When you go into foreclosure, the mortgage holder stops dealing with you. Instead, you deal with a foreclosure company. This appears to be a bunch of lawyers too unskilled to chase ambulances, crammed into a windowless room somewhere in one of those states I never want to visit.
Our first contact with them was the notice taped to our front door. Two days later, the envelopes arrived.
I had to sign for them. There were 16 of them, and I had to sign 16 of those green USPS slips. The mail carrier couldn't meet my eyes. She knew exactly what they were.
Why were there 16? The foreclosure company was covering its bases. Some were addressed only to me, some only to my partner, some to both of us, and some to "Occupant." And they had been sent to both our current address (the one we're losing) as well as to the address of the rental house down the street where we'd lived for a year before buying this house. Given all the permutations of names and addresses meant 16 envelopes.
The contents were nearly identical. Each contained photocopies (no original documents) of an affidavit robo-stamped with some name. Not a signature, a stamp of a signature.
And each contained a "description" of the property under foreclosure. But half of them described the wrong property: acreage in a town a good 70 miles away.
Yes, indeed, we were dealing with a quality organization now!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Now where was I?
Sorry for the long break in posting. It's been a little nutty around here, what with all three of us getting respiratory infections.
So now we are in foreclosure. The reality of this hit home, so to speak, one Saturday morning. Our son took the dog out for a morning stroll and came back holding a piece of paper that had been taped on the door. It was our official notification of foreclosure. My partner and I sat at the kitchen table in silence, waiting, I think, for the other to say something to break the tension. Fortunately our son had wandered away, more interested in the talking sports heads than the disaster looming over us.
Finally we started to talk to each other about what we could do. We had two problems, if we planned to stay in the house. Well, three.
And it was clear that the house needed constant intensive care, more than we could provide. I am useless doing stuff around the house because I have no sense of balance and tire easily (I have MS), and my partner has been abusing her muscles and joints ever since we moved in here fixing things up.
We kept coming to the same conclusion: we were going to have to walk away.
So now we are in foreclosure. The reality of this hit home, so to speak, one Saturday morning. Our son took the dog out for a morning stroll and came back holding a piece of paper that had been taped on the door. It was our official notification of foreclosure. My partner and I sat at the kitchen table in silence, waiting, I think, for the other to say something to break the tension. Fortunately our son had wandered away, more interested in the talking sports heads than the disaster looming over us.
Finally we started to talk to each other about what we could do. We had two problems, if we planned to stay in the house. Well, three.
- Get the loan caught up.
- Find a way to stay current.
- Find a solution to the flooding problem that caused us to run through all of our reserves in the first place. The two "storms of the century" had flooded all of the bedrooms.
And it was clear that the house needed constant intensive care, more than we could provide. I am useless doing stuff around the house because I have no sense of balance and tire easily (I have MS), and my partner has been abusing her muscles and joints ever since we moved in here fixing things up.
We kept coming to the same conclusion: we were going to have to walk away.
Our regularly scheduled program...
So far, everything I've been writing here is stuff that happened in the past. Eventually I'll get caught up. But I wanted to interrupt our regularly scheduled program for some important information: why we aren't embarrassed about all of this anymore.
If my father was still alive, I know I would be hearing no end of criticism from him, and I would be weeping in the corner. He was a professional in the field of credit, and I can't even estimate how often he ranted about the evils of debt.
At first, we were embarrassed about our situation. We didn't tell anyone, not even our closest friends, and certainly not our families.
But as the foreclosure crisis became front page news, we realized that we were in good company. Our situation wasn't because of a personal failure, or lack of responsibility.We'd owned two houses before this one. We'd budgeted, stayed out of debt (except for the mortgage). Hearing the anger in the voices of friends here who were struggling to modify their loan helped us understand that
caught up in a situation truly out of our control. When we bought this house, we dipped pretty far into our reserves to fix it up. Then came the two floods, which wiped out our reserves entirely and also forced us to run up debt on two credit cards.
If my father was still alive, I know I would be hearing no end of criticism from him, and I would be weeping in the corner. He was a professional in the field of credit, and I can't even estimate how often he ranted about the evils of debt.
At first, we were embarrassed about our situation. We didn't tell anyone, not even our closest friends, and certainly not our families.
But as the foreclosure crisis became front page news, we realized that we were in good company. Our situation wasn't because of a personal failure, or lack of responsibility.We'd owned two houses before this one. We'd budgeted, stayed out of debt (except for the mortgage). Hearing the anger in the voices of friends here who were struggling to modify their loan helped us understand that
caught up in a situation truly out of our control. When we bought this house, we dipped pretty far into our reserves to fix it up. Then came the two floods, which wiped out our reserves entirely and also forced us to run up debt on two credit cards.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Time bomb
Here's what's supposed to happen: when a homeowner files the paperwork for a loan modification, everything is supposed to freeze in place. The mortgage holder is not supposed to do anything but consider the loan modification.
But our lender, First Horizon Home Loans, found a loophole. As long as our paperwork was sitting in a pile somewhere waiting to be processed, they could keep the clock ticking. And every time it reached the top of the pile, it was "too old."
Now, three months behind, we sent off two months' payment, just as the gum-cracking, nail-filing, neighbor-cackling, loose-shoulder-muscled, hair-styled woman had said we could.
But, as the TV program says, nothing could have prepared us for what happened next.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
We checked our bank account obsessively, but the check hadn't cleared. We called the mortgage company after a week.
"Yes, I can see that the payment is in process," we were assured. We had less than a week to go before we would be four months behind.
We called again on the 17th, the day after the fourth month had passed.
"Oh," said the woman, popping a bon bon into her mouth, "you're in foreclosure."
"But we sent payment, like you said we could!" I moaned.
"Oh, that was returned to you," she said, smacking her lips.
And indeed it was, a week later. We sent the check via overnight mail on the 28th of August. They returned it a month later. It was stamped as having been received on Sept. 15. But it was attached to a slip of paper that clearly indicated it had been received on Aug. 31, and marked for return then.
They had received our check in plenty of time, the check they said they would accept, and then they held it until they could bring foreclosure proceedings to a full boil.
"But we have filed for a loan modification," I whispered.
"I'm sorry, I can't talk to you about this any further," she said, a chocolate truffle into her mouth. "You have to talk to the foreclosure company."
I hung up the phone and looked out my office window. There, circling the little lake, was the osprey, the one who visited every day, looking for a tasty morsel to fish from the water.
For the first time, it looked dangerous to me.
But our lender, First Horizon Home Loans, found a loophole. As long as our paperwork was sitting in a pile somewhere waiting to be processed, they could keep the clock ticking. And every time it reached the top of the pile, it was "too old."
Now, three months behind, we sent off two months' payment, just as the gum-cracking, nail-filing, neighbor-cackling, loose-shoulder-muscled, hair-styled woman had said we could.
But, as the TV program says, nothing could have prepared us for what happened next.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
We checked our bank account obsessively, but the check hadn't cleared. We called the mortgage company after a week.
"Yes, I can see that the payment is in process," we were assured. We had less than a week to go before we would be four months behind.
We called again on the 17th, the day after the fourth month had passed.
"Oh," said the woman, popping a bon bon into her mouth, "you're in foreclosure."
"But we sent payment, like you said we could!" I moaned.
"Oh, that was returned to you," she said, smacking her lips.
And indeed it was, a week later. We sent the check via overnight mail on the 28th of August. They returned it a month later. It was stamped as having been received on Sept. 15. But it was attached to a slip of paper that clearly indicated it had been received on Aug. 31, and marked for return then.
They had received our check in plenty of time, the check they said they would accept, and then they held it until they could bring foreclosure proceedings to a full boil.
"But we have filed for a loan modification," I whispered.
"I'm sorry, I can't talk to you about this any further," she said, a chocolate truffle into her mouth. "You have to talk to the foreclosure company."
I hung up the phone and looked out my office window. There, circling the little lake, was the osprey, the one who visited every day, looking for a tasty morsel to fish from the water.
For the first time, it looked dangerous to me.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Rinse well and repeat
It feels good to be current on our mortgage, even though we are technically even deeper in debt.
But we are soon reminded that we cannot sustain this pleasant state. Mortgage + credit card + loan from Mama + living = Not enough money.
I'm still driving the 1998 Toyota RAV I drove in Maine, and it's chugging along, but the body is starting to break down. My partner's car is 2004, and we hope we can get another five years out of it. We each sell a prized possession, which for me means three octaves of handbells. I cry when we take them to the shipping company to send to the buyer in California. But by themselves they pay more than one month of mortgage.
We're still in this ridiculous cycle of sending papers, them getting "too old," and us sending them again. Eventually, we fall a month behind. And then two months. And then three.
I call First Horizon Home Loans and we go through the usual dance. This time, the foot massage complete, it's her shoulders getting worked on, while she cackles to the woman in the next cubicle, plays Solitaire, finishes her nails, and has her hair styled.
"You must bring your loan current," she snarls.
"Loan modification?" I beseech, more of a prayer than a question.
"It's in our system."
"Will you accept one month?"
"No."
"Two?"
She puts me on hold. At first I think she has gone to ask someone, but then I realize that she has to sit under the hair dryer for a minute.
"All right," she says, "we will take two months."
I hang up and experience, just for a second, a flash of relief. I have staved off the dreaded four month enemy for now.
But we are soon reminded that we cannot sustain this pleasant state. Mortgage + credit card + loan from Mama + living = Not enough money.
I'm still driving the 1998 Toyota RAV I drove in Maine, and it's chugging along, but the body is starting to break down. My partner's car is 2004, and we hope we can get another five years out of it. We each sell a prized possession, which for me means three octaves of handbells. I cry when we take them to the shipping company to send to the buyer in California. But by themselves they pay more than one month of mortgage.
We're still in this ridiculous cycle of sending papers, them getting "too old," and us sending them again. Eventually, we fall a month behind. And then two months. And then three.
I call First Horizon Home Loans and we go through the usual dance. This time, the foot massage complete, it's her shoulders getting worked on, while she cackles to the woman in the next cubicle, plays Solitaire, finishes her nails, and has her hair styled.
"You must bring your loan current," she snarls.
"Loan modification?" I beseech, more of a prayer than a question.
"It's in our system."
"Will you accept one month?"
"No."
"Two?"
She puts me on hold. At first I think she has gone to ask someone, but then I realize that she has to sit under the hair dryer for a minute.
"All right," she says, "we will take two months."
I hang up and experience, just for a second, a flash of relief. I have staved off the dreaded four month enemy for now.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
All or nothing
Being three months behind on your mortgage is a different experience than being one or two months behind. That woman filing her nails, playing Solitaire, cackling with the woman in the next cubicle and getting a foot massage turns nasty.
No more polite questions such as, "Is there a reason?" "When can you send payment?" Now it's threats.
Sure, just let me click my heels together and poof! the money will appear. Better yet, give me 10 minutes to slip downstairs to my laboratory and print up some $1,000 bills. They bear the portrait of the president born in the town I grew up in. Oh wait, the treasury doesn't make 'em any more. Will you take hundreds of hundreds?
Nasty notes start to appear on our front door, with a phone number to call to "confirm" that we are still living here.
And no longer will the mortgage company (First Horizon Home Loans, in case you've forgotten) take a single payment. Nope, they return the check we send.
"You must bring the account up to date," sneers the woman. "We will not accept partial payment."
"How is our request for a loan modification going?" I ask.
"It's in the system. It will take at least 30 days." I know what that means.
Our monthly payment is somewhat north of $3,000. That includes our property tax and mortgage insurance, which First Horizon Home Loans forced on us. We have two weeks before we will go four months delinquent. We borrow some money from my partner's mother. Now that is embarrassing. But at least we bring the loan current.
And for now, the phone calls stop. The nasty notes left on our door stop.
We breathe.
No more polite questions such as, "Is there a reason?" "When can you send payment?" Now it's threats.
Sure, just let me click my heels together and poof! the money will appear. Better yet, give me 10 minutes to slip downstairs to my laboratory and print up some $1,000 bills. They bear the portrait of the president born in the town I grew up in. Oh wait, the treasury doesn't make 'em any more. Will you take hundreds of hundreds?
Nasty notes start to appear on our front door, with a phone number to call to "confirm" that we are still living here.
And no longer will the mortgage company (First Horizon Home Loans, in case you've forgotten) take a single payment. Nope, they return the check we send.
"You must bring the account up to date," sneers the woman. "We will not accept partial payment."
"How is our request for a loan modification going?" I ask.
"It's in the system. It will take at least 30 days." I know what that means.
Our monthly payment is somewhat north of $3,000. That includes our property tax and mortgage insurance, which First Horizon Home Loans forced on us. We have two weeks before we will go four months delinquent. We borrow some money from my partner's mother. Now that is embarrassing. But at least we bring the loan current.
And for now, the phone calls stop. The nasty notes left on our door stop.
We breathe.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
The new American dream
It's been a year since we started this modification process. We have tried very hard to play by their rules. Maybe we bit off too much when we bought this house, but who could have expected two floods (both declared disasters by FEMA) in an area that never flooded before? Who could foresee that the economy would tank so completely that millions found themselves out of work?
So we realized that this was nothing to be embarrassed about. We have always paid our bills. We have lived up to our obligations. We weren't trying to defraud anyone. We consider ourselves decent people.
And we have found that nearly everyone we tell about our situation knows someone else in the same boat. It's the new American dream! Work for 40 years and end up with nothing! No job, no house, no prospects!
But really, we are in much better shape than one would expect. My partner and I remain completely dedicated to each other (we each think the other is nuts for sticking around), our son is prospering (except for that nasty 12-year-old boy stuff), and we have four, count 'em four, 6-month-old kittens. But they're another story. And yes, we do expect someone to rent to us when the time comes, even though we have a dog and three birds in addition to the cats.
We are still optimists.
So we realized that this was nothing to be embarrassed about. We have always paid our bills. We have lived up to our obligations. We weren't trying to defraud anyone. We consider ourselves decent people.
And we have found that nearly everyone we tell about our situation knows someone else in the same boat. It's the new American dream! Work for 40 years and end up with nothing! No job, no house, no prospects!
But really, we are in much better shape than one would expect. My partner and I remain completely dedicated to each other (we each think the other is nuts for sticking around), our son is prospering (except for that nasty 12-year-old boy stuff), and we have four, count 'em four, 6-month-old kittens. But they're another story. And yes, we do expect someone to rent to us when the time comes, even though we have a dog and three birds in addition to the cats.
We are still optimists.
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