As we have been dispossessing ourselves of our accumulates stuff, Lora and I have been making preparations for life without a fixed address. The first step was the sale of our fixed address and purchasing our travel trailer. We had a smaller trailer already, sorta, that we had purchased at the RV show in Boise.
There is a story associated with that purchase that goes all the way back to the sale of our home in Lombard some years ago. To make it brief and to the point, with a change in presidential leadership at the college where I worked, I had lost my cabinet level job at the same time that our house went under water figuratively, due to the financial crises, and literally, due to inadequate infrastructure and heavy rains. I secured another job in Salt Lake, but we had to sell our home, and that proved impossible, not only because we were under water, but also because we held a split mortgage on the home. One bank held the primary mortgage while another held a secondary mortgage that had financed an improvement to the property. When outright sale failed predictably because we had disclosed the flooding, we went into short sale. When the short sale failed, predictably, because no one could get financing, we went into foreclosure. The property eventually sold for about a quarter of what we had originally financed. The primary mortgage was released with the foreclosure, and so was the secondary, but the secondary mortgage holder never removed it from its books and showed it as an unpaid debt, which in turn showed up as a big blotch on our otherwise flawless credit report.
OK, with that in mind, back to the story line. We had gone to the Boise RV show with the intent of buying a "camper," an RV to be used on short duration fishing trips. We had a price range in mind, and we looked at every RV in that price range at the show, which turns out to be a surprisingly large number of options. We settled on a trailer by Jayco, and sat down with the sales rep to fill out the financing paper work. Although we had bought and sold and bought homes in the interim, we weren't surprised when the secondary mortgage popped up on the credit report. The finance manager at the dealership asked for paperwork showing that the debt was included in the foreclosure. We provided that paperwork, and in a few days we heard back that the financing institution wanted proof that the debt had been cleared. That, we couldn't provide, told the finance manager so, and we didn't hear back from him. Oh well, we thought, it was a good idea, but it just wasn't meant to be.
In the meantime, too, our plans had changed. The corporate offices at Office Max had come to the decision that the Boise legal office was disposable, and our son who worked with the legal team as a computer forensics specialist, found himself without a job, sorta. He had an option of taking a "buy out" or relocating to Boca Raton in Florida. He chose the latter for any number of reasons, but it had a devastating effect on our lives. Their move to Boca Raton meant the loss of our grand-daughter, sorta. We had been a part of her day to day life since she was born and our son, separating from the AF with his new and pregnant wife, had lived with us in the Lombard house -- a house, I might add, that was not only a blotch on our credit, but filled with memories of our grand-daughter as she emerged from infancy into her toddler years. She would, for the first time, be two thousand miles away, and we would not be an active participant in all those milestones -- first boy friend, her successes at school, her prom graduation. As a consequence, we decided, new plan. Instead of weekend camping, we would sell the house in Mountain Home, use the proceeds to pay cash for a larger RV, and go full time.
The day to pick up our small camper came, and when we didn't show up, we received a phone call wondering why. Well, we said, when we didn't hear back from you, at all, either positively to say our credit had been approved, or negatively to say it hadn't been approved, we simply assumed it was a dead deal. Apparently not, surprise! and we were the proud owners of a small trailer sorta, that we no longer wanted. In reality, what we owned was the debt. The trailer was now an inconvenience to the dealer, because they no longer owned it. Because Idaho law does not allow for a "cooling off" period on RV sales, the moment we signed the credit application, we were subject to an asymmetry. They could turn us down -- and we thought they had -- but we could no longer turn them down. We were obligated to make the payments whether we picked up the trailer or not. So, we picked it up, brought it to Mountain Home, and parked it in the lot at Terry's
In the meantime, then, we followed through on our new plans. We dispossessed ourselves of our household stuff, and then finally our house two days ago last Friday. Good riddance, and we have found a way to make the small trailer "inconveniently handy" as we wait on what will be our more permanent home. We have already put money down on a larger trailer -- $1,000 non-refundable.
More on the particular trailer later, after we have inhabited it and I am clearer on the differences between our thinking and the reality, but there were a couple of things that struck me about the purchase itself.
First, of course, is the immediate loss of value on the smaller trailer. We more or less expected it, but not the extent to which it lost value -- a little over $5000. It has nothing whatsoever to do with "depreciation" or "use." With a little cleaning -- very little -- it will be indistinguishable from new. We haven't even used the stove. It cannot be sold as "new," because it has been registered and a title search will show our ownership, but I doubt very much that the dealership will discount the price on this trailer much for the wear and tear of use. The $5000 represents, of course, their profit margin on the resale. We could have sold it ourselves and come closer to what we owed, but that would have added another layer of uncertainty to our new life, not to mention the complications of paying off the loan, waiting on the title, waiting on a buyer, and what for us is the unpleasant act of negotiating the sale itself. Neither Lora nor I have the necessary self-interest to be good sales people.
As I said, though, we more or less expected that loss. Perhaps more surprising was the penalty that we paid for negotiating a cash purchase. There was a delay between the closing on the house and the actual purchase -- hence the $1000 non-refundable deposit -- but once closed, there would be little need to finance the purchase. Both Lora and I want to be debt free as much as possible, and there are reasons, both philosophical and practical, for being neither a lender nor a borrow. I could explain in excruciating detail, but will spare you. Still, though, clearly we are swimming up stream, actually more up a river during spring run off. The dealership didn't want to sell us a trailer. They REALLY wanted to sell us a loan, and the trailer was just a pretext for the sale of a loan. I suspect that, if we traced it back one step, we would find that the dealership doesn't "own" the trailer outright either, but has financed their inventory. If we traced it back another step, we would find that the manufacturer doesn't "own" the means or materials of production outright either, nor do the ancillary manufacturers that provide them with components, so on and so forth, in a web of "interest" more complex than Indira's web. I wonder, in other words, how much cost of the physical trailer is simply empty, "interest payment" piled on "interest payment" piled on "interest payment," and in being a good consumer and buying the trailer, ultimately, we're paying it all or at least that slice associated with this trailer.
And the dealership wanted more. If we financed, we were told, we could avoid a $2000 surcharge. The sales person was adept at telling us how we could "cheat" -- his word, not mine -- by taking out the loan, then paying it off after six months. In the meantime, though, we would be making "interest payments," and though he didn't say, the "pay it off in six months," was a truthful evasion. If we paid it off sooner, I suspect there would be a clause in the very fine print imposing a penalty for early payment and that penalty would probably be somewhere in the neighborhood of $2000. If we dutifully made the payments for six months and then paid it off, as suggested, I suspect that the interest collected during that period would be somewhere in the neighborhood of $2000. I don't know if they would have insisted on that surcharge had Lora and I been willing to walk away from the deal -- that is, if we had been better negotiators -- but those of us who are now "old timers" remember a day when there was a discount for a cash purchase. It meant, of course, that one was "thrifty," that one was "living within one's means," that one was "independent" and not "beholden to creditors," all of which are American virtues running all the way back to the likes of the Puritans who saw participation in usury as a sin against nature and nature's god, indicative of greed and an inducement to sloth. Not so much nowadays. We are, it seems, inescapably financed to the hilt.
Oh well, tomorrow we pick up the larger trailer, and we will pay cash to include the $5000 difference on our current "trade in" and the $2000 surcharge, and we will own it "free and clear" (except of course for taxes and registration fees). I do feel a bit cheated, and a bit resigned to the idea of being cheated, but also anxious to hit the road with Jack and Thor (our two Chihuahua dogs).
TIMELINE: cool at 42 degrees. Reading, Henry A. Giroux, America at War with Itself. Cubs lost to the Yankees 5 to 4 in 18 innings of play -- heavy sigh. Good news, Marine le Pen lost the presidential race in France, which the Times calls "an important demonstration that reason and coherence still matter in politics."
/
Monday, May 8, 2017
Monday, May 1, 2017
Good Riddance
Lora and I have almost completed dispossessing ourselves. The house itself sold very quickly, in two days, which has something to do with the market, more to do with Lora's prep. The market has been good, and there were no other houses available in our price range, and those available, we know would look shabby by comparison. Much of the house was freshly painted, the carpet replaced in the three bedrooms, and the two bathrooms "modernized." The old rust etched sinks and oak vanities were replaced with something on the low end of cost, but more stylish, and new. Lora is right. Few others would have gone to the trouble, and our realtor showed us pics on his phone of other places on the market with trash -- literally trash -- piled in corners, so it isn't surprising that ours sold quickly. We have always left places better than we found them, but we have always left them, and this likely is the very last house we will ever buy.
Though the house is pretty much empty, dispossessing ourselves of the accumulated stuff has been a bit more difficult. Most of the big items we have sold through Craigslist. We had some trepidation about it, knowing the number of scams that prevail on Craigslist, but I have to say we've sold several relatively costly items -- most of my tools, the band saw, table saw, drill press, and some fishing gear, the pontoon float -- and all without incident. Almost everyone got a "deal," and walked away happy, and so all is good.
Lora arranged for the sale of the larger, can't-give-it-away furniture items, and with one exception, people got a deal, and walked away happy. The living room furniture she sold to a young couple, under educated, between the two of them working three jobs to raise three kids. They picked it up with a promise to pay, and to be completely honest, I didn't think they would. The $225 she asked for the furniture was only about one tenth the cost of comparable "new," but still a sacrifice for the couple and it wouldn't have surprised me if they'd push it off until we just quit asking.
Another piece of furniture she sold to an older couple of our acquaintance on the same promise to pay -- a cabinet I'd made for Lora with multiple small drawers that held her crafting supplies -- and as yet, they haven't paid. We ran into them at the Boise Stage Stop for breakfast one day. They too were on their way to the city for one reason or another (if I remember correctly, the advancing pill popping hypochondria of age) and they were showing us their new phones, both of them pricey. The $70 Lora asked for the cabinet wouldn't cover the cost of materials to re-build it, much less the finicky labor involved in fitting about 30 drawers, and given their $400 phones wouldn't be much of a sacrifice, but they still haven't paid and it's unlikely that they will.
Much of the smaller stuff we've sold at flea markets, garage sales, and finally a raffle. The raffle was one of those great ideas, in theory, that didn't quite work out as planned in reality. Lora thought it would be a good way to throw a farewell party and get rid of the remaining "stuff." She invited her friends (to include the older couple mentioned above) and her ex-coworkers. The premise was this: she would provide the food and drink, and everyone would buy raffle tickets for quarters -- literally quarters to be used in the coin-op laundries at the camp sites of our future adventure. The occasional drawing for the remainder of our stuff was imagined as just a fun activity, not the center piece of the evening. I should probably explain, however, that our stuff still included antique furniture, wicker outdoor furniture, art work, along with the miscellaneous "goods" that would normally accompany a garage sale. The real "junk" had long since been sold at the flea markets.
I'm not sure what exactly went wrong, but something did. Lora imagined that they'd come with a few quarters, and that we'd spend the bulk of the evening eating, drinking and just visiting. It quickly became all about the quarters, which seemed to create an odd aura of entitlement. It was as if we were obligated to sell stuff for a quarter. One asked if the washer and dryer were included in the auction, and Lora had to explain that, no, they were part of the house sale. Another asked if the TV was part of the auction, and Lora again had to explain that, no, she would sell it for $150, but otherwise it was going into storage. Yet another argued with Lora about our "fireplace" -- the TV stand that had a faux fireplace built into it -- insisting that she had promised to give it to her. It too was included in the sale of the house.
After the first ticket was called, they became like sharks in a pod of seals, intent on consuming everything. Someone complained, not far into it, that they'd be there all night. Lora's ostensible friend (the female half of the older couple who welched on the cabinet) point out that "the dumb blonde" was running the show, so what to expect. That, of course, hurt Lora's feelings, and angered her at the moment. The next day, after she had time to reflect, she wondered what it was about her that invited such treatment. I could speculate, and go off on a tangent about most people being disappointed in their amour propre, and they must find someone, anyone, to blame for their disappointment. People like Lora provide a convenient target, not because there is something "wrong" with her, but because she is "giving," in almost every sense of the word. So she tends to attract people who are "takers," who smell the opportunity, like blood in the water, to take advantage.
Regardless, instead of the evening she envisioned, it became a feeding frenzy. Adding to the frenzy, were the children. It seems that most of her co-workers brought a brood, most under school age, and because their parents were so intent on the progressing raffle, they went completely unsupervised. They picked their noses, fingered the food, spilled soft drinks all over the house, and trampled the emerging stone crop in the back yard. For our "guests," it became about getting stuff. For us, it quickly became about getting rid of stuff and our guests. As a pure cynical calculation, it served its purpose. We got rid of everything in the house that wasn't otherwise promised, and we are now almost completely free of the stuff that weighs us down. We took in (I counted) $89.50 in quarters, and spent about $150 on the food and drinks. From my perspective, we paid the difference to have our stuff hauled away. Good riddance to both the stuff, and those who hauled it away.
Though the house is pretty much empty, dispossessing ourselves of the accumulated stuff has been a bit more difficult. Most of the big items we have sold through Craigslist. We had some trepidation about it, knowing the number of scams that prevail on Craigslist, but I have to say we've sold several relatively costly items -- most of my tools, the band saw, table saw, drill press, and some fishing gear, the pontoon float -- and all without incident. Almost everyone got a "deal," and walked away happy, and so all is good.
Lora arranged for the sale of the larger, can't-give-it-away furniture items, and with one exception, people got a deal, and walked away happy. The living room furniture she sold to a young couple, under educated, between the two of them working three jobs to raise three kids. They picked it up with a promise to pay, and to be completely honest, I didn't think they would. The $225 she asked for the furniture was only about one tenth the cost of comparable "new," but still a sacrifice for the couple and it wouldn't have surprised me if they'd push it off until we just quit asking.
Another piece of furniture she sold to an older couple of our acquaintance on the same promise to pay -- a cabinet I'd made for Lora with multiple small drawers that held her crafting supplies -- and as yet, they haven't paid. We ran into them at the Boise Stage Stop for breakfast one day. They too were on their way to the city for one reason or another (if I remember correctly, the advancing pill popping hypochondria of age) and they were showing us their new phones, both of them pricey. The $70 Lora asked for the cabinet wouldn't cover the cost of materials to re-build it, much less the finicky labor involved in fitting about 30 drawers, and given their $400 phones wouldn't be much of a sacrifice, but they still haven't paid and it's unlikely that they will.
Much of the smaller stuff we've sold at flea markets, garage sales, and finally a raffle. The raffle was one of those great ideas, in theory, that didn't quite work out as planned in reality. Lora thought it would be a good way to throw a farewell party and get rid of the remaining "stuff." She invited her friends (to include the older couple mentioned above) and her ex-coworkers. The premise was this: she would provide the food and drink, and everyone would buy raffle tickets for quarters -- literally quarters to be used in the coin-op laundries at the camp sites of our future adventure. The occasional drawing for the remainder of our stuff was imagined as just a fun activity, not the center piece of the evening. I should probably explain, however, that our stuff still included antique furniture, wicker outdoor furniture, art work, along with the miscellaneous "goods" that would normally accompany a garage sale. The real "junk" had long since been sold at the flea markets.
I'm not sure what exactly went wrong, but something did. Lora imagined that they'd come with a few quarters, and that we'd spend the bulk of the evening eating, drinking and just visiting. It quickly became all about the quarters, which seemed to create an odd aura of entitlement. It was as if we were obligated to sell stuff for a quarter. One asked if the washer and dryer were included in the auction, and Lora had to explain that, no, they were part of the house sale. Another asked if the TV was part of the auction, and Lora again had to explain that, no, she would sell it for $150, but otherwise it was going into storage. Yet another argued with Lora about our "fireplace" -- the TV stand that had a faux fireplace built into it -- insisting that she had promised to give it to her. It too was included in the sale of the house.
After the first ticket was called, they became like sharks in a pod of seals, intent on consuming everything. Someone complained, not far into it, that they'd be there all night. Lora's ostensible friend (the female half of the older couple who welched on the cabinet) point out that "the dumb blonde" was running the show, so what to expect. That, of course, hurt Lora's feelings, and angered her at the moment. The next day, after she had time to reflect, she wondered what it was about her that invited such treatment. I could speculate, and go off on a tangent about most people being disappointed in their amour propre, and they must find someone, anyone, to blame for their disappointment. People like Lora provide a convenient target, not because there is something "wrong" with her, but because she is "giving," in almost every sense of the word. So she tends to attract people who are "takers," who smell the opportunity, like blood in the water, to take advantage.
Regardless, instead of the evening she envisioned, it became a feeding frenzy. Adding to the frenzy, were the children. It seems that most of her co-workers brought a brood, most under school age, and because their parents were so intent on the progressing raffle, they went completely unsupervised. They picked their noses, fingered the food, spilled soft drinks all over the house, and trampled the emerging stone crop in the back yard. For our "guests," it became about getting stuff. For us, it quickly became about getting rid of stuff and our guests. As a pure cynical calculation, it served its purpose. We got rid of everything in the house that wasn't otherwise promised, and we are now almost completely free of the stuff that weighs us down. We took in (I counted) $89.50 in quarters, and spent about $150 on the food and drinks. From my perspective, we paid the difference to have our stuff hauled away. Good riddance to both the stuff, and those who hauled it away.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Dispossession and the Flood
Lora continues to get rid of stuff. She went through our closets and filled four plastic trash bags full with clothing we no longer need or wear for the Youth Ranch. She has also secured a booth at echo consignment, and has taken a truck load of small tables and knick-knacks there for sale. Although the house is by no means empty, it does feel lighter.
We also received a call yesterday saying our camper was ready to be picked up. This came as a surprise, for reasons I will explain.
We had gone to the RV show in Boise a couple of weeks ago, with the express intent of buying a camper (at least I had the express intent of buying a camper). With the exception of the most egregiously ostentatious rigs, we looked at every camper in the show and decided on a smaller Jayco that had most of the features we wanted. We made the credit application, and of course, the foreclosure showed up. Someday, I will tell the full tale of the foreclosure. Suffice it to say that it was the result of an unfortunate concatenation of events -- the loss of my job at College of DuPage, the flooding of our home, the lingering national financial crises that sent the housing market into a tail spin. We were a statistic, one of the screwed.
The flood itself was traumatic, turning our property into a lake. The first photo was taken from the fire department boat, the one used to evacuate us from the house. I have to admit, there's a beauty to it. The ominous light, along with the bad cell phone photography reminds me of an impressionist painting, a Monet of disaster.
Although we were able to salvage some "stuff," the flood took pretty much everything we owned. The hardest part, for me at least, was the books. The second photo is my library, taken on the way out the door to the boat. I haven't looked at these photos for a number of years now, and again, I have to admit there's a confusing beauty there, the ceiling lamp and the books reflected in the rising water, and the odd distortion of perspective that it causes. The water was to rise another foot, just enough to cover the exercise machine. Some of the top shelf books were spared the flood water itself, but not the accumulated damp and the smell of fetid water. Mold would follow, so all of them ended up in a heap destined for the dumpster.
In the end, my new job in Salt Lake required a move and the sale of the house. Even if we were dishonest enough to do so, the flood damage was obvious and couldn't be hidden. We disclosed the flood, and I even sharpied the high water mark and the flood date on one of the support beams. Then too, because the majority of the insurance money was held by the mortgage company and would only be released after the completion of repairs, we were wrapped in a classic catch 22. Though the mortgage company insisted that we do so, we simply didn't have the cash on hand necessary to repair the damage, which far exceeded the insurance pay out regardless. So, in the end, we had a $350K home that was eventually sold at auction for $80K, and even then it was not a particular bargain because a scant two years later, it flooded again.
Because of the foreclosure, we had been denied credit before, so it wasn't much of a surprise when we received an email from the credit manager requesting additional documentation. Our lawyers at the time had spent over a year and half trying to resolve the issue with the mortgage company, to no avail, and ultimately the matter was simply left unresolved. It lingers on an otherwise perfect credit report. We can explain it, but we cannot provide the sort of documentation requested showing a "pay-off." When we didn't hear back from the credit manager, we simply assumed the loan not been approved.
We assumed wrong. We had moved on mentally and emotionally -- thinking more of dispossessing ourselves and using the proceeds from the sale of our house to buy a slightly larger rig as a full time dwelling -- then we received a call from the RV dealer, confirming our appointment to pick up the camper. Surprise! There was some back and forth, but ultimately the camper was ours. It doesn't exactly fit the new plan, but it doesn't exactly push it aside either and may turn out to be a blessing. It resolves one anxiety, the interval between the sale of our house and the the purchase of a camper, taking the pressure off the latter.
So, I take the pickup in today to get the tow package installed, and we pick up the camper from the dealer in two days. Meanwhile, Lora continues to get rid of stuff. She keeps testing to see if I am bothered by it. Although I admit, the idea of dispossessing myself of my wood working tools, many of which I rescued and refurbished from the flood, does bother me some, but the rest of it does not. We stood looking at the books I have accumulated since the flood, and I am not in the least troubled by the idea of selling or giving them away. I reminded her that we had been dispossessed before, the difference being, this time it was voluntary.
We also received a call yesterday saying our camper was ready to be picked up. This came as a surprise, for reasons I will explain.
We had gone to the RV show in Boise a couple of weeks ago, with the express intent of buying a camper (at least I had the express intent of buying a camper). With the exception of the most egregiously ostentatious rigs, we looked at every camper in the show and decided on a smaller Jayco that had most of the features we wanted. We made the credit application, and of course, the foreclosure showed up. Someday, I will tell the full tale of the foreclosure. Suffice it to say that it was the result of an unfortunate concatenation of events -- the loss of my job at College of DuPage, the flooding of our home, the lingering national financial crises that sent the housing market into a tail spin. We were a statistic, one of the screwed.
Although we were able to salvage some "stuff," the flood took pretty much everything we owned. The hardest part, for me at least, was the books. The second photo is my library, taken on the way out the door to the boat. I haven't looked at these photos for a number of years now, and again, I have to admit there's a confusing beauty there, the ceiling lamp and the books reflected in the rising water, and the odd distortion of perspective that it causes. The water was to rise another foot, just enough to cover the exercise machine. Some of the top shelf books were spared the flood water itself, but not the accumulated damp and the smell of fetid water. Mold would follow, so all of them ended up in a heap destined for the dumpster.
We assumed wrong. We had moved on mentally and emotionally -- thinking more of dispossessing ourselves and using the proceeds from the sale of our house to buy a slightly larger rig as a full time dwelling -- then we received a call from the RV dealer, confirming our appointment to pick up the camper. Surprise! There was some back and forth, but ultimately the camper was ours. It doesn't exactly fit the new plan, but it doesn't exactly push it aside either and may turn out to be a blessing. It resolves one anxiety, the interval between the sale of our house and the the purchase of a camper, taking the pressure off the latter.
So, I take the pickup in today to get the tow package installed, and we pick up the camper from the dealer in two days. Meanwhile, Lora continues to get rid of stuff. She keeps testing to see if I am bothered by it. Although I admit, the idea of dispossessing myself of my wood working tools, many of which I rescued and refurbished from the flood, does bother me some, but the rest of it does not. We stood looking at the books I have accumulated since the flood, and I am not in the least troubled by the idea of selling or giving them away. I reminded her that we had been dispossessed before, the difference being, this time it was voluntary.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
The Narrow Road
Lora and I seem to have reached a decision. A few weeks ago, our son received word that his employer was closing the Boise office where he worked. He was given a choice of severance, or the continuation of his job, but at the new corporate headquarters in Boca Raton. After some agonizing, he chose the latter. Lora and I had moved to Mountain Home, just outside of Boise, really for one reason and one reason only -- to be near our granddaughter. We very much wanted to be present as she came into her own, to see her through at least her high school years. Unfortunately, impersonal decisions made in a corporate office, at considerable distance from us, have taken that away from us.
Though it was considered, we cannot afford to move to Boca Raton. We have done enough of that moving in our life -- the selling of a house, the packing of box after box after box of belongings, the lugging of it across country, the buying of a house, the unpacking of box after box after box of belongings. It happens at considerable economic expense, but also emotional and physical expense, and at our age, we can no longer afford any of it. In truth too, though we love our granddaughter enormously, Florida is not where we want to be.
Still, there is the desire to move on. Mountain Home is not where we want to be either, and with our granddaughter soon to be in Florida, we began examining options. First, it was down-sizing to fit in a tiny house somewhere in Washington or Oregon. There were attractions in this, mostly in the down-sizing, the reaching out for greater simplicity. Ultimately, we could no more afford that than we could a move to Boca Raton, and a certain doom settled over us. We seemed stuck in Mountain Home, with its red-neck red-state politics and its depressing nostalgia for glory days long since gone. The idea of being stuck in Mountain Home pressed down on us with all the continuous overcast of a winter sky.
We had talked about it for some time, even before we moved to Mountain Home -- selling everything, getting an RV, hitting the open road -- but the prospect appealed to Lora more than me. I think it is easier for her to "get rid of everything" and pare life down to the necessities. Philosophically, the idea appeals to me. I could quote Thoreau or the sutras to support the idea of shedding unnecessary "stuff," and we have more than our share of unnecessary "stuff" to anchor us in Mountain Home, should we choose to let it. And there are certain things I find it hard to give up -- mostly the woodworking and the tools for woodworking that I have accumulated over a lifetime. My identity is somehow tied up in those things, but I wonder just how tied up? Enough to trap us in Mountain Home?
Let us hope not. So we have reached a decision. We've already taken the first step in shedding stuff at the flea market, selling off the excess inventory from our failed entrepreneurial enterprise. Lora has already reserved a spot at the local consignment store for knick-knacks and other sellable stuff. For myself, in anticipation of the spring and summer, I have been tying flies. The one pictured is called an Improved Sofa Pillow. Why exactly, I'm not sure. It's a version of the Stimulator and is intended to imitate an adult stone or salmon fly. I'm visualizing myself stepping out of the RV, looking down on the river to see the trout rising, gearing up as I drink my morning coffee ...
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