Email ElizabethThe State of Sacramento Real Estate Right Now
If you listen very carefully to the wind in Sacramento this morning, you can hear Ollie’s voice over the freeway hum: “This is another fine kettle of fish you’ve gotten us into, Stanley.” Because that’s precisely the sentiment I feel when I look at the condition of the 4th quarter of our Sacramento real estate market.
It’s not that any one person makes the real estate market in Sacramento what it is, but we do need to work within it when you’re a Sacramento real estate agent. I just don’t know whom exactly to blame for it, so I’ll pick the Feds because that’s an easy target and I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’m still on Florida time, haven’t quite recovered from the Dry Tortugas.
Now, in case you’re thinking that I’m going to tell you some terrible news or say it is not a good time to buy or sell, that is not about to happen. I just report what I see and then figure out how to work within that framework to best position my clients.
First, let me say the market is typically seasonal in Sacramento. Just because we have more days with sunshine than without doesn’t mean real estate sells like gangbusters all year long. We experience ebbs and flows. In the graph above, though, inventory has been steadily falling, along with the pending and closed sales. But it doesn’t mean prices are following suit.
Second, the market has been relatively flat with regard to home prices. You can see in this next graph that our square-foot home prices have remained very stable since last summer. This could very well indicate that our big push for rising prices has leveled. As my 2014 real estate forecast predicted last year, I suspect we won’t see a lot of appreciation this year. But prices won’t fall.
I could show you the same graph for average home sales prices and median sales prices, and that graph would reflect the same behavior. Our median sales price in Sacramento County has jumped from $186,000 in October 2012 to $250,000 in December 2013. However, that $250,000 median price has remained stable since July.
Buyers don’t seem to know which end is up. I have seen offers range from ridiculous to borderline nuts. On top of this, many home buyers appear marginal, and then we’ve got the new federal regulations kicking in this month that say a buyer must be able to prove she can afford to buy a home. Who woulda thought this was a necessity? But they had to make a law, so you know it wasn’t.
In the last graph, you can see our absorption rate for Sacramento County. This is the number of homes that closed escrow as compared to the number of homes for sale. We had a slight uptick in December, but when compared to high points from last year, we are pretty low at the moment at 52.7%. This means about half of the homes that are for sale right now closed escrow last month. Compare this to December 2012 / January 2013 when that absorption rate was almost 125%.
Our inventory (number of homes for sale) is less than two months. This means it would take two months to sell every home we have for sale. It’s still a very strong seller’s market in Sacramento. The problem is we have fewer buyers and the buyers we do have are often marginal, with little in reserves. If home buyers have no reserves, it means sellers might need to start kicking in closing costs to help a buyer in Sacramento to purchase a home. If the buyer can find a home to buy because we have so little for sale.
Images: Trendgraphix
The Downside of a Sacramento Real Estate Year-End Celebration
Based on Trendgraphix reports, it looks as though there is only one agent out of the 1,000 or so agents at Lyon Real Estate who sold more homes in 2013 than this Sacramento real estate agent, and that agent works primarily in another county in the Foothills of Sacramento. This is what I do when I come back from my winter vacation — clean up my 2013 records and begin 2014, fresh, on the ground and running. I also look at my big fat belly and wonder how it got that way and why it’s in my way.
Almost 3 whole chickens have crept their way into my body while I lay sleeping, dreaming of carrots and celery. I was soooo good on vacation. While I watched my husband enjoy cheesy omelets for breakfast, I spooned nonfat yogurt with berries into my face. There was no “bacon fest” like one can enjoy in January at Ella Dining Room and Bar. Even for lunch I was somewhat restrained: salads and soups. We walked and explored Key West. At night I pounded on my computer to respond to all the emails I received about Sacramento real estate. That 10-finger action alone burned many calories, I’m certain.
Most of the dinner menus in the Florida Keys involved some sort of shellfish or seafood, generally grilled. OK, there was breeeaaaaad and the teensiest bit of butter. A few desserts. All right, maybe a dessert almost every night. A cocktail, maybe. A glass or two of wine. Perhaps a 20-year tawny after dinner. But it was a minuscule glass of tawny, barely two ounces. I really detest having to face the fact that when you live long enough to cross the 60-year mark, you’ve got to watch what you shove into your face.
I did — I watched the magnificent gastronomic creations with great delight. Night after night. Never took my eyes off the fabulous displays of culinary genius placed in my view and with both hands shoved into my pie hole. Snatched a few French fries off my husband’s plate, too. I even hauled carry-out containers back to our hotel and left the lobster-cheesy-macaroni in the mini bar to rot.
The beginning was so innocent. I started out by leaving half of my food on my plate. Yeah, that’s a good plan. By the end of our vacation, I couldn’t pass by a gelato sign without stopping inside for a taste and a two-scoop treat. I hang my head in shame. Now I must pay the price for such gluttony. Maybe I will wear a cardboard box to my Sacramento real estate office meeting, with a hole cut in the top for my head to poke through.
Or, maybe I will just get back on the elliptical and resume a sensible diet. My clients don’t care if I gain 10 pounds or lose 10 pounds as long as I get the job done.
Coming Home from Key West to Sacramento
The guy in the second row on the flight from Miami to Dallas / Fort Worth looked friendly enough. He had tousled gray hair, a few wrinkles and a big grin. My husband thought it was worth a shot to ask if he would be willing to trade seats with us because American Airlines somehow messed up our seat assignments. My husband was placed in the bulkhead row. “Sorry,” the friendly guy shook his head, “I need the leg room.”
Whatever. I turned to the guy with the nearly bald head in the bulkhead and asked if he would like to switch seats. He was busy thumbing his cellphone. Bulkhead dude briefly looked up without moving his head, waved at the row across from him and played the kid card. “We’re here with our 3-year-old,” he muttered, and went back to thumbing his phone.
Because he needs to sit directly across the aisle from his wife and daughter. The same daughter who started whining and crying halfway through the flight and never once did he look up at her.
Unfortunately, our flight was delayed, almost an hour late. My husband leaned over the front seat, “Just be prepared,” he warned, “We will probably end up spending the night in Dallas,” because we had exactly 5 minutes to make our connecting flight to Sacramento.
That was not news I wanted to hear. Time to mind-bend reality. Instead, I decided to maintain a positive attitude and was determined we would meet our connecting flight if we had to run like we had just stabbed the gate attendant. Besides, the odds were our connecting flight would be delayed. I was betting on it.
And let me add here that first class on American Airlines is not like first class on other airlines. Other airlines offer its passengers a cold beverage upon boarding, a warm wet towel; the flight attendants know your name. Not American. Coach passengers are free to roam in the first-class cabin, sticking their hairy belly buttons in your face while pushing against the overhead bins as they stumble inebriated to the restrooms, but first-class passengers can’t get so much as get a set of headphones from the flight attendant because the flight attendants are too busy chatting with each other. Chaos doesn’t begin to describe it.
OK, maybe the plane was about to crash, and they were keeping this information from us, as a nicety or per flight regulations. The flight attendants could have been discussing life-saving strategies, whispering, “Let’s first save the woman with the Everglades T-shirt.”
As we were taxi-ing in Dallas, I checked my the mobile site for American and discovered our connecting flight was delayed by 30 minutes. Thank god for booking on an airline with a terrible on-time flight performance average — there is a silver lining for lousy customer service. Then, friendly guy in the second row inquired if we would make our connecting flight. Oh, yeah, now he’s all nice and sweet to us. Now that he has enjoyed his comfy seat in the second row for this entire flight.
By the time we made it to Sacramento, we discovered that American lost only one piece of our luggage and not all of it. And that’s a positive thing, too. As I learned from our trip to the Dry Tortugas, things can always get worse.
Photo: Wall at the Miami International Airport by Elizabeth Weintraub
Leaving Key West and Returning to Reality
The prettiest dreads in Key West
When you’re doing lunch at a Thai restaurant in the pouring rain in Key West and today is your last day of vacation, there is only one logical thing left to do. It’s not like we could hop on the Conch Train either because it wasn’t running. The shops on Duval Street are not calling my name; in fact, I bought very few trinkets in Key West because I couldn’t find anything substantially nice to buy. It was either Emeralds or a Hemingway House t-shirt, so I picked the shirt. I love Emeralds, I simply have no place to wear them.
Unlike pearls. Because pearls look great with just about any kind of outfit, except maybe beach-going apparel. It’s not like I need any more pearls. After our French Polynesia Vacation last year, I am totally pearled-out.
Since we weren’t about to go shopping yesterday, we did the next best thing. A visit to the spa for a couple’s massage. Nothing like working out all of the kinks and pains that crept up during our walkabouts. Of course, I already had booked a Swedish massage the day we arrived in Key West, but that was 6 days ago and it was time for another. My husband gave no preference to which masseuse worked on him or the product. He’s more along the lines of do whatever. Although he did threaten to change his shirt when he saw I pulled on my matching Dry Tortugas shirt.
Why don’t husbands like to be seen in public wearing matchy-matchy outfits with their spouse? I do not know the answer to that.
I do know that once I hit the turf back in Sacramento, it’s going to be a real estate whirlwind. There will be no time to miss Key West and South Florida. It will probably stay that way through May. It’s as though homeowners suddenly woke up from the holiday activities and instantly said to themselves, “Oh, my gosh, I have sell my house, and I have to do it NOW.” It doesn’t astonish me. I understand the sentiment. It’s been this way every year for decades. The second week in January, sellers are ready to list.
This Sacramento real estate agent will be ready to go. Dreamy, exotic vacations are my way to unwind and refresh, because I can work as hard as a dog all year long if I know that my winter vacation is on the horizon.
A Dry Tortugas Adventure from Key West
Fort Jefferson and lighthouse
I wondered if this could possibly get any worse. Have I ever had a more terrible experience in my life or is this the worst thing that has ever happened to me? The guy at the ticket counter said: Dress like you’re going to the beach! Bring suntan lotion, towels and a swimsuit. The Dutch woman adorned in pearls, rocking an ivory silk blouse, paired with a matching skirt, had hung a light sweater over her shoulders looping the empty arms in front, looking so preppie-like — I guess she had a different idea of dressing for a day at the beach. She, who later begged the purser, please, 2 candy bars, deux, chips and how much is that rum!! She had no idea what she was in for either.
Roof top view from Fort Jefferson
The clerk at Fort Jefferson suggested I buy a baseball hat. For those bad hair days, she offered. What? Have you looked at my hair? I briefly for about 10 days considered growing dreadlocks. It would make life easier if I never had to mess around styling my hair. When I am on vacation, I don’t even comb it after washing it. Do you think I care about my hair? I asked. I twist it, stick a clip in it, and call it a day.
Which came in handy, an hour earlier, keeping my hair out of my face as I clutched the handle of a seat one one down from me, holding a barf bag in the other. I would have sat in the seat with the arm, but that seat was too wet, pelted by the continual rain. Swells in the Atlantic reached 6 to 8 feet. The 100-foot passenger boat Yankee Freedom III plunged forward, pounding the waves. It’s not dangerous to go out in weather like this, it’s just rough seas. I’m not a woman who gets seasick. I used to own a Bayliner.
Waves pouring over Moat at Fort Jefferson, Florida Keys
It’s not like they didn’t warn us in person at 6:30 A.M. when nobody was awake, as we stood in line to retrieve our boarding passes for the boat. The Yankee Freedom III staff said it would be cold, windy and chilly, which doesn’t mean much to a girl when there is no time to go home to her hotel and change clothes. I was dressed for the beach, not a mid-winter rainstorm at sea. Yankee Freedom III had our cell phones numbers, and they could have called to warn us, but why, when they could do it at the ticket window when our only chance was either a) take the trip of a lifetime NOW because we aren’t coming back or b) cancel all together? They also offered us another option that would have involved c) a voucher good for travel when we would not be there, so NOT really an option.
Fort Jefferson from the sea
I didn’t wear makeup and pearls for the beach like the Dutch woman. No, I wore a two-piece tankini because I’m an old person, over which I threw a beaded coverup from Bermuda and, just for good measure, threw on a Dolphin t-shirt from the Dolphin Research Center in Marathon. It was not not nearly warm enough.
Clutching the handle of the seat chair required great dexterity. I could not move from my unnatural position. Frozen there in time.
A moat surrounds Fort Jefferson
My husband was somewhere inside by himself. It’s every man for herself, I see. I was outside, trying to use the ocean air to revive my queasy stomach. An Asian couple slumped in seats across from me. She kept her eyes closed, thinking about how she could thrust a knife into her husband’s ribs, but even those thoughts would not take them off the boat. I, on the other hand, held a dandy bag in my hands, which I did not need because a) I took 2 dramamine non-drowsy pills an hour before boarding and b) I wore my dandy sea wrist bands, which I googled for position thereof shortly before boarding.
View of Bush Key from Fort Jefferson
As I sat in my frozen state, staring at the crystal blue water bursting into waves in all directions around me, I continued to wonder if this cannot get any worse. How much worse could this possibly get? It’s not so bad when things are placed into perspective. Yes, this is miserable; I have now regurgitated every bit of contents in my stomach at least 3 times; I am shivering, and I must sit here until the boat comes to a stop in 60 minutes at Dry Tortugas. But this is the worst that it will get, and I deal with it; I will survive. Oops. Uh-oh, what is this new development?
Grumblings in my gut. My innards were upset all of a sudden. I had not been expecting this. Down deep in my churning netheregions, I recognized the signs. I needed to find a bathroom. The bathrooms were located on the lower level. I was on the upper level. To relieve this gut pain, I would somehow need to make my way down the stairs to the bathrooms and planned to hold on to the railing for dear life. Like little pins, rain pelted my hands. The handrail was like holding an ice cube, gingerly I started to make my way one step at a time.
Yankee Freedom from Fort Jefferson
Suddenly, a crew member from the Yankee Freedom III appeared out of nowhere, like an angel from heaven to help me navigate the stairs. Yes, I must be dead. Or this is just a dream. I reached the main-floor galley, gathered every bit of strength I could muster and literally threw myself around the door way toward the bathroom doors. Ordinarily, at this point, I would ponder which bathroom to choose. Do I want door number one? Door number two? Or door number three? Studies say most people use the first door, so generally that room doesn’t have any toilet paper. There was no time to study and choose. I opened the first door, flung my body into the air dryer, which immediately went off, and inched my way to the toilet, tearing at the clinging fabrics attached to my body.
Roof top view from Fort Jefferson
Swimsuit top. Up. Swimsuit topper, up. T-Shirt from Save the Dophins at Marathon, up. Short black bottoms down. The swimsuit portions were made from spandex, which tends to roll into a tiny ball when you’re not paying attention. I don’t care. Toilet seat down. NOW. Oh, lookee here, a wastepaper basket under the sink perfect for multi-tasking. I grabbed it closer and heaved. Gag. Not much left in my stomach.
I would be remiss if I didn’t warn future navigators to Dry Tortugas, or to any place by sea for that matter, that the bathroom on a boat is the worst place to be. It’s confined, so the smaller space tends to intensify any queasiness. I also leave you with this ancient Hindu blessing: May you never find yourself in a squatting position to multi-task at sea.
Photos: Elizabeth Weintraub and Adam Weintraub
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