Newest articles and comments on The Sacramento Press written by Candace Taylor

Candace Taylor on "Mayor may start new environmental effort"

2010-01-05T19:45:50Z

Time to slip into your grungy Birkenstocks and peddle your urban mountain bikes to get some local, organic wheat juice while the city goes to hell in a handbasket. Aaaaah, so refreshing (and GREEN too). That's what Sacramento gets for voting in a dumb jock.

Candace Taylor on "City Council likes idea of Capitol Mall makeover"

2009-11-11T19:05:03Z

As Mammy said (from the book and movie "Gone with the Wind"), "You can dress a mule in horse harness, but it's still a mule!" Why are we spending time and money on this stupid project?

Candace Taylor on "Around&About | Del Paso Blvd"

2009-11-11T19:00:51Z

Great photos of a tiny slice of "redevelopment"...but, uh oh, you missed the "other" half of Del Paso Heights--around Marysville Blvd. and Grand Ave: The druggies walking their pit bulls up and down the street, the lovely Ho's hanging in front of the local grocery store, the jacked up cars with gang boys driving around town, the junky, funky houses & apartment buildings with a bazillion cars parked out in front, the "guys on 10-speeds" casing homes and businesses, and the boarded-up store fronts. Until the ingrained culture of drugs, poverty, gangs and violence are seriously addressed and erradicated, Del Paso Heights will continue to earn a poor reputation in this town!

Candace Taylor on "Horse-friendly alleys discussed"

2009-11-11T18:46:44Z

The major issue is that as prey animals, horses will spook, bolt, buck, get scared of things they don't understand and take "flight"--sometimes. As a lifelong horse owner (6 right now) I know first-hand that no horse on earth is "bomb proof" and getting dumped on concrete really hurts! But, if riding a 1,200 pd. animal around town really helps our officers, then I applaud the continued use of equines in law enforcement. Oh, and remember to always wear your helmets, vests, boots and gloves while riding.

Candace Taylor on "Dogs Gone Wild"

2009-11-11T18:28:20Z

I used to work for the Sacramento SPCA and I can attest to the fact that ANY dog breed can be dangerous. It all depends on how the dog was raised, trained, socialized (or lack of) by their human gaurdians. Sadly, many people aquire a dog without properly researching the breed or how to train it. And for some reason, Pit Bulls represent a "bully breed" that many unsavory people like to own (and also surrender to the shelter). Pet owners are responsible (and liable) for keeping their animals from roaming free and attacking! Those dogs lost their lives due to their human idiot owners who did not property contain, socialize or take responsibility for their dogs.

Candace Taylor on "Small Changes can Make Home Safer for Seniors"

2009-11-11T17:54:08Z

My Dad slipped, fell and broke his hip because the family dog slobbered water from the dog dish in the kitchen! He ended up getting hip surgery and died a week later from complications. Such a sad end to a wonderful life! As my parent's aged, we did everything we could to keep them safe in their home...except we overlooked something as simple as slobbery dog water.

Candace Taylor on "Dad's Notepad"

2009-11-07T01:00:44Z

Enjoy and honor your parents now--while they can still grasp your hand tightly and look you in the eye. I am forever grateful to my folks for hanging in there so long. Also, remember to ask about their early lives, childhood memories, career highlights, etc. while you can. Because once they're gone, all you have are scribbled notes on a pad and fading photographs (still on my fridge).

Short Sale Nightmare

2009-10-29T00:47:49Z

Orangevale, CA--Today, as my truck swung into the horseshoe driveway, Megan immediately saw the Notice of Trustee's Sale tacked to her front door, the locks had been changed, and a Realtor's lockbox was affixed to the entrance of the large family home with a pool and acreage. Her house had been sold at auction.

This was the end of my friend's dream. And as her Realtor, I was a reluctant witness to the final chapter.

Megan had tried to work out a "short sale" with the bank--selling the house for less than was owed. Within two weeks of listing the house, she even received two offers, one for cash. But, in the end, the bank decided to send the house to auction on October 26, 2009. On the steps of the Sacramento County Courthouse, Megan's house went up for auction. There were no bidders. The house reverted back to the lender. It is now "bank owned" also known as an REO property.

As a real estate broker, I've witnessed firsthand the horror stories that people endure trying to hang on to their homes. Megan was one of the thousands of folks who needed to modify their home loan--a loan, she quite frankly, shouldn't have tried to bite off. But Megan valiantly fought for two long years to lower her monthly mortgage payment. Stacks of paperwork spilled from three legal sized folders the day I took her short sale listing. "I can't get them to work with me!" She sobbed, gesturing towards the mountain of forms gently spilling off the table onto the back of her German Shepherd snoring on the kitchen floor--oblivious to the life altering scenario.

"I'll try to get the bank to approve a short sale, but this might take months." I explained. We listed the house for $200K less than was owed.

When the offers arrived, I pulled together a 40-page "Short Sale Package" that SunTrust Mortgage required. It took hours, but the package was submitted. After that, several weeks flew by while I tried to get someone, anyone from SunTrust to speak to me about the offers.

Each and every time I called the "Loss Mitigation Department" I was forced to explain the entire situation from the beginning. Rising at 5:00 a.m. for two weeks straight to call back East, my nerves were beginning to fray.

I swear, the representatives from SunTrust sounded like they were making up stuff each time I called. Exasperated, I said to one rep., "How come each time I call I have to explain the whole situation from the beginning? Don't you keep any electronic notes?" He yelled, "Woman, get a grip!" And put me on hold for 30 minutes. Ah well, so much for "customer service"

This afternoon, we piled a few items left in her garage into the back of the pickup to take back to her rented duplex. Megan said she felt ill--like she was going through a divorce or something totally life altering. After five years of living in her "Palazzo" as she called it, the bank would be looking for new owners. Megan wiped the tears from her eyes with back of her hand, patted the bricks fondly and whispered "Goodbye good house, we went through a lot together!"

Candace Taylor on "The Lonely Miss Bee"

2009-10-24T00:54:10Z

Thank you for taking the time to help Miss Bee. There is something profoundly wrong with a society that ignores its fragile creatures.

Dad's Notepad

2009-10-24T00:37:55Z

Sacramento, CA--This month marks the fourth year of my father’s death. Dad was so caught up in the day-to-day particulars of his suburban North Sac life and as a caregiver to my Mother, I think at times he actually forgot to enjoy it.

The day after he passed, I was searching his home office, drowning in grief and looking for something (anything) to comfort me. I spied Dad’s small spiral bound note pad with his pen resting at a jaunty angle on top of the page. There was a long "To Do" list scribbled in ink—bills to pay, errands to run, and fix-it projects around the house. Just five days prior, he had renewed his October subscription to National Geographic and his AARP membership.

At 83, battling throat cancer and a nursing a patched up heart, he was still heavily invested in living life and planning for his future.

Then, it hit me like a sledgehammer: None of those things on the note pad mattered anymore. Poof! The laundry list of projects vanished the moment his soul took flight. At precisely which point did I understand that it didn’t really matter how many minutes it took to water the lawn, or how much chlorine the pool required, or which day to pick up his prescription? Gone, in an instant. No more lists for Dad.

Hours later, still glued to his office chair while watching storm clouds gathering at dusk, I lightly traced his spidery script with my fingertips, and felt the loss of all those little, sometimes inconsequential things we take for granted. But in the final analysis, those mundane projects had mattered a great deal to him—they were the detailed notes of a life in the process of living, of running to the grocery store for eggs and orange juice, paying monthly bills, or remembering to send a birthday card to one of his four daughters.

I kept that list—buried in the back of my office filing cabinet. Occasionally, I’ll run across it, and immediately touch the paper, trying to re-connect with someone whom I had a complicated and often turbulent relationship.

Farewell, Dad, you are fondly remembered–and, by the way, I keep detailed daily "To Do" lists too.