over their home. While the financial rewards are considerable, home owners in many cases earn every penny as the preparations are intense and the homelessness inconvenient.
Our family enters our sixth season of renting this summer and five out of six have been for the full season. Preparations for the 2009 season start December of 2008, when our realtor contacts us to update our website information and confirm its accuracy. One year we had a rental by January, but this year there are no bites until March. First, we contact our 2007, 2008 gentlemen renters and they politely decline. So we move ahead with new unknown summer renters.
The time between March and April passes uneventfully as we sign leases, receive deposits and speak occasionally with the realtor. Conversations with my friends who rent are frequently peppered with "Do you have someone yet? Is it the same people as last year?
How long are you renting for?" The rare bold question is "How much are they paying?" No one is panicked in the spring.
And then late June comes, the final payments are in, it occurs to one that you only have five weeks remaining in your home and you need to start sorting and cleaning. We start by categorizing and recycling our children's school papers as well as our own. Trips are made to the salvation army with clothing and we have our annual stoop sale. The experience of annually ridding our home of unnecessary items is cathartic and welcome.
My husband and I in early July start eyeing our teenage son's room, anticipating and dreading the emotional and physical energy it will require to put his room in shape. Up until fall of 2008, our two sons had shared a room and somehow the younger ones presence had kept the older one's true self at bay. But now, my older son has had full reign in the room, unplugged, unedited, undone. Throughout the past nine months, we had issued daily warnings, comments and suggestions with unsatisfactory success. We start him packing boxes the first week of July and we feel hopeful.
On Monday July 20th, we have a family meeting to plan the next ten days to our exit on Tuesday June 28th at 3pm. I get out the chalkboard and we name our project "Operation Escape," which goes at the top of the chalkboard. Underneath our inspirational heading I list every day and what we need to accomplish each day. In addition to packing ourselves up to live at my mom's and de-cluttering our home, we include our to do list: return library books, banking, teaching, recycling and changing our mail. Finally, we boldly list two ambitious projects we hope to accomplish prior to our exit - wash the exterior of the house and finish the taxes. I am the eternal optimist.
On the evening of July 20th my husband's family arrives from New York to help my husband with his sailboat and they go sailing on Tuesday. Our "Operation Escape" chart is ignored and we reconfigure on Wednesday. They depart Wednesday afternoon and we go back to fulltime work on the house.
Thursday morning, I walk with my neighbor who is also a habitual renter. Although she does not have a chalkboard family list, she has her own personal to do list and cleaning the shower is one of three things on her list today. Her efforts to ready the house will be thwarted by a houseful of company over the weekend and into Tuesday. We check in over the next couple of days to commiserate and give the update.
By Friday, we see progress. We proudly get out our chart and are able to erase off the do list: playroom, my youngest son's room, living room, and third floor. My teenage son's room, although it has seen improvement, remains a source of stress and we are concerned that it could be our undoing. Friday afternoon I cajole my sons and one of their friends to wash the house siding by our back garden entrance. There is a fair amount of horsing around but they clean it well and we reward ourselves with root beer floats in the backyard. It is a great Saratoga summer afternoon. Life is good.
Apparently, we feel that we deserve a break and we go sailing for two full days on Saturday and Sunday July 25th and 26th. We manage to not think about what waits for us at home and what extreme effort lies ahead on Monday and Tuesday. Arriving home Sunday at 6pm, we unpack, accomplish a few more chores and hit the hay early to ready ourselves for the final 30 hours of "Operation Escape."
Monday July 27th, finds my six year old, husband and I washing the siding on the front of the house by 9am. My teenage son ( the time management expert) refuses to help or work on his room as he says," I have plenty of time." At one point my husband has his head in his hands and declares my eldest son's room akin to kryptonite; he is weakened every time he enters the room. I manage to get both my husband and son back on task. A good friend hosts my younger son for the rest of the day for a play date. We are grateful.
The rest of Monday passes in a blur as we continue to pack our clothes, clean out draws, closets, take down posters, box up toys, sort paper and earn a living teaching dance in between. My mom comes by for my youngest to gather him for dinner and an overnight. I take a short nap on my Saratoga porch, enjoying the breeze and mourning how much I will miss it. All my clothes are packed by 4:20 and I am feeling good about my day until I receive a phone call from the realtor that the renters would like a full size bed in one of the bedrooms not the two twins. What?? I had imagined the sheets and blankets I would use and how I would dress the beds. All for naught. My husband is teaching at the studio and I decide to deal with this when he comes home.
I break the news to my son and husband around 6pm. After considering our options, we decide to bring a futon mattress from the third floor down and put it on top of the antique twin beds pushed together. It looks ridiculous as the mattress is not as wide as the two beds. We had considered putting the two beds together but the mattresses are different heights. Suddenly, I remember another twin mattress on the third floor in the Jacuzzi room and yes after my son measures the height, it will work. I disappear downstairs as the guys heave mattresses up and down stairs. In the end it works and it is decided that I will go and purchase king size sheets at Target the next day in my "spare time."
By evening we are in good shape, packed to travel, possessions are secured on the third floor and in the basement. The kitchen remains the final frontier for Tuesday. The cleaning people are scheduled to arrive at 9:30. Our final night of sleep is short and with great enthusiasm and no energy we look forward to the "Final Day." (Look for the conclusion of "Operation Escape" a Saratoga rental story, in next week's edition.)
Our family enters our sixth season of renting this summer and five out of six have been for the full season. Preparations for the 2009 season start December of 2008, when our realtor contacts us to update our website information and confirm its accuracy. One year we had a rental by January, but this year there are no bites until March. First, we contact our 2007, 2008 gentlemen renters and they politely decline. So we move ahead with new unknown summer renters.
The time between March and April passes uneventfully as we sign leases, receive deposits and speak occasionally with the realtor. Conversations with my friends who rent are frequently peppered with "Do you have someone yet? Is it the same people as last year?
How long are you renting for?" The rare bold question is "How much are they paying?" No one is panicked in the spring.
And then late June comes, the final payments are in, it occurs to one that you only have five weeks remaining in your home and you need to start sorting and cleaning. We start by categorizing and recycling our children's school papers as well as our own. Trips are made to the salvation army with clothing and we have our annual stoop sale. The experience of annually ridding our home of unnecessary items is cathartic and welcome.
My husband and I in early July start eyeing our teenage son's room, anticipating and dreading the emotional and physical energy it will require to put his room in shape. Up until fall of 2008, our two sons had shared a room and somehow the younger ones presence had kept the older one's true self at bay. But now, my older son has had full reign in the room, unplugged, unedited, undone. Throughout the past nine months, we had issued daily warnings, comments and suggestions with unsatisfactory success. We start him packing boxes the first week of July and we feel hopeful.
On Monday July 20th, we have a family meeting to plan the next ten days to our exit on Tuesday June 28th at 3pm. I get out the chalkboard and we name our project "Operation Escape," which goes at the top of the chalkboard. Underneath our inspirational heading I list every day and what we need to accomplish each day. In addition to packing ourselves up to live at my mom's and de-cluttering our home, we include our to do list: return library books, banking, teaching, recycling and changing our mail. Finally, we boldly list two ambitious projects we hope to accomplish prior to our exit - wash the exterior of the house and finish the taxes. I am the eternal optimist.
On the evening of July 20th my husband's family arrives from New York to help my husband with his sailboat and they go sailing on Tuesday. Our "Operation Escape" chart is ignored and we reconfigure on Wednesday. They depart Wednesday afternoon and we go back to fulltime work on the house.
Thursday morning, I walk with my neighbor who is also a habitual renter. Although she does not have a chalkboard family list, she has her own personal to do list and cleaning the shower is one of three things on her list today. Her efforts to ready the house will be thwarted by a houseful of company over the weekend and into Tuesday. We check in over the next couple of days to commiserate and give the update.
By Friday, we see progress. We proudly get out our chart and are able to erase off the do list: playroom, my youngest son's room, living room, and third floor. My teenage son's room, although it has seen improvement, remains a source of stress and we are concerned that it could be our undoing. Friday afternoon I cajole my sons and one of their friends to wash the house siding by our back garden entrance. There is a fair amount of horsing around but they clean it well and we reward ourselves with root beer floats in the backyard. It is a great Saratoga summer afternoon. Life is good.
Apparently, we feel that we deserve a break and we go sailing for two full days on Saturday and Sunday July 25th and 26th. We manage to not think about what waits for us at home and what extreme effort lies ahead on Monday and Tuesday. Arriving home Sunday at 6pm, we unpack, accomplish a few more chores and hit the hay early to ready ourselves for the final 30 hours of "Operation Escape."
Monday July 27th, finds my six year old, husband and I washing the siding on the front of the house by 9am. My teenage son ( the time management expert) refuses to help or work on his room as he says," I have plenty of time." At one point my husband has his head in his hands and declares my eldest son's room akin to kryptonite; he is weakened every time he enters the room. I manage to get both my husband and son back on task. A good friend hosts my younger son for the rest of the day for a play date. We are grateful.
The rest of Monday passes in a blur as we continue to pack our clothes, clean out draws, closets, take down posters, box up toys, sort paper and earn a living teaching dance in between. My mom comes by for my youngest to gather him for dinner and an overnight. I take a short nap on my Saratoga porch, enjoying the breeze and mourning how much I will miss it. All my clothes are packed by 4:20 and I am feeling good about my day until I receive a phone call from the realtor that the renters would like a full size bed in one of the bedrooms not the two twins. What?? I had imagined the sheets and blankets I would use and how I would dress the beds. All for naught. My husband is teaching at the studio and I decide to deal with this when he comes home.
I break the news to my son and husband around 6pm. After considering our options, we decide to bring a futon mattress from the third floor down and put it on top of the antique twin beds pushed together. It looks ridiculous as the mattress is not as wide as the two beds. We had considered putting the two beds together but the mattresses are different heights. Suddenly, I remember another twin mattress on the third floor in the Jacuzzi room and yes after my son measures the height, it will work. I disappear downstairs as the guys heave mattresses up and down stairs. In the end it works and it is decided that I will go and purchase king size sheets at Target the next day in my "spare time."
By evening we are in good shape, packed to travel, possessions are secured on the third floor and in the basement. The kitchen remains the final frontier for Tuesday. The cleaning people are scheduled to arrive at 9:30. Our final night of sleep is short and with great enthusiasm and no energy we look forward to the "Final Day." (Look for the conclusion of "Operation Escape" a Saratoga rental story, in next week's edition.)
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