“It’s all fun and games until some one gets married or pregnant,” a dear friend observed. Looking at this photo is a reminder that for all the whimsy, optimism and cans of groovy paint, if one doesn’t come to some kind of satisfactory arrangement with the loan service provider, its all for naught, ain’t it? The following is a list of players in this story:
Old Merchants Bank
Making Home Affordable
Freddie Mae and Freddie Mac
There are many websites and blogs and countless stories of heartbreak and loss, which I won’t go into, because if I did, this post would never be published!
So that brings me to The Urban League.
As mentioned in my previous installment, a gentleman named Charles at the Urban League of Union County counseled and advised me through numerous applications and reapplications for a Mortgage Modification which I mistakenly believed was unattainable. Last week, Ocwen- the service provider for Wells Fargo- who ironically has my checking account as well as my mortgage- offered me a Trial Modification according to the Hamp2 guidelines. Which should be all very well and dandy, shouldn’t it?
Isn’t it ironic that when you leap over an enormous hurdle with a loved one, you’re presented with a new challenge? How do you leap over the next one, together as a team? Look at all those great duets: Fred and Ginger, Lucy and Desi, Dino and Jerry, Simon and Garfunkel- None of them last.
Folks who are so brave and so amazing when times are tough can be so petty and arrogant and rude and generally hateful as things start coming together.
My Dad would say, it’s a conundrum.
But we are different now. Our trials and tribulations have changed us. I hope. So, if we’ve made this huge circle back, to the scene of the crime, as it were, how do we play this hand so as to come out happy and strong and living comfortably in our kick ass big ass house?
The building department closed us down last week when the barter to repair the porch began.
The IRS wants serious money if we’re going to seriously put that difficulty behind us.
We need a new roof. It’s such a lot of dough to come up with in such a short amount of time.
When my husband paints the ceiling of our youngest son’s bedroom, it all flakes off and falls upon the floor.
The ominous warning, “More tears are shed from answered prayers than-” But we are changed, aren’t we? Please, God. Tell me I won’t just throw up my hands in tears. Let me find the moxie to take no prisoners and get current with this debt. Let me steer my ship back to the novel I was writing not two months ago and finish it. And do it justice, Lord. And please Lord, give me the grace to lighten up a little. Amen.
The only fitting Post Script is that in an effort to continue my march towards gracious living nirvana, I knocked over a can of blue paint on the white broadloom of our youngest son’s soon-to-be bedroom.
The pigment is very- well, durable is a fine word. After scrubbing followed by the Rug Doctor for several hours, the spouse removed the broadloom, and guess what?
The floor is also very blue on the original wood floor now, too.
But there’s no use crying over spilt paint. So, on a brighter note, behold oldest daughter applying silver leaf to my bath tub. Very nice, very nice indeed. Subtle perfection she calls it. Such a class act.