She signed the bill of sale.
I signed the bill of sale.
She handed me the title.
I handed her the money.
She gave me the manual and an old green musty-smelling folder with a label: Trailer Holiday Rambler.
My new house comes with a manual.
And it is the most darling, precious vintage manual you have ever seen.
She wanted to make sure I kept her number.
“I told my dad it was going to a good home and he wants to see pictures when you remodel it,” she said.
Because it’s not just a 1973 Holiday Rambler. It was a tangible part of someone’s family, someone’s story.
And now it’s part of mine, and through the threads of time and space and generation, our stories brush each other for a moment before continuing forward, because time always moves forward. But sometimes we’re lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the past, even if it is tracing my fingers through the pages of a 1972 travel trailer manual.
So a new journey begins.
One of renovating and replacing old flooring and painting tiny walls and repairing the 8-track player.
Maybe this isn’t THE American dream, but it’s my simple one.
And I am stoked.
Super stoked.
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