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A Day in the Life: Abandoned By The Sea Part Six
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Posted by tomasi Tue Aug 22, 2006 13:41:36 PDT
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Once we were back in California, things fell into the old comfortable routine.

Debbie and I discussed our Easter trip, and while we agreed resettling in Oregon sounded like a great idea, maybe we had acted just a bit too hasty. Face it, all our family and friends were in Bakersfield, not to mention the job security we enjoyed, or the beautiful old house we had worked so hard to restore.

Was it really worth it to leave all this behind? Probably not.

I rationalized the perhaps Mr. Eaton would chuckle over the ridiculous Californian who went on vacation and had the nerve to apply for a job, then actually signed his name. Yeah, that was probably the way it would go. We had a great vacation, but we were Californians, not Oregonians. What were we thinking? And, as far as the $200 deposit we had put down on the lot, we were certain to get it back, at least we hoped.

Well, as we were soon to find out, Oregon had the last laugh.

           
It was toward the end of May that my principal, Jerry, called me into his office. Since I had worked with Jerry for nearly eight years, he had become a good friend and mentor. I remember that conversation like it was yesterday.

          
 “Joe,” he said, “I got a call from an Irving Eaton today.”

           
Swallowing hard, all I could say was, “Oh?”

           
He continued, “Yes, he told me you would be teaching for his school district next year. Is that true?”

           
Is that true? Is that true? Those words kept echoing through my mind, so I answered, “I guess.”

           
Jerry laughed, “I think it’s more than a guess. He told me you signed a contract — did you?”

           
“Yes, but he can’t really hold me to it, could he?”

           
“Well, a contract is a legally binding document. Of course, they can’t force you to relocate, but you probably shouldn’t have signed it. When was it, during Easter break?”

           
“Yes,” I answered.

          
 He stood and shook my hand. “Well, Oregon is a beautiful country, if that’s what you want. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a parent club meeting. Let me know what you decide.”

           
I nodded and left his office, numb with the realization that my impulsive nature had done it again. When I got home that evening, Debbie and I talked, and since my wife is always up for an adventure, she said, “Let’s go for it.” When I nodded, she announced that she would call Peggy Miller, and proceed with plans on the house.

           
And “go” we did. Within a few weeks, Debbie booked a flight and flew to Oregon where she could meet with Peggy. Together, they selected the color of the house, the trim, cabinets, counter tops, and all other decisions that concern a new home. I was pleasantly happy to let it all fall into someone else’s hands, besides, Debbie was excited about it all. 

When she got home from Oregon, Debbie was definitely on a first name basis with Peggy, and she had as many tidbits about the Miller marriage as she did the house. Finally, she pulled a floor plan out of her bags and we discussed our future home well into the wee hours.

           
Spring evaporated into early summer, and before we knew it, the school year had ended. Debbie put up a sign at the first of our two yard sales, “This house may be for sale.” I have to admit the sign sounded a bit vague, but having never sold a house, we really had no idea what we were doing. As fate would have it, our house sold that morning. The neighbors across the street, who just happened to be renting, were excited to not only stay in the neighborhood, but they were happy to be able to move across the street. They agreed to our asking price without question. Since she had planned our new home, Debbie told me to handle the sale of our house. Sounded fair to me.

When I sat down with the couple, the man first thing the man said was, “My wife would like your living room furniture.”

And what did I answer? “Sure.”

That one decision, made without consulting Debbie, still makes its way into conversation decades later. You would have thought I’d given away our cat. Debbie was understandably furious, and as I back-peddled, I promised that we would buy new furniture when we moved north. I also rationalized that the cost of shipping that leather monstrosity of a sofa to Oregon would be more than buying new.

That was all it took. Not that the savings angle wasn’t important, but it was the prospect of a shopping trip that won Debbie over. Of course, that evening I got a lecture from my realtor sister about the difference between real and personal property.

Apparently, the buyers had crossed the line and I had folded, but it was a life’s lesson: when faced with a decision, always, I mean, always, consult your wife.

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