After six months in Hawaii it was time to hit the mainland for visits with family and friends and Blue. While running errands together, my daughter asked me if I’d be sad when we left Hawaii. I considered her question and answered, “No.” Hubby, on the other hand, just about burst into tears.
“Sad” was the wrong word. “Excited” and “scared” are the adjectives I’d choose. Excited because I love change and want to see people I’ve missed. Scared because we’ll be living in the van.
This isn’t news to me. In fact, when we realized that we were never going to agree on a tiny-home design let alone get it built in time for our arrival we talked about options. I said, “Let’s rent a place.” He said, “Let’s camp!” And somehow he thinks I’m his soulmate.
Back and forth we went. I won’t bore you with the details but phrases including “I didn’t sign up for this,” and “When we first met you said you’d go anywhere with me,” were thrown around.
Our agreement was to “finish” outfitting the van and live in it for the summer. We made a list that included: add AC and an additional opening window; make the Captain’s chairs swivel; finish the walls and flooring; add solar panels to the top; and redo the electrical system. In two weeks.
As of a week ago, he suggested the AC, window and flooring were “not really urgent.” That was his first mistake. Our agreement mentioned nothing about “urgency.” His second mistake was thinking I didn’t know how warm the summers are in Utah, Nevada and Idaho. It's an average of 87 degrees. I know, there might be worse things but stay focused. His third, well, we don’t need to go there.
I agreed because of the word “finish.” Only six letters long, its implications are essential. All Done. No More To Do. Complete. Definitely not “almost done,” or “that should work for now.” Did I miss something?
So, you may understand my trepidation. Will the van get done? Will they have to rent? Will they sell the van and buy a tent? We’ll let you know.
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