“I’m not mean,” he says. “We just think differently.”
“Nope. You’re mean.” I hold my ground, but after thirty-something years’ of marriage he can tell I don’t mean it. We had long ago concluded we thought differently about, well, just about everything.
This current discussion concerns a problem about a piece of property we’re supposed to close on in a few days. Seems that even though decrepit mobile homes in SC are as abundant as roadside boiled peanut stands, the situations concerning the removal and disposal of them are so complicated my attorney suggested we discuss our options off the record.
We had bought a piece of land with the intention of dismantling the mobile home on it. That meant tons of work and substantial Dumpster fees. (The fact that we got our info on how to take a mobile apart from a YouTube video reflects our level of expertise on the matter.) However, a fortuitous offer came along that seemed to resolve all problems—someone wanted to remove the mobile and fix it up. He had done this before, knew how to ready it for removal, and had a company lined up to haul it away.
Perfect, we thought. Man takes trailer for his fixer-upper. We get empty lot to build ours.
But a mobile home is just that—mobile— a designation the DMV is highly interested in. They like to keep track of titles and taxes. Only thing is they lost the title to this one. It must have been surrendered decades ago and even though taxes have been paid and owners have changed since it was first parked on the property, no one can find the title, hence, it is not cleared for removal.
My husband likes the bottom line of things. “So we take it down ourselves,” he says, (an option we later discover is dependent on the missing title). I like to examine all the angles and complexities. Besides, I’ve already put away my safety glasses and leather gloves and warmed up to the image of seeing it drive off into the sunset on the back of a flatbed, so I’m trying to finagle ways Kenny can have his trailer and I won’t be liable if it falls apart on the highway.
Bob dons his coat. Enough of “I think-you think.” He’s decided to risk the sleet warning and spend the day at however many county offices he’ll have to visit in order to get to the bottom of this matter.
This snag is actually a good reminder for me to keep a positive attitude. Setbacks and difficulties are just that. They are not insurmountable, devil’s-out-to-get-you catastrophes. Somewhere along the line during my youth I picked up the notion that I shouldn’t get too happy if something good happened because something bad was sure to follow and snatch my joy. Smacks of the Asian superstition that if you think (or others say) your baby is beautiful, the devils will notice and do harm.
I’ve traded in that wrong thinking for the words of Proverbs 10:22—The blessing of the Lord makes rich and he adds no sorrow to it. God’s gifts and grace are more than enough and I will enjoy them.
However, I still feel like I’m in one of those old Uncle Wiggily stories I used to read. The narrator would conclude each story with a line like “in case the load of hay doesn’t fall on my puppy-dog and break off his curly tail, I tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the …” or, “in case a cowboy doesn’t come along and take my little pussy cat off to the wild west show, I’ll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the…”
So, in case a big wind doesn’t come and blow my mobile down, I’ll tell you about how it moved on out and how my very clever, not really mean husband plans to turn an ugly carport into his handsome long awaited garage.
In the joy of the Lord this February day of Leap Year, which my sister has reminded us is her REAL birthday day that she doesn’t have to share with the Feb. 28thers or the March1sters.