My First Cabin Purchase


I have moved many times and I’ve bought and sold enough houses to know that nothing is for sure until you show up at the closing and sign on the dotted line.  Just ask me about the time we “sold” our house three times in three months to three different buyers who kept changing their mother fu**ing minds until we lay in our driveway covered in ash like the victims of an apocalyptic siege.

Actually………don’t.  Let’s not trigger the PTSD.

So when we sign the purchase agreement for the cabin, I keep the news to myself, figuring I’ll send birth announcements after the closing, when no one can come back and take the keys out of my hands (and if they tried, I would drop those keys down the front of my pants and run.  SERPENTINE!  SERPENTINE!).

If I buy something for “my” cabin, daring to call it “mine” before it is officially “mine” as defined by a court of law, I would surely jinx the deal even more than if I actually told someone what we had done.  That is the ultimate in hubris.  Presumptuous and arrogant.  Tempting fate.

I buy the silver deer head above (not the gazelle thing.  or emu or whatever.  there are no emus in the north woods) for a friend who is staging her house for a home tour  –  knowing full well that this is not even close to something she would hang on her wall.  And if I phrase it properly, like gifting a a Christmas present that is the wrong size (“I have the receipt!”), she may diplomatically decline the gift.  And if I’m extra slow in returning it, it may still be in my possession after the closing.

I make the presentation.  And I’m all “No worries if you don’t like it!”  And she declines.

I bring it back home and I hide it in the laundry room.  Because when you hide something, it means you didn’t buy it.


Several weeks pass with the silver deer head hiding in the laundry room and, finally, I sneak it into the car on our way to the closing, barely looking at it, because the cabin still isn’t ours.  And only when I have keys in hand do I look at it and hang it on an  existing nail, vacated by some pine cone tchochke.  It’s like declaring the cabin ours.



(photo credit:  Graham & Green)



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