My recent vacation back home in the U.S. after being away for five years was notable. I caught up with a lot of family and dear friends. I let my suntan brag for itself to all the northern hemisphere winter whites. I engaged in some serious retail therapy to the tune of a second 50 lb suitcase (without being charged by the airline for it!)
And I got to hear how I died on April 1, 2008.
Yeah, that was a bit of a shock to me, also. In a visit to my U.S. credit union to check up on my financial health, I discovered that where the consumer retail credit world was concerned, I was little more than a name on a gravestone.
This is how it happened. When I moved to Australia five years ago, I changed my permanent address with all pertinent parties from the U.S. address to my new one overseas. Who wouldn't? Well, unbeknownst to me - and apparently to the razor sharp folks at my credit union, also - a foreign billing address is not recognized by North American credit reporting agencies. I had committed financial suicide. Add the fact that activity evaporates after several years -both the good and the bad- from one's credit rating , I essentially fell off the credit-worthy grid.
My credit rating went from 800+ to too low to calculate a score.
It is like being 18 years old again--in an unpleasant way. I chose to take an immediate, proactive role in my financial recovery (because yelling at the equally ignorant credit union people in shocked outrage would only have gotten me escorted out the door by armed security personnel) and have taken steps to reestablish myself as a credit worthy individual.
I don't believe in Woulda', Shoulda', Coulda's. I cannot change what is done. I can help spread the word to other folks who plan to temporarily leave the country for contract work or preserve a retail credit presence in the U.S. for their own reasons to do so with the least amount of damage.
As we've seen, keeping a domestic address is paramount. Start with a trusted relative or friend who will allow you a virtual home for your financial entity. Will they accept your mail and forward it to you? If this is not a good option, try renting one of those private P.O. Boxes where the service will forward your mail. It will cost a fee per forward, but P.O. Boxes carry full weight as a residency requirement.
Remember to generate activity every now and again. Make online purchases with your U.S. credit card or department store charge card a few times a year to make sure they are seen as active. Take out a small secured loan against your savings and use the loan money to pay it back over a several month period. Credit reporting companies love to see installment loans and aren't too fussy about the amount. A $300 secured loan paid back over nine months will probably cost you $5 in interest. A much easier cost to swallow than trying to crawl your way out of a financial black hole.
So much banking is done online or electronically that many people couldn't identify a single employee in a brick & mortar office. I know people who haven't stepped in a bank in years. Not a good idea for a future expat. Get to know your banker personally. Keep them in the loop of what you want to do and where you will be doing it from. This raises the customer service level and appropriate assistance you will get when managing or reassessing your financial affairs via email from some far corner of the Earth.
And when you return to the good ol' US of A after your exotic couple of years abroad, you won't find your name on the financial obituary list hoping for an autopsy.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
My First Visit Back Home
A minor miracle happened recently. On his way to a backpacking sojourn in India & Burma, Kev more than suggested I visit my mother and friends. He gave me a plane ticket for a three-week, multiple-city trip to the land I grew up in.
It had been five years since I had last been in the U.S. before moving to OZ. Which cliche would describe the visit? "You can't go home again" , "Stranger in a familiar place" or (dare to dream) "The Homecoming"? Would people be glad to see me? Or even remember me? Would I get the all-important shopping done? (Heaven knows EVERYTHING is cheaper in the U.S. Plus, with superior fits in clothing, it doesn't make sense not to stock up.) Did I bring enough money? Will I survive a dozen airport experiences in one vacation? Will I remember how to drive on the right hand side of the road in the left side of the car...in the snow?
For all the questions that seemed to beg for trouble, very few eventuated. Armed with a file folder, four payment methods, three shopping lists, two date calendars and a disposable phone (decorated with a partridge in a pear tree, fa la la la la la) I was ready for full military-style engagement. Provision, briefing, execution and debrief. Ooo rah.
My first week was spent with Mom. Sort of. This was valuable Asset Acquisition time. Pre-emptive strikes on hair care products and cosmetics had to be made. Thanks for the driving lessons, Mom, see you at suppertime! No amount of torture or truth serum will get me to spill the exact amount of money spent during those early heady days of frenetic consumerism.
On to Orlando and the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Magical in mid-winter. The temperatures are decent, there are no crowds or long lines for attractions. WWHP looks just like the movie set, Butterbeer and Hog's Breath Ale are yummy, the simulated Hogwarts castle tour does not disappoint and, serious frosting on top of all of this, I had two friends from the Frozen North to share it with.
Ivy, veterinarian extraordinaire, met us at the notable Tu Tu Tango Cafe. Mymaid man of honor, Tom, and I took in the Universal holdings. He is now much more aware of Harry Potter & Co than he was before. We stayed at a hotel owned by the Jicarilla Apache Nation. A hotel in Orlando? Now there is a license to print money. I'm holding off a slew of scalping jokes here, people.
The Frozen North. Eight days of the most tightly choreographed maneuvers outside the Edinburgh Tattoo. Insured to the hilt against any evil force of nature or man, this marathon started with a dinner party at my younger sister's house. A pleasant evening with relatives that featured the first of many discussions about healthcare and national health services. I never could get a street-level description of "Obamacare" from my friends (who range from ardent supporters to those who won't speak the president's name) but with so much to share and so little time... God bless my uncle and his endless supply of Cornish pasties, real dill pickles and Vernors pop. It hardly gets more home than that. I would drive three days to see my father's younger brother - with or without the soul food.
Ohio, where it all went into hyper drive. Kit, my friend and hostess, took time out from her vintage clothing and costume shop, The Alley (now also purveyors of genuine Australian made fashions), to help reacquaint me with Columbus and whittle down my clothing shopping lists - who else could sniff out half-price day at a particular thrift store or 83% off a fabulous silk taffeta party dress? And then the days looked like this: 1p luncheon with Dottie & Susan, 3:30p Jean, 5pm drinks with Mike & Marc, 6:30p dinner with Dave. Next day: 10a VoiceCorps, 11:30 with Ken @ Lindeys, 2p Tea with Worthington Women's Club, 5p with Sally & crew, 6:30p supper with elusive Stick & Rick. Last day: Tim, JoAnn and then Eddie [read: Tim Horton's for breakfast, JoAnn Fabrics because who doesn't stop at fabric stores on vacation and Eddie Bauer Salvage/Warehouse sale.] All visits were too short, of course, and overwhelming. I could not have imagined so warm a welcome.
More humbling was the return to Los Angeles before heading back to Perth. My eldest brother Peter flew in from Houston and my uncle in Las Vegas drove in to see me. Really, to see me? I was feeling very unwell for the last few days but tried to suck it up for this mini reunion and trip to the famous Santa Anita Race Track. A former sports reporter with horse racing as his beat, Peter proved to be an excellent guide at Santa Anita. "That's Gary Stephens, he played George Wolfe in Seabiscuit. Now that guy is a famous horse trainer, trained a bazillion Kentucky Derby winners. Is that musician Herb Alpert looking like a slob next to that fine horse?" Only a visit to some quack at an Urgent Care center (I couldn't fly feeling that bad) could cast a pall on those final days.
So to answer some of the questions at the beginning: Not everything is cheaper in the U.S. Sea salt is a veritable bargain in OZ. So for all your culinary marine saline needs, load up on your next visit Down Under. Driving only became a problem in parking lots. I think I still have $1.75 left from all that retail therapy. No, airports will never be my friends- I don't care how fancy they are in the inner sanctum, and Detroit's airport is pretty flash.
And finally, the theme of my vacation - in the words of George Gershwin : " 'S Wonderful. 'S Marvelous. That you should care for me."
[Yes, photos are available, just not here and now. Getting the story out now, will add art later.]
It had been five years since I had last been in the U.S. before moving to OZ. Which cliche would describe the visit? "You can't go home again" , "Stranger in a familiar place" or (dare to dream) "The Homecoming"? Would people be glad to see me? Or even remember me? Would I get the all-important shopping done? (Heaven knows EVERYTHING is cheaper in the U.S. Plus, with superior fits in clothing, it doesn't make sense not to stock up.) Did I bring enough money? Will I survive a dozen airport experiences in one vacation? Will I remember how to drive on the right hand side of the road in the left side of the car...in the snow?
For all the questions that seemed to beg for trouble, very few eventuated. Armed with a file folder, four payment methods, three shopping lists, two date calendars and a disposable phone (decorated with a partridge in a pear tree, fa la la la la la) I was ready for full military-style engagement. Provision, briefing, execution and debrief. Ooo rah.
My first week was spent with Mom. Sort of. This was valuable Asset Acquisition time. Pre-emptive strikes on hair care products and cosmetics had to be made. Thanks for the driving lessons, Mom, see you at suppertime! No amount of torture or truth serum will get me to spill the exact amount of money spent during those early heady days of frenetic consumerism.
On to Orlando and the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Magical in mid-winter. The temperatures are decent, there are no crowds or long lines for attractions. WWHP looks just like the movie set, Butterbeer and Hog's Breath Ale are yummy, the simulated Hogwarts castle tour does not disappoint and, serious frosting on top of all of this, I had two friends from the Frozen North to share it with.
Ivy, veterinarian extraordinaire, met us at the notable Tu Tu Tango Cafe. My
The Frozen North. Eight days of the most tightly choreographed maneuvers outside the Edinburgh Tattoo. Insured to the hilt against any evil force of nature or man, this marathon started with a dinner party at my younger sister's house. A pleasant evening with relatives that featured the first of many discussions about healthcare and national health services. I never could get a street-level description of "Obamacare" from my friends (who range from ardent supporters to those who won't speak the president's name) but with so much to share and so little time... God bless my uncle and his endless supply of Cornish pasties, real dill pickles and Vernors pop. It hardly gets more home than that. I would drive three days to see my father's younger brother - with or without the soul food.
Ohio, where it all went into hyper drive. Kit, my friend and hostess, took time out from her vintage clothing and costume shop, The Alley (now also purveyors of genuine Australian made fashions), to help reacquaint me with Columbus and whittle down my clothing shopping lists - who else could sniff out half-price day at a particular thrift store or 83% off a fabulous silk taffeta party dress? And then the days looked like this: 1p luncheon with Dottie & Susan, 3:30p Jean, 5pm drinks with Mike & Marc, 6:30p dinner with Dave. Next day: 10a VoiceCorps, 11:30 with Ken @ Lindeys, 2p Tea with Worthington Women's Club, 5p with Sally & crew, 6:30p supper with elusive Stick & Rick. Last day: Tim, JoAnn and then Eddie [read: Tim Horton's for breakfast, JoAnn Fabrics because who doesn't stop at fabric stores on vacation and Eddie Bauer Salvage/Warehouse sale.] All visits were too short, of course, and overwhelming. I could not have imagined so warm a welcome.
More humbling was the return to Los Angeles before heading back to Perth. My eldest brother Peter flew in from Houston and my uncle in Las Vegas drove in to see me. Really, to see me? I was feeling very unwell for the last few days but tried to suck it up for this mini reunion and trip to the famous Santa Anita Race Track. A former sports reporter with horse racing as his beat, Peter proved to be an excellent guide at Santa Anita. "That's Gary Stephens, he played George Wolfe in Seabiscuit. Now that guy is a famous horse trainer, trained a bazillion Kentucky Derby winners. Is that musician Herb Alpert looking like a slob next to that fine horse?" Only a visit to some quack at an Urgent Care center (I couldn't fly feeling that bad) could cast a pall on those final days.
So to answer some of the questions at the beginning: Not everything is cheaper in the U.S. Sea salt is a veritable bargain in OZ. So for all your culinary marine saline needs, load up on your next visit Down Under. Driving only became a problem in parking lots. I think I still have $1.75 left from all that retail therapy. No, airports will never be my friends- I don't care how fancy they are in the inner sanctum, and Detroit's airport is pretty flash.
And finally, the theme of my vacation - in the words of George Gershwin : " 'S Wonderful. 'S Marvelous. That you should care for me."
[Yes, photos are available, just not here and now. Getting the story out now, will add art later.]
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