How Ironic

You wouldn't believe what happened to me on Saturday, so I might as well just tell you. Saturday morning, as Tropical Depression Fay was bearing down on us, two men and a teenager showed up at my house looking for my husband. Of course my husband wasn't home; he was out shopping for suits at Belk's. He's the shopper in the family, not me.... :) Anyway, these men introduced themselves and said they were here to look at the Chevelle. Stunned and wondering if hell had frozen over, I asked them, "Is it for sale?" And of course they looked at me like I was completely crazy, because OF COURSE they were HOPING it was.

Well, the story behind this lovely, rusting, apparently worth a lot of money, falling apart 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle, is that it was my father-in-law's first love...er...car. He bought it brand new when "IT" was "THE" car to have. The love affair never ended and when it stopped running, he stored it behind his house for many years, until it found its way to our pole barn.

(This is sort of what it looked like when it was running.)

(Below is its current condition - sorry about the ladder so strategically placed...I cropped this from an old photo looking through the barn.)

It is my father-in-law and husband's DREAM to restore this car to running condition. Which will be a very costly dream...much like my horses.

Okay, back to the strange men. They ask if they can see the car that is now removed from the pole barn and sitting behind Brian's shed. I say sure and take them to check out the car. They study it from every angle, open the hood, peer into the windows, check under the bumpers and say, "Well, it really is only a shell. It would take a lot to restore it." To which I respond, "Yes, but they are hoping to be able to restore it one day. That is their one really big dream..."


Then one of the men asks me about our "pole barn in progress...." "What's up with the pole barn over there?" To which I respond, "That is part of MY one really big dream....to one day get that finished and bring my horses over here."


We move to the pole barn and they look it over. One of the men says, "Well, that's my line of work." He goes on asking me how I want it set up and what I want it to look like, etc., etc., etc. We discuss the stalls, feed and tack rooms, the overhang, the aisle, the sliding doors; then fencing. He makes the statement, "Well, if your husband is willing to trade the car and buy the materials, I can have this pole barn walled in and your fence posts driven into the ground in a matter of days. I'll even hang your gates." I respond in utter disbelief, "Who are you, angels in disguise?"


However, this is my father-in-law's car, not my husband's. Did I mention that this car was his first love that he has been hanging on to since 1970? That he wants to sell this car as much as he wants to cut off his right arm? As much as I want to sell my collection of somewhere around 400 Breyer model horses? As much as I want to get rid of my horses? Isn't irony a funny thing?