Well, the home-buying chaos continues...
We're still awaiting critical documents from the bank, papers that were promised to us weeks ago, and which now the bank SWEARS are on their way. Also, because of liability laws or some silliness, we have to be fully moved out of this house before settlement but cannot move into the new house until after settlement. Which means we'll be living with friends while all our belongings idle for a day inside a rented truck. I offered to "rent" our house from the new buyers for a couple of days so we'd have time to move and clean, but this is apparently a no-no in the real estate world. Once you sell...you must leave. So, the bottom line is that if we close successfully on the sale, but the bank or some other snafu fouls the purchase, we will be in essence homeless and living out of a truck. Granted, we'll be homeless with a large cashier's check in hand, so will probably board the cats and seek shelter in a month-by-month rental until we can regroup. But such thoughts are crazy-making, so we're trying not to entertain them...much.
Why, you may ask, do I bring this up? Well, I mentioned our situation to my mom today. You should know that my mom has Alzheimer's, combined with the after-effects of a bout of viral encephalitis she suffered nine years ago after returning from an Alaskan vacation. To quote a poet friend of mine, "she has large holes in her mind." She is taking medication, which is working well, and she still lives on her own, with the help of twice-weekly visits from a home care aide, twice-weekly visits from me, plus friends who take her to church on Sundays. Nonetheless, on a given day, I never know what she'll remember, or for that matter, what she'll say.
So when I told her about our housing situation, she paused for a moment....then offered something like this:
"After the British bombed our house with phosphor, we came up from the basement shelter and everything was rubble and flames. The whole neighborhood was gone. People were running around on fire. They would jump into the ditches to put themselves out, but there was no water. The whole sky was black with smoke. All we had was the clothes we wore, and a small bag my mother saved, with our silverware inside."
Well, that certainly put things in perspective. If you didn't guess, my mom is German, and spent the latter half of World War 2 on what you might call "the receiving end," living as a refugee and farm-hand, working in the hopps fields of Northern Germany until she could resume her studies at school. So "homeless" to her has a slightly different meaning than it does to most of us. And in her case, it involves neither a motel nor a large cashier's check.
Funny how, even as adults, we continue to learn from our parents. And, no matter what happens with our current housing dilemma, nobody will drop phosphor bombs on us...
Slang of the day: jack-deuce: askew. e.g., "His hat sat jack-deuce on his head."