The Transition Times

I spent a lot of time last night fighting with myself.  Was I really ready to sell Lew’s PT Cruiser?  And did I really want to sell it to someone I know?  I had decided that I was going to tell them that I had changed my mind.

But this morning, I asked myself, “If not now, when?”  They made me an offer this morning and I headed to the bank to get the title out of the safe deposit box.  In the vault, I glanced at the paperwork.  Then took a second, more careful look.  Scream! Lew had put the car in his name only!  I flipped the title over to see if I had to get my signature notarized (since I was at the bank . . .).  Yep.  I went through everything in the box looking to see if I had left a Power of Attorney in there.  Nope.

Back out in the lobby at the information desk . . . “Do I need to bring the Power of Attorney or is his Death Certificate better?”  Well . . . the Power of Attorney is no longer valid, it died when Lew died.  And as far as the car is concerned, it ain’t mine.  It belongs to Lew’s estate.  I had to get Lew’s Will probated and the car turned over to me as part of the “Widow’s Allowance.”  “Widow’s Allowance”???  Yep, there really is such a thing.  Its $10,000 annually for the widow and $2,000 for each of the minor children.  Oops!  I’m getting ahead of myself.

So, I left the bank.  Drove home.  Called the Clerk of Court’s office.  Got transferred twice, then put on hold for a while.  Made up a list of paperwork I had to take with me.  Fortunately, I already had it gathered together.  And, fortunately, I had enough cash to pay their fees “in cash.  We don’t take credit cards or checks,” so I didn’t have to go back to the bank.

Popped the address into my GPS.  I was very thankful for that thing.  I haven’t been downtown, er, uptown in many many years.  And off I went.  When I spotted the building I thought was the right one, I circled back around to the parking lot I had just passed.  “Maintenance vehicles only.”  Dang, I was on the wrong side of the street to get to the other parking deck.  I had to make a bigger circle to get back in the other direction.  “Law Enforcement only.”  Well, dang.  I hung a right and decided to beg for pity in the “Juror’s” parking lot.  Oh!  That was the entrance to the appropriate parking deck!  Great signage.

As usual, all the van spaces were filled with small cars (Yes, its legal.).  I circled the level.  One parking space, too small to fit into, let alone open the doors and deploy the ramp.  I circled again.  Finally!  A space on the end of a row!  Ewww! “Retail shopping only.  90 minute limit.  Towing enforced.”  Even though I was headed for a government office, I decided to take a chance that I would be done in 90 minutes.

Out on the street, a police officer was waiting for the light to change.  I asked where the wheelchair entrance was for the building.  I was headed to the wrong building.  Thank Goodness I asked! Benny and I crossed the other street.  A young man approached.  A neighbor.  We barely spoke, “I have paperwork to do,” as I hurried toward the entrance.

“That’s what I was here for, too!” he replied.  We separated, he staying outside.

I panicked!  I was in the courthouse!  Oh No! Guards!  Searches!  Benny!  I wasn’t prepared for that!  “Come on through, he’ll hand search you.”  Please, Benny, don’t bite a guard.  Behave.  Pleaassseee.

The guard poked into by side bag, then moved around to my other side.  He felt a bag hanging off the back.  It crinkled.  “What’s this?”

“That’s my dog’s poop bags.”  He dropped it instantly.  “The other bag is my camera.”

“Uh oh.  Cameras aren’t allowed in the court house.”

“May I leave it here with you and pick it up on my way out?”

“No, ma’am.  We’re not supposed to hold anything for you.  You’ll have to leave it in your car.”

I don’t know what happened.  I just started to loose it.  I turned away and then turned back to ask, “What about my camera phone?”  My eyes were starting to well up.  Back out on the street, tears began running.  I held my head down, hoping no one would notice.

Back at the van, I started dumping my bags in the “trunk” and wondered if I would make it back within the 90 minutes.  Then I realized how lucky I was.  I pulled out my Leatherman tool with its assorted knives.  I pulled out a hemostat (that could easily be taken for scissors).  And from the other side, I removed my laser pointer.  I sat a moment and tried to calm down.  Any other “weapons”?

Then it was back across the two streets.  By the time I was back with the same two guards, the tears were running again.  They apologized several times.  I’m sure they felt like total clods.  I had asked if I was in the right building, so they knew why I was there.  I guess I should be happy — they didn’t try to search Benny.

Upstairs, I ducked into the ladies room to look for my composure and try to dry off a bit (my Kleenex was now in the back of the van).  But by the time I got to the receptionist’s desk, I was totally unglued.  All I could do was nod or shake my head in response to her questions.  “Did you come here by yourself?  You shouldn’t have come alone.”  Oh, that made me feel sooo much better!

She asked for my paperwork.  Instead of handing her the car title, CarMax quote, marriage license, death certificate, Will and my ID, I shoved the entire folder under the safety glass.  After going through and picking out what she needed, she said we didn’t need to do the Will thing.  Since the car was the only thing that wasn’t in both of our names, and since it was valued less than the “Widow’s Allowance” . . . the PT Cruiser is now mine.  Well, sort of.

Back at the van, junk loaded back in all my bags (but rather haphazardly), I suddenly felt calm.  No more tears.  No sense of dread.  So strange.

I decided to press my luck and hit the DMV on my way home.  Man, I HATE that parking lot.  Its rather short of curb cuts — I have to park at the grocery store just to be able to get onto the sidewalk.  The guy at the end of the line saw me coming and held the door.  I took one look and said, “I don’t think I’m going to come in.  Thanks anyway.”  He saw me coming because the end of the double line was at the door.

Back at home, I fell apart again.  I don’t know why today was so hard.  I hope tomorrow will be better.  Benny did a great job today.  And I must brag on him.  Yesterday, we met an MS staffer for lunch.  Benny has done well in restaurants in the past, so I wasn’t really worried.  While we sat and waited for our companion to arrive, the tables next to us began to fill.  On one side was a crying baby.  On the other side was a group of eight to ten very noisy youngsters.  All the ruckus bothered him at first, but after a while he calmed down.  I was delighted.

We have a challenge ahead of us this weekend.  The dog trainer’s group is meeting again.  I missed the last one, stayed home with Lew.  This is the first time I’ll be taking Benny with me.  Of course, I’m sure everyone will be judging my training skills.  And, of course, any faults will be Lew’s fault.