Fuck it. i’m keeping the chairs. maybe they won’t fit in the new place, so what?….i’d just have to buy chairs anyway. Because i know they are artistically significant…or at least fashionably overrated, i felt guilty for having them, like i had been entrusted with making sure they got someplace nice. someplace they will be safe. That’s the way i have felt for most of my life…perhaps it’s the bookseller in me. I always joke the difference between a real bookseller and a collector pretending to be a bookseller, is that when we die, our personal collections are worthless because we have sold off all the good copies and kept all the shaken and battered copies for ourselves. So when i get something extra nice, my instinct is to get rid of it. Besides if i got hit by a bus no one would know they are worth anything and like all my other possessions they’d end up in the second hand store. Over the last 37 years a lot of great shit has passed through my hands.
Right now they are staying. But I will miss this porch. I have to have another one, that’s on my must have list..everyone should have a screen porch…america’s fascination with decks is wasteful, a screen porch is so much more versatile.
Yes I met with Atty #4 ….. very old school, very get to the heart of the matter, he didn’t mind if i went through the motions of trying to detail all my brothers is untrustworthyness, he just reminded me i was paying for him to listen, as it is I already owe them $100 for walking in the room.
From the moment i made the appointment, my entire body was in panic mode. The screaming in my head from Lawyer #1 had morphed into a loop reel of me trying to condense ‘my immediate problems’ into coherent soundbites…just the facts mam. I don’t really have a good audial memory on the best of days – I was thrown when he asked me basic questions such as ‘where do you work’ – I can’t really break down what i do to make a living into one modified noun. When he asked me where i would come up with the consult fee, i also didn’t have an easy answer. I am the living definition of ‘house poor’ he must think i am a lazy sot, – less complicated were the absolute ‘nos’ to: “‘are you undergoing any type of therapy?”, ” have you ever been arrested?” etc..
His legal opinion was that i was too emotionally invested in my real estate…well hell yes……..on any given day i have $64 dollars in my bank account, yet i own half of this 750K behemoth – the damn thing has been my home since Ford pardoned Nixon.. it’s my retirement, my nest egg, my security against waking up one morning in a cardboard box. And after 36 years of my family convincing me that I only coexist here because they have allowed me to, i am hanging on to it by my finger nails.
Now that Herself is in the ground, Himself has had to work double hard to keep me convinced that he could boot me out without much trouble. And don’t think he hasn’t tried…with a laundry list of little incidents that made my life more difficult, removing my name from the bank acct, letting the utility companies into the basement to shut me off, trying to get me to surrender my workspace in the basement, ripping up my plantings in the yard, not repairing anything broken on my side of the house, telling the plumbers, electricians or plowmen not to come when i call, it goes on…for a while there he tried getting the city to hassle me, trying to convince the conservation officer, and the animal control officer that i was somehow mentally impaired and could not make good decisions (that particular effort backfired..they think he’s nuts)… then there was the time i was baby sitting a blue nose pitt when he ACTUALLY called the mayor’s office and demanded they take it away…..it would have been funnier if that mayor had liked me, but it was when i was just getting public traction on the rail trail project, so it was uncomfortable, yet utterly fruitless. I would have kept that sweet dog for myself, if i had had a bigger bed, not just because she scared him shitless.
Combine years of that, with my economic failures and you can imagine that i live a lot of life with the word loser tattooed on my psyche. Every hour leading up to the meeting with Lawyer#4, my back curled more and more into a corkscrew….. that somehow someway, by going to DEFCON2 and hiring these big guns it will somehow backfire and he will manage to turn the entire escapade against me, and I will eventually end up in my cardboard box.
Lawyer#4 was nice enough and assured me that everything will be fine… as he licked his lips. Even if my brother chooses the easy path in all this… the legal fees will be a hefty percentage of my allowance. But I’m fine with that. perhaps i really don’t have a good grasp of money – my mother thought too much of it and I guess i think too little, i can never seem to keep any of it around for very long. IMHO it’s plenty worth 10-12 thousand dollars in legal fees against what I am trying to get out of this. I deserve my half of this beast. I deserve to cash out of this fucking game and live like a person with a couch and a kitchen table and some pretty nice fucking chairs.