Kim Kash's Blog

This latest incarnation of my blog looks strangely like the one I wrote in Saudi Arabia—when I was pondering the notion of home. What does “home” mean? Where is it? What happens to the notion of home when you move halfway around the globe and make your home within a culture that is more foreign to you than anything you could have imagined? And THEN, what happens when you move back again to where you were born and raised? Is home a physical construct, or cultural? Is it about who your neighbors are, who you are, what the actual structure is—is it all of these?

My parents owned a real estate company—Kash, Inc. Realtors. “We Buy Homes for Cash.” So really, I’ve been stewing in the concept of “home” from day one. When my husband and I moved to Saudi Arabia in 2009, I had the time to cook and garden and be really intentional about creating a home. That’s probably why I was inspired to blog about the subject of home—because I was doing all these June Cleaverish sorts of things while living out in the middle of Bedouin Country in Saudi Arabia’s Eastern Province.

I felt a real attachment to that home, and to the one that followed a couple of years later, when a job change moved us a couple of hours north to the company’s headquarters in Dhahran. As soon as we were assigned that house, I hired contractors to paint the walls using colors more whimsical and vivid that I might have chosen for my “real” house. Weird, because it was absolutely my “real” house. We had no other.

The quiet of the night was eerie at first, and later it was comforting. I remember the cacophony of dove cries in the morning (my husband called them Smoking Doves because they all sounded hoarse and throaty, as if they had pack-a-day habits.)

I can still feel the soft heat outside late at night on our patio. Some friends gave us this ridiculously heavy bar when they retired. We hauled it into the sheltered portion of our patio and stocked it with the bathtub booze we all drank there. We had a cover made for it, to protect it from the fine dust that permeates every outdoor thing in Saudi Arabia.

I probably baked 100 loaves of bread in our Saudi kitchen, and we cranked out Thanksgiving dinner for two dozen friends. In that boxy stucco house we had birthday celebrations, game nights, and plenty of music parties with other expats eager to belt out classic American and British rock standards.

I wrote two novels in that house. That house was home.

Now that I am back again in my hometown after seven years in Saudi Arabia, I am selling real estate. It all makes sense, doesn’t it? I now make my living selling homes, helping people find places that (hopefully) sustain them and shelter them from the world—physically but also emotionally, psychologically, symbolically.

During this pandemic we are sheltering in the house that we bought while we were overseas, sight unseen, just a few doors down from my sister. I grew up on this street, played in the vacant lot next door. My husband remembers cutting through the back yard of this house on his way to St. Hugh’s Parochial School. Roots don’t go any deeper than this, at least not in American suburbia.

Our lives create home, out of whatever place it is where we shelter. Wherever you are, I hope you are sheltering in a place that you love, where you actually do feel sheltered. I hope that right now you have what you need to stay home, safe.

 

The Berry House, before

Friends! I’ve done it. Together with an investment partner, I’ve purchased a home to renovate and resell. It’s a sweet old bungalow with water views in Pasadena, MD. Pasadena is north of Annapolis, south of Baltimore. Affectionately known as The ‘Dena, Pasadena is classic old-school Maryland. Lots of work trucks in driveways, older-style homes with house-proud owners. Oh: and in this particular neighborhood, there are also gorgeous views of wide, navigable Stoney Creek.

This is exactly the kind of project I’d been looking for: a truly distressed house with graceful bones, in an affordable but really special location. Sounds impossible, but this house is all those things.I mean, it’s my first flip and it has a water view? Wow.

We’re chronicling the renovation on our business site, and I invite you to join us for the ride!

Captain Midnight

We got a new dog! This glossy, gorgeous mutt, a Lab-Pointer mix, came to us from the Prince George’s County shelter, and now our whole household routine has changed. You know how you think you’re too busy to add anything to your schedule, and then some major life event happens and somehow you just find the time? That’s how it has been around here with our new dog.

I will say, my husband has taken on most of the dog-related responsibilities—feeding, walking, training, socializing at the dog park, playing tug, taking him to work sometimes. (He’s a great office dog, being a dedicated foot-sitter and mostly quiet. Mostly.) I’m pitching in with lots of belly scratches and extended lounging on the living room floor.

Captain Midnight (he came to us named “Midnight” and we promoted him) does best when he is given love, love, love, love, love and a predictable routine. Kind of like people, right? So having the Cap’n around is making me think about the importance of keeping to my own routines.

As a self-employed person, the structure of my day is up to me. If I’m loosey-goosey with my time, then I don’t get much done, and I don’t sell much real estate. When I stick to my schedule, check off my lists, and do what I need to do per my business plan, then everything goes so much better. How about that! Having a dog in the house, a time-suck, to be quite honest, is somehow making this life lesson clearer to me.

Captain Midnight out for an afternoon of crabbing

The other great thing about this new dog is how much he’s getting us out to enjoy our fine state of Maryland. My husband has taken him crabbing on the Chesapeake. Together we’ve hiked with him and followed up with a wine-tasting at a nearby vineyard with a dog-friendly patio.

As pet owners, it’s our job to make our dog’s life great. I mean otherwise, why get a pet? In the process, our own home life has become pretty fun too!

Family hike

KT Ehrlinger’s weirdly spacious tiny house

Dream Tiny, the tiny house building and design consulting company started by my Caprika Realty colleague KT Ehrlinger, was one of the featured exhibitors at this year’s Tiny House Expo at the Howard County Fairgrounds.

I went to see what it was all about, and to lend a hand to KT and her team on the busy expo floor. Here are some shots of KT’s tiny house.

Rear view of the tiny house. Note the gutter and downspout, leading to the water collection and purification system inside.

Wine storage and generous under-the-counter fridge. Priorities, people.

Full-sized sink and a generous counter, big enough to accommodate an induction-heat stovetop.

KT’s tiny house was the most spacious of the tiny houses at the expo, with very high ceilings and a wide, double French door that cries out for placement in front of some beautiful vista. Where most others use a loft bed (wake up in the night and crack your head on the ceiling, anyone?) KT uses a Murphy bed, just like in a tiny urban apartment. Being tall myself, all of KT’s design choices really worked for me!

That said, the others had a more dollhouse-like quality that is quite charming. Here are exterior shots of several.

This one borrows the bump-out concept from large mobile homes.

Loft bed is in that little bump-out on the left half of the roof line.

Look at that covered front porch!

Love the modern vibe of this one.

Chic roofline!

This teensy cabin would look right at home in the forest.

Such careful detail! That half-moon window is so charming.

This one seems more like a little garden shelter, someplace to have a tea party!

Of course, the tiny home concept isn’t really new—just the design focus that elevates these structures from trailer to high style. There were some throwbacks to an earlier era here, too: a mini yurt, a DIY box truck conversion, and a couple of great school bus houses!

Love that they kept the Blue Bird above the door on this custom paint job.

Inside the bus, the kitchen area

Built-in seating in the bus

Another classic approach to tiny living: the van. Here’s a great one, all ready to park down by the river.

Plain white work van on the outside, cushy crash pad on the inside.

Flat screens and party lights inside the work van. It’s a rolling fiesta.

Sunday dinner al fresco

My husband and I don't have kids, but back-to-school time has always felt like the new year for me. A new, more serious focus on getting things done. Buckling down. Starting projects. I feel that back-to-school sentiment especially this year, because we had a blowout of a time at the end of our summer!

We had houseguests for two weekends in a row, and a big joyful musical house party. Then my in-laws moved into our house after selling their Greenbelt home. (This is a good thing, really!) 

Every Sunday night we have a potluck dinner with friends, and for the last two weeks the addition of our houseguests meant unusually large crowds around the table. In fact, two Sundays ago we had so many people, we had to move everything outside to the front lawn.

We are blessed beyond words to have such a big, gorgeous circle of family and friends, and to live in the unbelievably friendly, lovely town of Greenbelt. I do miss the travel and the financial ease of expat life--but wow, I love our life in the States!

Now, our house is empty and quiet. Our guests have all left. The in-laws have gone to their home in the mountains. The laundry is done, the house is in order. The annual Greenbelt Labor Day Festival is packed up and finished; the Ferris wheel that was next to the community center building is gone, cars are parked in the lot like nothing ever happened.

Like a student starting a fresh school year, I am looking forward to the fall season. I am building my real estate business, learning new neighborhoods, strengthening all of my existing relationships the way one must when building a service business. (What a lovely to-do list item: strengthen my friendships!)

And every day, I'm helping people who are looking for home--whatever that means to them. One couple needs a nice, accessible yard for their aging dog. Another client, a sharp dresser with a BMW convertible, is looking for a stylish place with a garage. A young investor is looking for her first rental property. Another hopes to pounce on a fixer-upper in a hot neighborhood near the district line.

As I add the building blocks to my business as a Realtor, every day I edge a little closer to being able to add to our own real estate investment portfolio. That's the road I'm on, and for the moment I am right where I need to be--learning the Maryland market inside and out, helping others to make their dreams of owning property come true.

After a magical summer packed full of boat rides and beach trips, family vacations and visits from distant friends, it feels great to sit at my desk and work. I'm looking forward to an autumn filled with evenings outside around the fire pit, long hikes, the quiet of the beach in the off-season. And I'm looking forward to work. 

A big thanks to Jon Tyson on Unsplash for this photo.

In these days of terrible political division and incivility, I am struck by the deep patriotism that can be found in … get this … the preamble to the Code of Ethics and Standards of Practice of the National Association of Realtors. 

It says this:

Under all is the land. Upon its wise utilization and widely allocated ownership depend the survival and growth of the free institutions and of our civilization. Realtors should recognize that the interests of the nation and its citizens require the highest and best use of the land and the widest distribution of land ownership. They require the creation of adequate housing, the building of functioning cities, the development of productive industries and farms, and the preservation of a healthful environment.

Such interests impose obligations beyond those of ordinary commerce. They impose grave social responsibility and a patriotic duty to which Realtors should dedicate themselves, and for which they should be diligent in preparing themselves. Realtors, therefore, are zealous to maintain and improve the standards of their calling and share with their fellow Realtors a common responsibility for its integrity and honor.

As with any industry, there are some negative stereotypes about real estate agents. (Okay, maybe we have more than our fair share!) We’re sharky. We’re only in it for the money. Then there’s Glengarry Glen Ross [shudder]. 

But that preamble, above, is the basis of my industry, and presupposes that land ownership is of paramount importance to “free institutions” and even “our civilization.” 

On Independence Day, as we consider the principles on which the United States of America is built, I think about the pervasive American Dream of home ownership. And I think, it’s pretty cool to know that the above Preamble serves as the foundation for what Realtors are all about. I’m happy to be in this business again.

 

I am the author of two novels and some short stories, a Middle Eastern expat returned home to Maryland, and a real estate investor.

For several years here on my blog I’ve been talking about expat life and travel in the Middle East, Europe and Asia, and slinging my two mystery novels, which are set in the Ocean City. Now, I’ll be writing about two generations of house flipping in the Washington, D.C. suburbs.

My husband and I have done well, buying trashed houses and making them our homes—but we weren’t doing it on purpose to be “house hackers,” not really. We just jumped on bargains in places where we wanted to live, and added a bunch of elbow grease.

Except for a brief stint as a Realtor over 20 years ago, I’ve been a working writer, editor and communications expert for my whole professional life.

But with a name and a pedigree like mine, eventually I must submit to my fate. And now, the time has come.

My father owned a real estate company that specialized in flipping, back before that was really a thing. Kash Realtors: We Buy Homes for Kash.

For more than 25 years, he and his business partner made a living buying distressed properties, renovating them, and reselling them. Mostly he bought in neighborhoods too crappy (and architecturally unappetizing) for even the most stalwart of urban pioneers.

Back then, my mom, my sister and I often cringed at the design choices made at those houses, which were generally based on what materials were cheap and/or easy to install and/or already sitting in in the storage room at the real estate office. When I briefly sold houses back in the 90s, I didn’t even hang my license with the family business. I wanted no part of it.

Now, I have gotten my real estate license again, and I am going to start flipping houses and helping others find good investments--but in my own style. I wish my father were still alive to give me advice. Not on renovation plans or, heaven forbid, selecting the best backsplash tile. No. Instead, I wish he could talk to me about how to make the numbers work. How to make a snap buying decision—as you must—and be confident about it. How to conduct this business in ways that are helpful, and not predatory or uncaring.  

Kash Realtors is long gone, but I'm affiliating this time around with Caprika Realty, owned by Brendan and Chelsea Spear. They're family too, in spirit--and in actuality, too, if you can map out the connection involving cousins and in-laws.

Follow me on this blog as I chronicle my own real estate and home renovation adventures, as I learn the business and share some sweet and some cringeworthy memories of Kash Realtor flips in the 1970s and 80s.

I am the author of two novels and some short stories, a Middle Eastern expat returned home to Maryland, and a real estate investor.

For several years here on my blog I’ve been talking about expat life and travel in the Middle East, Europe and Asia, and slinging my two mystery novels, which are set in the Ocean City. Now, I’ll be writing about two generations of house flipping in the Washington, D.C. suburbs.

My husband and I have done well, buying trashed houses and making them our homes—but we weren’t doing it on purpose to be “house hackers,” not really. We just jumped on bargains in places where we wanted to live, and added a bunch of elbow grease.

Except for a brief stint as a Realtor over 20 years ago, I’ve been a working writer, editor and communications expert for my whole professional life.

But with a name and a pedigree like mine, eventually I must submit to my fate. And now, the time has come.

My father owned a real estate company that specialized in flipping, back before that was really a thing. Kash Realtors: We Buy Homes for Kash.

For more than 25 years, he and his business partner made a living buying distressed properties, renovating them, and reselling them. Mostly he bought in neighborhoods too crappy (and architecturally unappetizing) for even the most stalwart of urban pioneers.

Back then, my mom, my sister and I often cringed at the design choices made at those houses, which were generally based on what materials were cheap and/or easy to install and/or already sitting in in the storage room at the real estate office. When I briefly sold houses back in the 90s, I didn’t even hang my license with the family business. I wanted no part of it.

Now, I have gotten my real estate license again, and I am going to start flipping houses and helping others find good investments--but in my own style. I wish my father were still alive to give me advice. Not on renovation plans or, heaven forbid, selecting the best backsplash tile. No. Instead, I wish he could talk to me about how to make the numbers work. How to make a snap buying decision—as you must—and be confident about it. How to conduct this business in ways that are helpful, and not predatory or uncaring.  

Kash Realtors is long gone, but I'm affiliating this time around with Caprika Realty, owned by Brendan and Chelsea Spear. They're family too, in spirit--and in actuality, too, if you can map out the connection involving cousins and in-laws.

Follow me on this blog as I chronicle my own real estate and home renovation adventures, as I learn the business and share some sweet and some cringeworthy memories of my Kash Realtor flips in the 1970s and 80s.

Murder for Hire, the indefatigable dinner theater troupe that has been dropping corpses around the Eastern Shore for more than two decades, will perform my latest script in Berlin at the Globe on Sunday, Oct. 29. But why am I telling you this? Tickets are sold out. I mean, really sold out. So far I haven't even been able to get one. So forget it, I won't even tell you about Murder on the High Seas. You don't need to know about Cap'n Tony's endless sea stories on this ill-fated cruise, or the yoga instructor who teaches hand-to-hand combat on deck at dawn. No use thinking about it.

What you should focus on instead, is getting your tickets to Murder for Hire's NEXT show, on Sunday, Dec. 10, also at The Globe. Go ahead, click through and book your tickets. Tony and Paulette Matrona and the rest of the gang will put on another dead-funny performance. If you want to make a beautiful holiday-themed weekend of it, arrive in Berlin Thursday evening for their Christmas parade. Then support local artists and craftspeople with some inspired gift-shopping during Friday evening's ArtWalk, also on Berlin's main street. Berlin is the loveliest town any time of year, and at Christmas it's truly magical. 

Let me know if you take me up on this! We can meet up and search out the mulled wine or hot cider that will surely be on offer that weekend on Berlin's main street.

Updated October 22, 2017: I'm back home in the United States now, and no longer feel the need to password-protect this blog. 

Dear Blog Subscribers,

I have just installed password protection to the blog portion of my web site. Given today's regional sensitivities, I'd rather be safe than sorry. If you'd like to continue having access to the blog, just drop me an email or leave me a comment, and I'll happily send you the keys to the front door!

Wishing you all the best,

Kim Kash