I posted on the forum some months ago, and on other social media, an article on Gustan Cho and Associates. How we met and the process of applying for a mortgage. I also explained how his team waded through misinformation on my wife’s and my credit rating. His diligent help secured us a mortgage on a new home in Ocala, Florida. Ocala is centrally located in the middle of the state, an hour and a half drive to the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean. We escaped the traffic and all the new arrivals in Tampa. This may be the last toe hole in Florida that is very nice and affordable. Gustan Cho was able to get us a very reasonable home mortgage and insurance, which we bundled and saved more money on.

The interesting thing about Gustan Cho and his team is that their values extended past the signing of our loan. He researched lower rates, and one week before closing, he had us reapply for the mortgage. A very scary situation with the closing the week later. He streamlined the loan, and we were giving a mortgage at a lower rate—1.75% lower—a huge savings each month. His business mantra, which I explained in my first article, held true even after closing.

His concern for people is something you will never find in a clause in a contract.

As of today, Gus is constantly looking for a lower rate. When the rate goes down and there is equity in the home, it might be time to refinance. If so, Gustan Cho is on it.

The entire moving process is extremely stressful, to say the least. Starting with the mortgage, then home owners insurance, not to mention the dozen or so phone calls for change of address and medical coverage. We moved 100 miles away from Tampa, and we are in a whole new PPO medical insurance district. All the prior information given has to be re-given. The insurance company must explain each and every plan; after two hours of nonsense, we had the same medical plan as before. I swear the phone calls, automatic messages, and the AI giving advice were the most stressful.

All the horror stories about moving are true, and for the most part, my wife and I were very fortunate. Starting with a wonderful real estate broker, who, as Gus, looked out for our best interests. I always wondered who a real estate broker works for. They need the house and the owner to sell the home, and then they also need the buyers.

The moving company was exceptional. We called four for quotes, and ironically, the one we chose was the least expensive. They arrived at 10 a.m., two trucks and seven guys. The packing of our items was handled with great care. The bubble wrap they used was close to two miles long! Nothing was damaged; they needed an additional truck at no charge; they kept to the quote on the contract; there was no small print to trip you up. When the ordeal was completed, moving everything in and arranging what and where we wanted items, it was 11 p.m. A hard day’s work. The work ethic with these guys was amazing!

Other nightmares you may have heard or experienced for yourself were about builders. We have friends who had a $400,000 home built. There were dozens of issues with plumping, electrical, etc.; calls were placed and never returned; they have been pursuing the builders for over a year. Our builder’s assistant has been over every day for the first week, fixing minor things that occur normally with a new home and keeping true to the home warranty. Each worker, and sometimes three workers at a time, showed up respectful of our home and continuously apologized for the inconvenience.

If you need a real estate broker in Florida, get in touch with new homes on a quarter acre for right now under $280,000! The same is true for an outstanding mortage guy. If your need is movers in Florida, let me know. I will be more than happy to pass on information that will make your Florida move actually pleasant.

The Old Man and the Chair

Every month or so I visit my ailing uncle in a nursing home on Long Island. He is the last living sibling of my mother. Alfonso is 91 years old, his memory is intact, but his body is failing. Just ask the nurses about Zio, he a regular Don Juan. His greatest joy when I visit is to wheel him out on the patio for fresh air, we reminisce about our family which are long gone, he asks of my children, but can’t remember their names, all is good with Zio Alfonso, I was named after him, my name is Al.

Every time we take the fresh air I notice an old man sitting off by himself in a make shaft rocking chair. He sits under this canapé, well not exactly, it is an old canvas tarp riddled with holes, and stares directly at the sky. The wind blows and the canapé flaps, I would find this mostly annoying having the wind in my face. The old man sits an stares for hours with a look of serenity on his face. His face is weathered like that of a man who worked outdoors, his hands were large and strong, they are calloused. His neck is broad and leather wore from direct sun. He appears to be about 90, when I ask my uncle about him, my uncle turns and says in his broken English, “pay no attention to him, he is an old fool, just sits and stares, and one comes to visit him.” My uncle lacked social skills and always had an opinion on everything. However, I paid the old man no mind as suggested.

Month after month I visit my uncle and see the old man, finally I had to ask the old man why he sits and stares. One day after visiting my uncle, who was nearing the end of his life, I got the nerve to ask him. I asked, “ why do you sit there old man?” He answered, “ this is my life now as I am an old man with no family, I sit and remember the past.” “Do you have any children, I queried?” “No,” replied the old man, “never had any, I was away from home most of my life and never settled down,” I thought how awful for the old man, alone and old. The old man said,” I am most content sitting and staring at the sky, I lost most of my eye sight some years ago from diabetes.”

I was intrigued, “ what was your occupation?” “I was a sailor,” he answered. “My home is the sea.” He went on and added, “ I joined the Navy at 16, fought in WWII, been sailing ever since.” Wow, I thought to myself, this guy is a living history book. “I long for the sea, the salt air, the wind that caressing my face, the burning of the sun on my neck, and the singing of whales.” “When was the last time you sailed?” The old man let go with a hardy laugh, some what similar to an old pirate. “ Argh, ha, ha, ha, its been maybe thirty years since I’ve sailed a schooner.” Now I’m thinking, a schooner is a small two masted boat. “Now, I just sit and feel the wind and listen to the flapping of the canapé, reminds me of the sails.” I said good bye and promised him when I returned to visit my uncle I would stop by and say hello.

The next month’s visit was saddened by the passing of my beloved Zio Alfonso. He had lived a long wonderful life, I soon realized that he was the last of the Italian immigrants arriving at Ellis Island over eighty years ago. I sat on the patio where I would wheel my uncle, I sat and stared, looking through the old man in the chair. When suddenly, someone yelled, “ hey, kid, I’m sorry about your uncle, come sit with me a while.” The old man in the chair sensed I was near.

“Why, thank you sir, he was the last of the elders.”

My Zio had left an inheritance for me, nothing big, I was his only close relative. Ten thousand dollars and a note that read, “ do something good for someone, or do someone something good.” He spoke in Yogi Berra-isms.

Never making sense at first, but eventually there were words of wisdom. I sat with the old man for an hour where I would sit with my Zio, on the back patio of the nursing home. The old man and I sat for hours never saying a word. When he suddenly said, “ would you please come see me time to time?” How could I possibly say no, he was lonely and I was still mourning my Zio. I reposted, “Certainly, maybe not every month but I will come visit with you, is there anything you need?” The old man though for a moment and said, “just a visit now and then.”

A month went by and I didn’t visit, I was feeling guilty, so the next Saturday I drove to the nursing home it was at the end of Long Island, Montauk. “Do something good for someone,” my Zio’s words resonated in my head. I had to make one stop before I visited the old man. When I arrived he was happy to see me and said, “ thanks for coming, I feel my end is near, it hasn’t been a good weak for me.” I spoke to the nurse, he was depressed and lonely. I asked the nurse if he could travel, she responded, “ only short distances with an aide.” Would he be able to take a quick ride over to the Montauk pier?” The nurse said as long as she went along.

The three of us hopped into one of the nursing homes’s van with the nurse driving.” Where are we going?”she questioned me. “Just to the pier as I winked my eye.” The old man was thrilled to be out and about. We pulled up the pier and we walked to the end, the old man knew he was close to the ocean as he inhaled deeply and sighed. I had rented a schooner for the day,” do something good for someone.” Yogi again in my head. I wheeled him to the bow and sat him in a fishing chair. As we slowly pulled away from the pier I could see the joy on his face. He finally had the wind in his sails, the sun on his neck and the seagulls were serenading him with the flapping of the sails. He quietly cried tears of joy.

When the sailing trip was done he thanked me for the wonderful memory and I promised to visit next month. The next month’s visit was my last, the old man passed away. The nursing staff said they had never seen him so happy during the last month. Before his cremation was scheduled I called the State Department to let them know of his passing. They said the Navy will depose of the his body. Three days later the United States Navy showed up with an entire fleet of sailors. He had been one of the last survivors of the USS Arizona in Pearl Harbor.

The old man in the chair was given a full naval funeral with a burial at sea in Pearl Harbor, where he now rests with his shipmates.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Lnb9fLFWiI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RG1H-KkxwpQ

Sing and dance like no one is watching,

Text and email like it will be read in court.

Like a scene from “Night of the Living Dead,” they will come into your home and take over. Zombies are everywhere; just when you thought it was safe, the zombies appear. Think about getting a pool; the zombies will take it. Renovation’s a great idea, but the zombies will come.

Zombie mortgage, or at least the term, was coined in 2008 after the crash of banks and the real estate business. What exactly is a zombie mortgage? It is a secondary mortgage when purchasing a house. Jack and Jill can’t afford the 20% payment, so they borrowed from their aunt in Peoria to secure the house. The bank has a 30-year mortgage on the home, and they need good reason to foreclose. The owners are paying the first mortgage, not the second; they have their own arrangement. However, the secondary holders of the mortgage can foreclose whenever they want. Scary, “Night of the Living Dead,” scary.

Usually, it is assumed that the secondary mortgage is forgiven in six to ten years, and the loan lies dormant for years, basically forgotten about. Surprise, that isn’t always the case.

Jack and Jill are getting divorced; Aunt Hazel from Peoria is Jill’s aunt. What could happen if the aunt calls the note in? It’s a really messy divorce; Jack cheated on Jill, and Jill wants revenge. The aunt sends Jack a foreclosure notice. Meanwhile, Jack has to pay and vacate the home.

Jill, being Aunt Hazel’s favorite niece, assumes ownership. This is a real-life scenario.

In the last two years, ten thousand zombie mortgages were called in for payment in New York. This is happening every day during the week.

In the event of a zombie attack, remember that they aren’t that smart but awfully strong. Make barricades against all doors. Don’t open windows and get to high ground; they can’t climb.

The CDC wants you to be prepared. They have a practical handbook available. Your guide to the “apocalypse.” Similar to hurricane preparation.

Stock up on water, wine, and garlic.

How to frighten the new generation. Put them in a room with a rotary phone, an analog watch and a television without a remote control and leave the directions in cursive.

How to frighten the old generation, put them in front of a computer, ask them to up-load a picture, down-load a file, create a PDF then share to a social media, while CCing all contacts with the letter z in their names.

My son got so mad when he called me and I didn’t answer. He keep asking, “where are you?” And I said, “I’m here, you just can’t see me.” I identify with, “Transparent, and my pronouns are who and where.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UoBnF48RWU

Growing up in Greenwich Village during the 1950s and 1960s allowed me to be exposed to the melting pot of historical writers. Thomas Paine, William Sydney Porter. [O’Henry] Mark Twain and James Baldwin, just to name a few. They all lived in The Village and embraced the Bohemin life style. For many years aspiring writers have flocked there. However, there are also locally born writers plying their craft. Charles Messina, Alfred Caneccchia, Dom Perruccio and myself. I can say I have know Charles Messina since he was born on Thompson Street. Charles has written many screen plays and plays, his latest musical play soon to be on Broadway, “The Wanderer.” Based on the life of Dion DiMucci, Dion and The Belmonts. Al Caneechia has written many books, “Greenwich Village Vignettes,” the Village seen through his eyes. “When Greenwich Village Was Ours,” which I contributed a short story. My buddy Dom Perruccio, he and Charles wrote, “Stomping Ground, Growing Up On The Streets of Greenwich Village,” His latest work is a beautifully illustrated book, “The Adventures of Miss Canoli The Scamp,” a wonderful tribute to his dog.

We will never be as famous as the afore mentioned writers, their creativity has cemented a place in Greenwich Village for current writers and writers of the future. Growing up in Greenwich Village during the 1950s and 1960s allowed me to be exposed to the melting pot of historical writers. Thomas Paine, William Sydney Porter. [O’Henry] Mark Twain and James Baldwin, just to name a few. They all lived in The Village and embraced the Bohemin life style. For many years aspiring writers have flocked there. However, there are also locally born writers plying their craft. Charles Messina, Alfred Caneccchia, Dom Perruccio and myself. I can say I have know Charles Messina since he was born on Thompson Street. Charles has written many screen plays and plays, his latest musical play soon to be on Broadway, “The Wanderer.” Based on the life of Dion DiMucci, Dion and The Belmonts. Al Caneechia has written many books, “Greenwich Village Vignettes,” the Village seen through his eyes. “When Greenwich Village Was Ours,” which I contributed a short story. My buddy Dom Perruccio, he and Charles wrote, “Stomping Ground, Growing Up On The Streets of Greenwich Village,” His latest work is a beautifully illustrated book, “The Adventures of Miss Canoli The Scamp,” a wonderful tribute to his dog.

We will never be as famous as the afore mentioned writers, their creativity has cemented a place in Greenwich Village for current writers and writers of the future. Growing up in Greenwich Village during the 1950s and 1960s allowed me to be exposed to the melting pot of historical writers. Thomas Paine, William Sydney Porter. [O’Henry] Mark Twain and James Baldwin, just to name a few. They all lived in The Village and embraced the Bohemin life style. For many years aspiring writers have flocked there. However, there are also locally born writers plying their craft. Charles Messina, Alfred Caneccchia, Dom Perruccio and myself. I can say I have know Charles Messina since he was born on Thompson Street. Charles has written many screen plays and plays, his latest musical play soon to be on Broadway, “The Wanderer.” Based on the life of Dion DiMucci, Dion and The Belmonts. Al Caneechia has written many books, “Greenwich Village Vignettes,” the Village seen through his eyes. “When Greenwich Village Was Ours,” which I contributed a short story. My buddy Dom Perruccio, he and Charles wrote, “Stomping Ground, Growing Up On The Streets of Greenwich Village,” His latest work is a beautifully illustrated book, “The Adventures of Miss Canoli The Scamp,” a wonderful tribute to his dog.

We will never be as famous as the afore mentioned writers, their creativity has cemented a place in Greenwich Village for current writers and writers of the future.

Years ago when you worked 30 years for a company and retired they gave you a gold watch, a pension and a thank you for being a loyal employee. Today if you work for a larger corporation they give you a pink slip at 55. You are now too old for the company. They can hire two of you and save a bundle. At 55 your health becomes a concern, data shows you will get sick and it will cost the company dearly. No more loyalty, what are you supposed to do at 55? No one will hire you, you’re old. To me age is only a number a concept. If you stay healthy and avoid stress, stress is the big corporate killer, you may live a long life. Diet and exercise will help. I have my own theories of exercise. A rabbit hops around all their life and it lives many 8 years or so, a dog runs and jumps and lives to 12. Now a turtle sit on his ass all day and lived to 150. Be a turtle, no mortgage, no HOA and extremely mobile.

My latest novella about racial tension in Gulfport, Mississippi in 1950s.

What determines rural living? Being raise in NYC anything with a lawn was rural. Suburbia was the country to me. When I moved west and worked in vineyards I got a better idea. I can sum it up in two words. “Dirt Road” unsaved, pebbles is my definition, and a septic tank.

I had the pleasure of being one of the contributing writers.

So this teacher decides to give her 5th grade class an essay assignment. She asks the class, “What would you do with a million dollars?” All the kids start scribbling sentences, when off to the side sat this young just staring ahead. The says, “ Linda, did you not understand the question?” The girl responds, “ yes, ma’am I did, I’m waiting for my secretary.

Peter Arcuri is a professional writer and author of four books. Peter Arcuri and his wife Doreen live in Florida. Born and raised in New York, Peter Arcuri is a man of many talents and is a consultant to many entrepreneurs and businesses including GCA Group and its subsidiary partners. Peter Arcuri is also a member of GCA FORUMS and a contributer to the news division of Gustan Cho Associates and third party editor for all GCA Group websites and social media platforms. Here’s a Video by Peter Arcuri tge singing Wine Guy

https://youtu.be/RG1H-KkxwpQ?si=isq4xrXbFNmUTZ87