Exclusive 92127 Real EstateTrend Report

Our new listing in Del Mar was very popular this week.

As for investment properties  anything less than 300K are flying off
the shelves.  It is like a, "blue light" special at Walmart except
buyers are frequently paying over asking price in order to secure a
property.  

In the attached report, prepared exclusively for Shay Realtors, you'll find easy-to-read graphs with statistics, and valuable information broken down into bite-size pieces about current market trends specifically for our zip code.  There are two options: Condo Report  or Single Family Report 

Vanilla Ice Cream - Written by Ray Shay

Do you like vanilla ice cream? Most people do. I find I like the first couple spoonfuls, but then I kind of get bored with it. I came to the ultimate conclusion I don't love vanilla ice cream last Thursday morning at 0456 hours. I awoke abruptly and looked at the clock by our bed. I had not been sleeping well because I had decided to stop writing this weekly article.

That is correct. Stop. I was going to put cement shoes on this weekly story and drop it off the Coronado Bridge. A typical mob hit. I liked the visual in my mind of seeing the printed out email fluttering in the cold blue water as it sank rapidly, passing a few PCBs and maybe a mutant fish or two until it hit the sandy bottom of San Diego Harbor. Nice and quiet. No one could complain or be critical. My random thoughts would then slowly disappear over time, washed away in the saltwater. It sounded so private.

Some people say controversy is good. It means people are reading what you write. I did not like the controversy about the last two articles I wrote. I was going to write the following words in today's lead story ... NO ARTICLE.  What was that song? "You don't know what you got... until it's gone". I liked the Counting Crow's version the best since Theresa and I had a great time at their concert, but that is a different story.

The sudden insight that awoke me in the early morning hours felt like Sister Josephine's ruler striking my knuckles or the unique sound of metal sliding against metal as a round is chambered in a 12 gauge police shotgun. I purposely use both of these metaphors, because it was what got me into, "trouble". Some readers took exception to my perspective on corporal punishment in schools and that I would ever possibly think of writing an article that included a photograph of a shotgun, (click here for the shotgun or the corporal punishment stories).

Several readers contacted me this past week saying things like, "what your writing may not be good for your business...my opinion of your company has plummeted...you should think about being more vanilla...stay to writing something nice about people in our community and call it a day...". 

I was concerned, so I spoke with our editor, a few friends and even consulted with some out of state family members who regularly read 92127eweekly. I began to question myself why I write this article? It takes many more hours then you would think and I only started writing it on a lark. A challenge to myself. Something which has grown and become more public and more widely distributed then I ever imagined. Even so, I had decided to stop.

I know I can write like some people are asking. Or so I kept telling myself. Safe stories. Not talk about real life, or how I really feel. Keep it all non-controversial like any properly run gated community, or HOA. Keep it within the lines and stay boring. In those early morning hours, I suddenly came to another conclusion. This is America and I am not vanilla. I am so far from vanilla.  Forget about being vanilla.  If I were vanilla, I would be mixed up with Pinkberry peach yogurt, lots of dark chocolate chips, nuts, and fresh fruit. I like being mixed up. Even our, "pound puppy" kids are a mix between Chinese and Irish. I would not change any of it for the world.

As for writing, I can only really write one style.  On the edge. Tell the truth. In the next few weeks, I will be writing about our San Diego County Government and the idiotic things they put their customers through. Sometimes our government does stupid things. I know some people won't like the story. I am still going to write it.

We are opening a new Community Hub (tm) at 4S Commons. A Community Hub (tm) has never been built before. I know some people won't like it. I remember many years ago asking a close friend and someone I deeply admire, named Jerry Sanders. He was not the Mayor of San Diego at the time. His official title was, "Chief of Police", but we all knew he was fine if we just called him, "Jerry". As we sat on the front porch of his home in Kensington, I asked him how he handles people speaking negatively about him. He chuckled like he does frequently and then a kind smile crossed his face. He simply said, "don't worry about it, it will always be there. Some people for whatever reason will not like you or what you do. Keep making good decisions, treat people right, and continue on".

In my morning slumber, all these thoughts were swirling around in my head. If I quit writing I would not be doing what he recommended, "carrying on". I would be a quitter. It reminded of the pineapple maze story so many months ago. Our boys, Troy, Raymond, and Ryan would not allow it. Not an option. I can quit, but not this week. Not because we received complaints. If I quit, it will be on my own terms.

Only in an incredible place like America can people decide what they want to read or not. What business they can start, or not. Be critical of their government, or not. Open an email, or not. I can honestly write almost anything I want and the US government will not take me out of my bed in the early morning darkness never to be seen again. That is just one more reason I feel so very fortunate to be an American and to live in America. I may not love vanilla ice cream, but I do love the different cultures, different beliefs of our wide variety of people. It is all about choices. My choice is to write.

To further free speech and facilitate better communication between us, I have asked our terrific editor, Marika to start a new section in 92127 eweekly entitled, "Letters to the Editor", (see below). If you want to submit a guest article or comment on any of our stories or the information we provide, or anything else for that matter, feel free to send us an email at editor@trustshay.com

Let's hear what you have to say!

Have a great week! 

 

Ray & Theresa Shay 

Info@TrustShay.com 

Tornado and The Shotgun - Written by Ray Shay

I think I could write about police work every week. Though I find it interesting, I am not sure how it would reflect in our surprising very high open rate of 92127eweekly. Our kids will enjoy the story because they are always asking for me to talk about my experiences on SDPD. Instead of telling them another story, I will tell them to just sit down and read it.

I believe fun is an important aspect of any high risk profession. People do this type of work because they love it. Part of the fun of being a street cop is responding to radio calls. Some of the radio calls we would refer to as, "good" radio calls. In cop talk, a "good" radio call has to have danger. It is why we signed up. From experience, you learn quickly radio calls can go from, "good" to "bad" faster then you can blink your eyes. And it sometimes did. But until it does go bad, enjoy it. If it goes really bad, hang on, never quit, and remember to preserve human life first. Everything else is replaceable.

While working in Logan Heights in the mid 1980's, PCP or "Angel dust" was a very popular drug. It was like that in the poorer neighborhoods of San Diego County. Part of the reasons was because PCP was not as expensive as cocaine and it was easy to manufacturer. That made the supply of this very dangerous hallucinogenic drug plentiful. Dealing with "sherm heads, "PCP freaks" and people, "moon walking" was all part of a night on patrol in Logan Heights.

Most people do not know, but PCP was originally developed as an elephant tranquilizer. When a human smokes PCP they display amazing strength and power. They feel no pain, so they may actually be tearing tendons or breaking bones and not even know it. Their eyes will actually bounce vertically when they look up our down displaying a symptom called, vertical nystagmus. The first time you see it, it is kind of freaky. It was cool training new patrol officers on how to recognize, manage, and safely arrest these unpredictable drug users.

People high on PCP are usually pretty easy to recognize. Some nights I felt lIke we were in the movie, Night of the Living Dead. There were zombies wandering the streets of Imperial Ave and the adjoining letter streets like J,K, and L. People under the influence would even occasionally extend their arms in front of them and, "moon walk" lifting their knees up very high and lightly placing their feet back on the ground.

Often being non-communicative, they would just have a, "blank stare" on their faces and not respond when we spoke to them. We of course would speak softly if possible, in order to not overstimulate their response systems. Responding units would, "drop code" a few blocks away turning their sirens and lights off and try and approach the suspect quietly. No yelling, calming the situation, and applying not only one, but yes, two sets of handcuffs.

Like a dragon from a forbidden kingdom you also had to avoid getting a strong smell of their breath. It was very harsh and frequently smelled like caustic chemicals, (almost like gasoline or paint thinner). And of course to make it even more interesting, we would sometimes find them naked or disrobing. They would strip off their clothes due to their increased body temperature. It was weird on cold nights. We would be wearing jackets, seeing our breath in the cold air, and right there in the middle of the public park is a person high on PCP wearing only on his birthday suit.

I immediately suspected it was a person on PCP when the radio in my patrol car crackled, "511John, 513 Frank, respond to a report of a man armed with a knife on Kearney Ave. Suspect's mother is reporting her son is going crazy, tearing up the house. He has no shirt on and is out of control. She ran to a neighbor’s home to call for help. This is coming in as a hot call". A hot call means the lead dispatcher is monitoring the incoming radio call and direct dispatching. Bottom line, less time delay in receiving critical information.

Around nine at night is a bad time for this type of radio call to come in. Graveyard shift officers are just starting line-up at the sub station and many of our peers from second watch were out of service with arrests and/or investigations. Normally the radio would come alive on a call like this because it is the type of radio call police officers want to go to. Not as much because there may be gunplay, but because the challenge is big. Kind of like when the San Diego Chargers play Denver at mile Mile High Stadium on Monday Night Football. You want to be there in the trenches, struggling to make sure the right side wins.

Any call or contact you make as a cop one of the first things you always consider is how far away your cover is. And no, it is not a neighbor or anyone else other then a cop, Sheriff Deputy, or a CHP officer. A person you can count on. A real law enforcement officer. I know people read about citizens stepping up and helping a cop in need. In reality, that is rarer then a free beer at a Padre game. As we parked our marked patrol cars near the residence we heard the screams coming from inside the home.

Without getting too technical or scientific describing any other force options, I knew we needed stopping power. I reached over and pushed the electronic magnetic release on the shotgun mount in our squad car. It gave that loud reassuring click that confirmed it was ready to help. It was not another police officer, but I knew I could count on it. As I drew the cold metal shotgun with a wooden grip from the car I kept looking for the mother. I then heard another high pitched scream from inside the home. Without saying another word we all knew we had to enter the home now. The option of waiting for more cover to arrive was just taken off the table. He may kill his mom before they get in there.

Yelling, San Diego Police Department, we kicked open the front door and entered. We immediately felt like we were stepping into a sauna. Everything was steamy and wet. The interior of the home looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Every item was broken, torn and scattered about. Clothes, paperwork, broken furniture and lamps were all piled near the center of the room. In the far corner we could see the pipe attaching the hot water heater to the wall was spewing hot water against the ceiling. As I scanned the room, looking over the barrel of the shotgun, I saw the water heater move. With the sound of screeching metal we then heard that high pitched scream again. It was not the mother at all. It was her son. He had his arms wrapped around the water heater as he tried to wrestle it away from the wall.

We identified ourselves again and told him to stop and put his hands up. Dressed only in his Baker, Victor, David's, (BVD's) he stared intently at us for about three seconds as he appeared to be processing what was occurring. He then released the water heater and stared intently at what now had his undivided interest. In my heart I knew then it was not us. That was just before he attacked us. We all knew what he really wanted to play with next. It was my 12 gauge shotgun loaded with 00 buck. .

Like a wet cat he suddenly came bounding over the piles of debri trying to grab the shotgun. He was on us in seconds. I remember turning away from him and trying to pass the shotgun to my trainee who was behind me. I extending it as far as I could away from my body to keep it out of the suspects reach. I felt like Phillip Rivers trying to avoid a crashing safety as his amped up, drug fed body, impacted all of us. His wet hair was against my face as he grunted and screamed trying with both hands to reach the shotgun. His breath and incoherent screaming confirmed what we already knew.

After an expedited, emergency call for more cover and allot of wrestling on the wet dirty floor, (while protecting the suspect from grabbing our holstered handguns) we finally got him handcuffed. Though I have never spoken great Spanish, what the mother said afterwards was very understandable. She was very grateful she still had a son. It was not a win for the Chargers in Denver, but we felt pretty good.

This experience like so many other nights on patrol, make me feel fortunate of where I am and how blessed Theresa, myself, and our boys are to live in this place, and at this time. I know allot of people are struggling with the economy, but times will get better. I promise.


Theresa and I hope you have a great week.

Exclusive 92127 Real EstateTREND REPORT

As I mentioned in January, the buyers are out and demand for residential homes continues to increase. Other realtors are even submitting back up offers on our properties in escrow that their clients have not seen! It has been several years since this occurred last and just an indicator of a tightening housing market where supply will continue to drop and prices will eventually rise. If you want to put your money to work, get off the sidelines.

In the attached report, prepared exclusively for Shay Realtors, you'll find easy-to-read graphs with statistics, and valuable information broken down into bite-size pieces about current market trends specifically for our zip code. There are two options: Condo Report or Single Family Report

Easter Sunday and Sister JosephineWritten by Ray Shay

While coloring Easter eggs with our boys on Easter Sunday, I had two thoughts. One was that our likely future President of the United States of America, Mitt Romney has it right. Sunday's are for families. I then thought about our youngest son, Ryan going into third grade, I immediately recalled Sister Josephine.

I grew up Catholic. Boy, did I grow up Catholic. Catholic school, church, even my sister became a nun and lived in a convent. Wow! As good as she was, I was probably the opposite. I found being an altar boy a challenge I was not very good at. Something's your good at while other things not so much. I never felt comfortable around the candles or walking on the altar steps. I also never got to ring those darn bells. It did not help I was so paranoid. I was always afraid I was going to trip on my white robe and tumble across the altar. All the kids from school never would have stopped laughing.

I only lasted until the third grade in Catholic school. I was secretly very happy when my mom got in an argument with a priest or someone else at the parish and pulled all four of my brothers, both of my sisters and me out of the school. Besides, I don't know how my dad ever afforded it to start with. United States Naval Aviators were not paid much back then.

I never told my mom about Sister Josephine, my third grade teacher. When I first met Sister Josephine I thought she was an angel. She spoke so sweetly and even looked like an angel. That was until the day I spelled the word, "Because" wrong. Now, whenever I write that word, I always get it right. I know why. It was because of Sister Josephine on that fateful day in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where the sun was streaming so brilliantly into her classroom.

I admit I probably tested Sister Josephine a bit. Even in grade school I enjoyed talking with my classmates and making them laugh. I remember being called up in front of the class to spell the word "Because" on the chalkboard. I don't recall whether I put the u before the a or an a before the c. The laughter among my peers was the indicator that something was amiss. I thought it was pretty funny too. It must have pushed Sister Josephine over the edge. I just recall her Angelique voice changed dramatically and somewhere from her habit she drew a wooden ruler faster than Hans Solo could have activated his light saber.

I don't recall exactly if she hit me on just one hand or both. As I think back it was probably both. I still sit her and wonder how she managed to do that. I recall her command of the classroom was instantly regained and to say the least all laughter stopped. I think I was assigned to write the, word "because" fifty times that night. I recall carefully hiding the paper from my mom. The very next day, I returned to the chalkboard, bruised knuckles and all. Guess what? No more class clown. I probably looked like a "dead man walking" as I approached the front of the class. To this day, I am just glad I finally spelled it right.

Having seen children attending classes all over the County of San Diego, and the challenges teachers face, I almost wish teachers could all be issued those rulers and receive specialized Jedi Training to become proficient in the use of ruler sabers. Being older now, it is hard to admit it, but I deserved the "whacking". Sister Josephine if your alive today, you really are an angel. Anyone who teaches our children are angels and though you do not get paid enough now, I believe God understands. He will reward you for the care and love each of you give our children. Thank you.


Have a great week,

Ray & Theresa Shay

It's The Small Things...

Have you ever been in a storm of emotion or uncertainty and among all the excitement a certain look or moment touches you in a much bigger way then the whole of the sum? This happened countless times at critical incidents on SDPD. Someone would comment afterwards, "That crime scene, shooting incident, or barricaded suspect was (fill in the blank). The big picture is the story, but what I often recall and still do are the small things. The look on someone's face,a certain sound, a scent, or something as simple as a small child's shoe, still tied, lying on its side, all alone.

I do not recall as much, seeing the small things in civilian life, but I think we all do. As an example, Theresa and I got word they were installing our lighted sign on the outside of our new Community Hub (tm) at 4S Commons Shopping Center. I admit, I was a bit nervous.

The latest hurricane in our lives has been obtaining the County of San Diego building permits, contractor bids, lease issues, insurance, staffing plan, and just about everything else. I almost said to the Matthew Sign Company,as they started to install the signs, "Can you please tell John Still that Theresa and I were only joking. Were really not going to open a new Community Hub. Just pack up your stuff". In reality, I think it was just a feeling of stage fright.

It was not a barricaded suspect problem, but it was still pretty fun. With the clatter of the power drills and the sight of the letters from our sign scattered around the parking lot like a giant scrabble game, the installers went to work. I had spent many sleepless nights dreaming about this day and what the future would hold. Many people and some nationwide companies advised us, "Your concept will not work". One company lawyer from a well-known brand even stated, "What your proposing will not increase your value at all". If my father was alive today,he would have simply said, "Don't let the bas*#$(& get you down. Do what you think is right" That is what we are doing..

As we were watching the sign company workers, two friends, Paul and Rebecca Costa, owners of, Fun Flicks, stopped by to say,"hi".
Then it happened. The little thing. The small hand that reaches up and grabs the emotion of the moment and will forever define the big event with something rather small. I know when Theresa and I think back to this day, and how this event had impacted our lives, we will think of a young man. An unemployed young man who touched our hearts and does not even know it.

After taking the group picture we stood near the doorway looking out into the parking lot. A young man about nineteen or twenty years, old walked past the front door of our Community Hub. He then stopped and abruptly took a couple steps back and looked at the four of us. A genuine smile emerged on his face as his eyes lit up. His deep brown beautiful eyes against his dark skin were captivating. I could see the excitement in his eyes. He then said very clearly, "A new business... Are you hiring, any jobs available? I sensed the hope in his eyes as well as in the tone of his voice.

It immediately reminded me of the difficult time that America is confronted with right now. So many very talented people are willing and able to work but simply cannot find employment. On the flip side, small business owners are fighting so hard against a difficult economy, limited availability of lending and ever tightening regulations and taxes.

My gut response was ready to yell out, "darn right we are". My heart was telling me, that I not only wanted to give him a job, but also fifty or five hundred other people just like him. Then my brain and common sense screeched on the brakes.

The young man and I had a good discussion. I asked if by chance if he had a real estate license, but he did not. He was very articulate and we wished him the best of luck. As Theresa and I look back to today, I will likely mix up the particulars of our build out and the sign installation, but I will never forget the look of hope in that young man’s eyes. I will keep the spirit of his hope alive and we will work hard to achieve our goals. Near the top of our list is the sincere hope to provide more opportunities for others.


Enjoy your week,