Elizabeth Weintraub • Sacramento Short Sale Agent • Land Park

I do not adjust to time zone changes well while traveling. Hate the fall-forward and fall-back time changes, too. These things throw me out of whack. Don't even talk to me about going to Europe. I can do all of the things the experts suggest: set my watch ahead, drink plenty of fluids, avoid alcohol, eat light, get up and walk around the cabin, but I can't adjust my internal clock. When we land, I am totally exhausted, regardless of sleep.

That's why I prefer to have a vacation from my vacation. I need a little bit of time to recover. To adjust to being back into the swing of things.

The one thing I don't need adjustment to is going to Hawaii. The minute the plane lands, I feel like I am in sync with the islands. For example, even though Hawaii is 2 hours behind California, and I am generally at my computer by 5 AM in California, I didn't get up until 7 or 8 AM most mornings. Like a normal person.

Why don't we throw away all of our clocks, I ask you? Well, many people have. That's what we have cellphones for these days -- to tell the time. Nobody needs a wristwatch anymore. And since we have all of these electronic gadgets that prevent us from engaging in actual conversations with people, it doesn't matter what time it really is because time has no meaning. Some of us work at 3 AM and who's to know or even care?

Except to shoot photographs of a client's home, I rarely meet my short sale sellers. Some of them could be fictional for all I know. Last year, a seller sent me a photograph of herself so I would know what she looked like. I guess she felt guilty that I have a photo on my website so she wanted to balance the scales. I have another seller in Tucson who mailed me a photograph of the desert so I would know what his landscaping looks like.

I leave you today with a photo of this statue of King Kamehameha the Great. There are two of the same statue in Hawaii. This is the original. Here's the back story: The statue was commissioned in 1878 and cast in Paris. On the way over, the ship sunk in the South Atlantic. The Hawaiian legislature ordered another one, which was later delivered and erected in front of the Judicial Building in Honolulu.

Sometime later, though, the captain of the ship that sunk spotted the "lost" statue in Port Stanley. What are the odds of that? The arm was broken. He bought it for $500, shipped it to Hawaii, fixed the arm, and it now stands in the town of Kapa'au. You pass through the town on the way to Pololu Valley. I don't want to say anything disrespectful, but what's with the banana head?

Photo: Elizabeth Weintraub

If you want to know how much it costs to stay at a luxury resort in Hawaii, here is the formula. Take what sounds like a somewhat reasonable expenditure and triple it. For example, if you would be willing to pay $5.00 for a can of Coke to quench your thirst, then you should be willing to spend $15 for it at a resort.

A resort is all about the details. The experience. Would you like a bottle of Tabasco sauce delivered with your eggs, Sir? Madam, will you be seated at the right or left of your breakfast table? How would you like your toast toasted?

There are times you simply do not want to be fussed over. Just throw it on the table and get out of my room.

This resort also features 4 pools. My favorite is the pool without the kids. My husband snorkeled in the Kings Pond with the fish. Unlike other popular resorts on the Big Island, the Four Seasons assigns cabanas free-of-charge, so if you can't find a place to sleep in or out of the sun, the pool attendants are wired to speak to each other and find you a spot. Well, except for the $300 beds on the beach. There is no spur-of-the-moment dining, either, unless you want room service. Everything is reserved in advance. You know what? This is way too much work.

Photo: Elizabeth Weintraub, breakfast at the Four Seasons

One slick way to pull in buyers, I've gotta hand it to Hualalai Realty. I suppose some people would call it false advertising, but I would like to have our reservation at the Four Seasons Hualalai renewed next year, so I'm not gonna gripe.

I will say that when I saw Real Estate Tour included on my list of activities at the Four Seasons, my heart went all aflutter. It said "Join us for a look into the "private side" of Hualalai. Reservations required." Wow, were do I sign up? I called Hualalai Realty and asked if I could join the tour. The sales representative -- they don't call them agents, I guess -- asked what I would like to see.

Well, I haven't noticed any listings under $2.6 in this vicinity, I said. He assured me there were definitely some homes for sale in Hualalai for right around 2 million. My lucky stars! There is something affordable in Hualalai. Who woulda thunk? In fact, if I wanted, he could also show me an oceanfront home for $25 million.

That seemed like a good spread in price points. But I wanted to make sure this was a tour, an open house of sorts, and not an enticement disguised as a tour. So, I was upfront with the guy and told him I had no intention of buying a $25-million oceanfront home in Hualalai, but nonetheless would love to see it. I disclosed that I am a real estate broker from California and also a writer for the New York Times' website About.com, and maybe i would write about it.

Then, he told me the $25 million oceanfront was not his listing and he would not show it to me. He was willing, though, to give me the phone number of the listing agent.

You know what guys? I just wanted to take advantage of the Activities List that was distributed to my room with the morning paper. I thought a Real Estate Tour sounded like fun, even though my husband cringed when he spotted my eyes light up. You got to the part about the real estate tour, didn't you? He laughed. And I could see he was busy at work trying to come up with an excuse to get out of going. Turns out he didn't have to try too hard because I nipped it in the bud for him.

I didn't want to make a lei or go to a yoga class. I wanted to join the Real Estate Tour, darn it.

Instead, we are back to Operation Mongoose. Those sneaky little mongooses (mongeeses?) are everywhere on this island.  We don't want to capture one to take home with us or anything, we just want a photograph. I guess the photo below is the best we are going to get. Adam shot it at The Fairmont Orchid, right next to the golf course:

Photo: Adam Weintraub

The first thought that crossed my mind was how glad I was that we were not staying at the Hilton Waikoloa. From the lobby, I could see the tram car loading passengers and blocking the entrance to the pool. This place is enormous. People were everywhere. Standing in lines. Standing in lines to register. Standing in lines to get on the train that will take them to their room somewhere far off in the distance, standing in lines at the restaurant waiting for a hot dog.

The Hilon Waikoloa is where you go if you want to kiss a dolphin. The outfit is Dolphin Quest. There are other opportunities on the island to swim with dolphins, but I am pretty sure this is the only encounter experience in which you can kiss a mammal.

Who wouldn't want to kiss a dolphin? They are so danged cute. Dolphin Quest has the business down pat. You are assigned to a group of 5 or 6 people -- our trainer was Lauren, and she seemed to be the head trainer. First thing she does is load up a fanny pack with fish, waddles out in the enclosed pool and slaps the water. The dolphin comes swimming toward us, eager for a snack.

These are Atlantic bottlenose dolphins. I guess the Hawaiian spinner dolphins were not happy in captivity, so they substituted dolphins from the East Coast. They seemed happy and content as they stood on their heads, splashed water at us, dived under us, and let us pet and kiss them.

The dolphin's skin is unreal. I was prepared for it to feel differently. It is almost like something manufactured -- like soft pliable rubbery plastic. I can't think of a known product or surface to compare it to. It was smooth, yet firm. It looked delicate, evidenced by a few cuts or scratches.

The teeth, on the other hand, were a little scary. Dolphins have a lot of teeth, 72 to 104, according to Sea World. The number varies. Probably because if a dolphin loses a tooth, it doesn't grow back. When my opportunity arrived to kiss the dolphin, I stared down at those rows of teeth, closed my eyes, hoped it didn't bite off my nose and puckered.

Our trainer told us that wild fish sometimes swim into the pool, as it is connected to the ocean. You can already see salt water fish in the pool, just like those in Finding Nemo, doreys and tang-like. Sometimes, a puffer fish gets in and puffs up. The dolphins love the puffer fish because they look like balls. Plus, if you squeeze one, it squirts. The dolphins grab the puffers, bounce them around like beach balls and sometimes squirt each other with the puffers. If you take away the puffer, the dolphin can be so attached and addicted it will pout and have no interest in eating. Kind of like me if you take away my Zuma.

Below are photos of the Hilton, its beach (ick), pool, reception area, tram car and the pool where the dolphins play. I would show you a photo of me kissing the dolphin, but that part of the process is sort of flawed. They make you come back the next day to get them. Those available days on the Big Island are running short for me. Soon, I will return to my full-time job as a Sacramento short sale agent.

If you would like to stay at Disneyland, you would probably like the Hilton Waikoloa, but it is not a hotel I would recommend. However, the Dolphin Quest experience was a blast. You might want to bring a change of dry clothes, though. And be prepared to spend another $150 for a CD of photos.

photos: Elizabeth Weintraub and Dolphin Quest

I don't profess to know much about the South. Except, they talk funny. They probably think we from the North talk funny. The North is where TV news reporters go to learn how to speak. True fact. When I was a kid, my mother said the reason Southerners have a drawl is because it is too hot most of the time to fully open their mouths to enunciate, so words come out kinda sloppy.

OK, I've done it now. A bunch of Southerners will probably boycott my blog. I'm just saying what my mother used to say. Yup, that's my middle name, troublemaker. You might think it's Sacramento short sale agent, but any regular reader of my blog knows that word is troublemaker. I'm a bit of rebel. In fact, rebel was a nickname in junior high, so there, bite on those Georgia peaches.

After putting one short sale into contract yesterday, I received another offer for another short sale. This new offer is for a home that the BPO came in too high. Usually, that is not a problem for me because we price short sales in line with the price a BPO agent will provide. So, this is an odd situation. After the bank told me the price it wanted, I checked the comps again, even sent the bank a CMA because I could not find a single home that had sold anywhere near that price.

Chase has been a difficult short sale bank with BPOs lately. Doesn't make sense, really. Chase is incredibly slow, yes, but generally their BPOs have been good until recently. Typically what happens is the bank says it wants a higher price, so we sell the home at a higher price. Then, the buyer's appraisal comes in for much less -- probably right about the place where I listed it in the first place. So, we present that appraisal to the bank, and the bank responds by lowering the price and providing a revised short sale approval letter.

That's a lot of dancing around the block to get to closing. But sometimes, that's what you've gotta do. If the bank won't be reasonable, then you play their game. Some agents would cancel a short sale when the bank is unreasonable. They figure the bank doesn't want to do the short sale. I don't give up. My objective is to close. If the bank won't listen to me on the front end, it will on the back end.

I'll invite the bank over for lunch. Feed it a plate of black-eyed peas with bacon, bake up a batch of cornbread, and mix a mint julep -- show some real Southern hospitality. Maybe drop a bunch of "bless your little heart" phrases while batting eyelashes and sweetly smiling. Because by the time we get to dessert, we'll be serving the low appraisal with real whipped cream.

Back to my point about the South. Do you know where is the southern most place in America? I went there yesterday, after finishing up negotiations on an offer. Below are photographs of what happens there. People actually jump off the cliff, into the ocean, some 50 feet or so below. It's like jumping off the edge of the world. And no, I didn't try it. I get enough excitement from Sacramento short sales, thank you, very much.

Yup, still on vacation on the Big Island. Home of the southern most place in America.

Photos: Elizabeth Weintraub

Let's just jump right into 2012, shall we? I imagine it's my kickback, low-key vacation that made me say that to an agent yesterday. While others are nursing champagne hangovers, I'm dealing with offers on my short sale listings while still on vacation in Hawaii.

We changed hotels yesterday and are now at a property featuring private bungalows on the beach. Waves rolling to the front door. Palm trees in the sand shading our patio. Green turtles asleep on lava. I could certainly get used to this lifestyle but I won't because soon I will be back to Sacramento and into the trenches -- but that doesn't mean I won't enjoy it while I can. One of my clients pointed out that she has not learned how to "receive" but was working toward it. Just let me say that "receiving" has never been a problem for moi.

It is so peaceful and quiet, except for the sound of waves hitting the shore. When the sun comes up, which it has not yet, yellow-billed cardinals with their velvety little red heads sing while clinging to coconuts. Who doesn't like Hawaii, I ask you? Answer, my husband. I think he was born with a brain aneurysm.

I thought business would not begin to perk back up the second week of January, but between yesterday and today, I have received 3 offers. At least one of them is complete and ready to be signed.

I know my sellers will be thrilled. Buyers do not realize how happy they make sellers, especially Sacramento short sale sellers, when they make an offer to buy their home. I have a reputation for making buyers cross their t's, dot their i's and swear on a stack of Bibles that they are serious about following through on their purchase because I do not want my seller's hopes dashed.

Short sales is an emotional business. More is at stake for a short sale seller than any other kind of real estate transaction. For those reasons, as a Sacramento short sale agent, I take great care to ensure the best experience possible for all parties concerned in the short sale.

The Aloha for short sales cannot be taught -- it can only be shared. Alo = presence, Ha = divine breath.

Photo: Elizabeth Weintraub

When we decided to go fishing in Hawaii, I thought it would be a quiet activity. The kind where you rent a private boat, go out to sea and sit with a rod, watching your bobber bop about in the waves. That's fishing. Maybe you catch something, maybe you don't. The fun is in watching the bobber in anticipation of snagging a fish. It's a bonus to reel in a fish.

Probably the biggest fish I ever caught was in Maine. Bluefish. The summer of 1988. Couldn't eat those fast enough. Some of those fish weighed 25 or 30 pounds. Once you got them into the boat -- they were fighters -- you had to club them over the head with a hammer to keep them from biting you or jumping back into the water. That was excitement.

But nothing compares to sportfishing in Kona, Hawaii. We could have caught a 500- to 900-pound marlin -- that's how big those fish are -- or a huge ono or mahi-mahi. The reels are as big as your head. The lures are the size of bowling pins. This is a totally different league from the days of toting around my ice-fishing pole with a string and bucket of minnows.

We rented the Fire Hatt, a 43-foot boat owned and operated by Captain Chuck Wilson out of Honokohau Harbor. Delightful guy retired from the fire department and who still teaches men and women of the fire department in Roseville, CA. His deck hand, Adam -- an easy name to remember -- was instructional and amusing to boot. Adam strapped me in the "chair" and showed me what to do when the reels "went off."

No sooner did we troll about 2 miles out than whammo -- a bite! By all appearances, it was a 200-pound blue marlin! I began to envision the fish mounted on our family room wall, right over the sofa. That wall is long and bare. It's the only spot in the house with nothing on the wall. Probably because it's been waiting for a marlin to go over it. You think? My husband disagrees. But I am suddenly in favor of a big honkin' fish over our sofa. I can't explain the urge.

Did you know that the fish you often see mounted on the wall in seafood restaurants -- those marlins with the long bills -- are not real? I did not. This is like finding out there is no Santa Claus. Those marlins are generally fiberglass fish. What sportspeople do is take the weight and measure the length of the fish they actually catch, and they give those dimensions to the place that manufacturers your custom marlin. Most people, unless the marlin's tail is wrapped or otherwise damaged, those people throw the marlin back and buy a fiberglass replica! It's the marlin catch-and-release practice.

So, there I was, imaging this gigantic work of art hanging on my wall in the family room when all of a sudden, the line went limp. Just like our ragdoll cat Jackson. All floppy like. The fish was gone. Just as well, I hear. Because it takes about 90 minutes to reel in a fish -- gives you a good workout. But that would have been fun, nonetheless. As it was, we enjoyed yachting, shooting photos of dolphins, and hearing stories about Britney Spears when she was onboard, how Adam deems it a pleasure not a job to work as a deck hand (and I believe him -- I feel the same way about being a Sacramento short sale agent) and about Captain Chuck's wife, the former rodeo queen. You can't go wrong with Fire Hatt. I recommend the experience, whether or not you get that big marlin.

Still, I could get a big fiberglass marlin. That's the part that has my husband worried. I say I am just wondering about it. He says he knows how my brain works. First I develop a thought and the next thing he knows that thought has become a reality. I say he should be happy to be married to a woman who is able to conceive a great idea and then put that idea into action -- because for many people, that is not an ability they possess. He is one lucky guy.

Photos: Elizabeth Weintraub, of the 3 dolphin shots, the middle one is a baby spinner dolphin spinning

When you're tired of romantic moonlight dinners on the ocean, try Merriman's Cafe at King's Shops in Waikola. Because instead of dancing barefoot in the sand to some Hawaiian crooner, you can walk around the shops to admire outrageously expensive trinkets. We stopped at Coach bags so I could stroke its new winter line of red patent leather. I had the clerks in the store doubled over in laughter as I described to them the new trends I see coming down the line.

Except I wasn't really kidding. Amusing as it may sound. Trendspotting. I'm pretty good at it. The newest thing in women's bags will be a bag in which almost everything can be attached to the exterior, not the interior. Tired of digging for your cell phone? See, it should easily attach to an exterior pocket. Ditto with the display key for a lockbox -- agents will love this. A loop for your sunglasses. A hook for your car keys. The only thing you need a pocket for is a tampon.

That will be the future of bags. Because companies need to keep selling them. And someday, I predict the coveted symbol of a woman's fertility will be reflected in a gold-plated bracelet adorned with dangling miniature tampons.

However, if you prefer to go back in history, take a look at these petroglyphs at Puako on the Big Island. We've got Steve Martin's Walk Like an Egyptian. A guy throwing a baby. Guy holding huge butcher knife over his head. These date back 1,000 years or more. Nobody knows for certain why they were carved into lava or even what they depict. These petroglyphs at Puako feature Mauna Kea as backdrop.

Photos: Elizabeth Weintraub

I couldn't get my purple shorts on. That was an astounding discovery to make only halfway through our Hawaiian vacation. I tried them on before we left home and they fit. It's not so much that I couldn't get them on exactly as I could not fasten them. There is one sure cure for that. Fewer desserts. More salads.

Besides, some of the desserts are not worth all of the calories. When a server asked me how I liked the apple pie concoction, I told her the truth: You know those apple pies they sell at McDonald's? The kind that are deep-fried, devoid of nutritional value, little fat bombs served in a sleeve? She nodded yes, and a smile spread across her face.

Well, this apple pie was worse than that!

Call me cynical, but I imagine that was a mistake. Because now she'll go running to her boss and proudly announce that they need to make apple pies like those served at McDonald's.

Rather than gripe about fattening desserts that disappoint, I decided it made sense to take up an activity. To learn a new sport. You're never too old to learn something new. In fact, yesterday marked the 6-month countdown to age 60 for me. Paddleboarding looked like a lot of fun. The stand-up padde surfing kind of paddleboading. We signed up for lessons.

First, carrying the board to the beach required a bit of maneuvering. Oooo, look at me carting along this surfboard with one hand like an old pro -- do, do, do, do -- until oopsie daisy, a smidgen of wind caused me to go sideways. I almost bashed a 4-year-old in the head. Man, people were everywhere on the beach. Trying not to smack one of 'em with a board was really difficult.

Once I got it to the shoreline and dropped it on the water, I leaped on it. Grabbed my pole and started to paddle. Except I didn't go anywhere. Didn't move an inch. That's because my rudder was sunk in the sand. After I got moving, I got stuck on the rocks. Pace was paramount, my instructor said, keep paddling before standing up. With my ankle strapped to the board, I struggled to stand. My knees wobbled. My feet felt unsteady -- I heard my instructor yelling: bend your knees.

I plopped back down on the board and paddled my way out of the beach toward the open water. Too many people. Well, I did runover one person who, unfortunately, had a broken leg, so it was like running over 2 people. Of all the snorkelers, I had to pick the one with the broken leg. She was pretty grumpy about it, too.

I tried to stand up again. It was a struggle. I sat down again. Screw this. I was feeling the wave of failure come over me. It was frustrating. Maybe this was one of those things that I just cannot do. Like water ski. I gave up trying to water ski when the skis came off, slapped my legs and bruised me up pretty badly in my teenage years.

Then, I don't know what happened exactly. It was a beautiful day, in the low 80s, high 70s, with relatively calm aqua waters and little wind. Stand-up paddleboarding was a sport I really wanted to learn. North Kona, Hawaii, is the perfect place to do it. Why was I giving in so easily and about to call it quits? I am not a person who is easily defeated, least of all by myself. After all, I am a Sacramento short sale agent -- I triumph over some of the most difficult real estate transactions on the face of the Earth.  I can do anything I set my mind to do.

To my astonishment, I stood up, paddled and voila! Found my center of gravity. It arrived out of nowhere, just as I was about to give up. It really is true that each failed attempt puts me one step close to success. Soon, I was buzzing all over the ocean, riding over small waves, moving in unison with the board. I wouldn't say I went so far as to dance, but I put on a presentable performance. For my husband, anyway. Who was back on shore, sitting in the surf with his board. Stand-up paddleboarding was evidently not for him.

I like this sport so much that I might have to buy a rack for my roadster. I don't think a paddleboard will easily fit in the front seat, even with the top down. Stand-up paddleboarding is really a lot of fun!

The moral of this story is if there is something you want to do, go do it. Don't let failure set you back. Maybe that short sale negotiator rejected your short sale. Don't put your tail between your legs and go home. Try again. Analyze what went wrong and fix it. Resubmit. Because your second time or third time could be a charm.

I just closed a short sale yesterday for a seller whose previous short sale fell apart. It fell apart because there was no permit for the family room and the FHA-approved lender would not approve the buyer's loan. We tried for a long time to find an all-cash buyer until a VA buyer came along. We got the property preapproved by the underwriter prior to offer acceptance, and this transaction closed.

Oh, and one more thing: if you're gonna eat a dessert, make sure it is worth the extra calories.

Photo: Elizabeth Weintraub

I once put a hole in my eardrum by diving into a pool too quickly. So much for SCUBA lessons when I was younger. Never even made it into the ocean. Nope, I managed to mess up in 8 feet of water. That's what happens when you don't equalize -- which made me a little bit concerned about diving 100 feet to the ocean floor in a submarine. I wasn't sure how my eardrum would react. Turns out, though, that was not a problem at all.

There were other things to think about. Like, once they closed the hatch and the submarine began to submerge, there was no way to get out. Not only was there no way out, but what if a small leak happened and it quickly mushroomed into a flood, filling the room with water -- like Sigourney Weaver in Alien -- and I drowned? Or what if a tsunami hit Hawaii, like the one from last March, and spun the sub like a toy, eventually smashing it into the coral reef?

A normal person who was not a Sacramento short sale agent would have sat in the 48-person submarine and quietly looked at fish through the glass window. But not me. I know horror intimately. I close short sales. My imagination kicked into overdrive. Soon as I realized it was happening, I stopped those thoughts from continuing. My stomach immediately calmed. My fingers unclenched. I acquiesced to the circumstances at hand. There are worse ways to kick the bucket; I concluded, I was not going to die in a submarine.

But that episode reminded me of how some of my clients react. I don't blame them. I sent each client who is closing this week a long list that explains each procedure that leads to a successful closing in a short sale. I didn't want them to worry that their files would not close with me on vacation in Hawaii. One of them worried anyway. He emailed a member of my team, asking how was it possible to close on time when we were scheduled to close in 5 days and he hadn't yet signed docs. It sounded like he was freaking out.

Sometimes I explain too much, I suspect. I realize to a person outside of the short sale process, it can appear as though it's impossible to close. However, much of the action happens in the last 2 to 3 days, and it happens quickly. We have some files that fund and record on the same day. Once the short sale HUD is approved in California, closing escrow is dependant on the buyer's lender.

I reassured the seller that we will close on time. In fact, we're closing a day early. I hope he feels better. What made me feel better was learning that our submarine, at a 100-foot depth, can ascend to the top in less than 40 seconds.

Photos by Elizabeth Weintraub and Adam Weintraub