There are times, when life sends unexpectedly good things my way. I don't think that I am a particularly 'lucky' person, but I do know that when I have a desire for something, it usually happens in a very good way.
Now, I've mentioned before, that I am not a particularly religious person, and I don't believe in heaven or hell. And, while my thinking or beliefs might be considered unorthodox (maybe even childish) I do believe that when your body dies, your spirit lives on. Not in the form of a ghost, but maybe more of as an Aura.
So, when good things happen to me, I like to think that it is my Dad watching out for me.
The year after my Dad died, I needed a reliable car. I went out one day with my brother to various used car dealerships, and all we found were expensive, rusty lemons. It was a cold, miserable day and we were only too happy to get home. My brother resumed his position on the couch and I read the Buy and Sell section of the paper. I saw an ad for the exact car I wanted and called the number. A little old lady answered and said that it was her grand-daughter selling the car, but that it was 'just lovely.' After much grumbling from my brother I talked him into going out to see the car (it was quite a hike away.) I remember saying to him "if the car is green, I'm going to buy it." We turned the corner, the car was green, it ran perfectly, it was half the price of the used-car lot lemons, and I had a new car. They even threw in the winter tires.
I believe my Dad sent me to look at this car. I have had the car for 6 years now, and have never had a problem with it. And have never been in a car accident with it.
I lived in my first downtown condo for two years. I called it my Chickie-pad and lived a 'Sex in the City' kind of lifestyle courtesy of Lavalife. When I adopted Mr. Mao, my Chickie-pad was suddenly too small for me and a cat. I also found myself enjoying evenings at home with Mao more than going out on a bunch of blind dates. But with no room for a litter box, and a very hyper cat, it became a lemon.
So, I bought this condo for Mao 4 years ago. Three weeks after moving in, I met Greg. And, the day after meeting him, I just knew. I just knew that he was The One. We have been very happy living here, and again, I believe that my Dad somehow arranged this.
Last week we went house hunting. The first house we fell in love with was absolutely not in the area where we had wanted to live. I grew up in the Suburbs, and didn't want to move back. As you know, that house ended up being a lemon. In looking around at the area where we wanted to live, the houses were all very run down and would have required thousands of dollars of renovations in order for them to be even livable. I asked Greg to have an open mind about the suburbs, knowing in my heart, that it was our best option, but not wanting to push him into living in a place where he would be unhappy.
Surprisingly, Greg took a day off work, and drove around the city with a list of all the houses that he had seen on MLS. He came home later that day, and he agreed that we would be smarter to move a little further out of the downtown core to get more value for our money.
The very next house we looked at, is the one we bought. It needs no renovations. It has a yard. It is walking distance to the beach. It is 10 minutes from my mom (far enough away that she can't drop by for a cup of sugar, close enough that it's made her VERY happy) ( I even bull-shitted her and told her we had moved closer to her on purpose, figuring the white lie wouldn't hurt!) It is a 25 minute drive to the core. I was automatically approved for a mortgage, and since I had worked at this particular bank branch 17 years ago, my financial advisor gave me the staff mortgage rate.
And something else, that's a little strange? The Sellers of this house, have family photos hanging everywhere. In their bedroom, is a portrait of a man, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Greg. We were teasing Greg when we initially went through the house. When the deal was signed the Sellers wanted to meet us, so we spent an hour getting to know each other. I asked the husband who the fellow in the picture was. He looked at the picture, looked at Greg, looked at his wife, his wife looked at Greg, and she whispered "Dave, my son." Is that freakin' spooky or what?!
Well, the story goes on. They asked us if we need basement furniture (which we do) and they said that they were interested in selling everything in the basement, including the giant tv's and all the stereo equipment, and if we wanted it, we had first dibs. And, we could have all the booze in the bar, they didn't want it.
Crazy. Now I'm wondering where Dave is, in all of this. (I hope that he is still alive and kicking.)
Is it silly of me to think that my Dad is watching over me?
I kind of like the thought.