loonie tunes

I am in a funk.

When we probably far-too-spontaneously bought our casa in Riberas, I, as the financial one in the relationship, spent hours calculating and pondering, figuring out whether or not we could afford it. It's not a lavish house by any means, but since we had to pay the whole thing from our savings, I had to determine whether our assets, some tied up in RRSP's (IRA's to any Americans reading) could extend far enough for me to write out a cheque for about $150,000 American dollars.

Now, just about anyone looking at our assets would probably determine that we could, without a lot of difficulty. But just about anyone looking at our assets wouldn't be as conservative with money as I am.

I am a saver. I'm not a scrimper, by any means, but I get huge satisfaction in seeing money grow, dollar by dollar, over time. I feel rather smug, and -well - adult, when I can make a deposit into my savings. I'm particularly happy when I see the balance move up and over any significant number, such as a '999' balance becoming a '001'. Sort of the reverse of seeing a '9' ending number moving up to a '1' ending number on the bathroom scales.

I've saved money over time, in part because I've never owned property. Instead of paying monthly mortgage payments, I've put aside funds to create what the bankers call 'cash equity'. That nestegg has huge real and symbolic significance. Where other people know that their house, as it gets paid for, is their security against any financial crisis, those numbers generated in quarterly statements were my safety net.

That's why, when I agreed that a huge chunk of my money was going to a house in Mexico that I wouldn't even live in for several years, I was panic-stricken. Rob quite rightly pointed out that the money wasn't in any way gone, just put into a different kind of investment, but as a non-home owner all my life, I just didn't see it viscerally, though I understood it intellectually. Sort of. At any rate, the agreement to purchase was signed, and we returned to Canada knowing that, when the deal closed three months later, we'd own our dream home in Mexico.

That was last October. At that time, the Canadian dollar was worth approximately ninety cents, U.S. So that cheque for $150,000 U.S., carefully calculated in our B and B in Ajijic ran considerably higher in Canadian funds. But was doable without panic. Well, without too much panic, on my part.

Three months is a long time in banking terms. Imagine how the blood drained from my body as I watched, in November and December, as the loonie took a dive. In fact, dropped to its lowest point in five years. When I had to remove the funds to take the final payment to Mexico in early January, the loonie was worth 84 cents U.S. And our house cost us that much more, just like that. Did it help that our financial advisor assured me that the rest of the investments were doing particularly well because a weak Canadian dollar meant more manufacturing, and off-shore investments were bullish, and blah, blah, blah? Not a whit.

And not a whit has it helped that, since we've bought and paid for our casa, the loonie has suddenly come off life-support and is veritably jogging circles around the U.S. buck. Today it's at $1.01 and something, and according to Warren Buffett, whose financial acumen is somewhat better than mine, is expected to remain above U.S. value for at least five years. So now, my lovely little casa is worth even less than it was in January.

I know, when we come down to stay in December, I won't be looking at it, like a mother at her teenager who screwed up. You know, "Casa, I'm not mad at you. I'm just very, very disappointed." I'll see beyond the fact that money, real and theoretical, has perhaps flown out of the kitchen window, and realize that outside that window is a lovely patio where I can hear roosters in the morning, and watch the sun set over the lake.

But I'm not in my casa now. And I'm mad at the house, and the loonie, and Warren Buffett. I know I have to accept, as all good adults do, that the house has cost us more than we bargained for when we first saw it, but that the world didn't cave in. I realize that no house is worth anything until you go to sell it, and the market changes, and who knows what will happen by the time we put it on the market (hopefully never). But I don't feel like an adult today.

Being an adult sucks.