When it became apparent that a four bedroom, three-bath house on one-half acre of landscaped grounds was getting a little beyond our ability to cope, Erik and I decided to look for a smaller place. We wanted to be close to where we were, since our life had been centered there for so many years. It was at the start of the real estate boom, so our property was increasing in value, but so was every one else's. Our realtor, a friend and former neighbor, showed us (or rather, me, since Erik was not really able to handle the climbing in and out of cars, etc.) a succession of unsuitable and unpromising prospects. We put down a deposit on a very nice unit in Rossmoor, the local retirement community, but then Erik got into a dispute with the management over some modifications we wanted to make, so we kept looking.
One day, while poring over the Real Estate For Sale columns, I ran across an ad for a mobile home. I had never actually been inside a mobile home, but it sounded perfect! 3 bedrooms, a fireplace, spacious kitchen, in a nice development where someone else did all the landscape work.
Some obstacles presented themselves: (1) It was quite far from our center and(2) my husband was NOT GOING TO LIVE IN A TRAILER!
After some persuasion, he agreed to call the agent and at least have a look. As it turned out, she had another listing closer to home we might like to see. Well, OK, (sigh) if I have to, I'll go see it, but I am not going to like it.........Mmmmm, not bad. Not what I expected. Quite nice, in fact. How much is the listing, again?
And thus we ended up in beautiful Brookview Park where we spent 15 happy years in our comfortable, roomy, and I think, very attractive mobile home.
Mobile home owners are very sensitive to the terms "trailer" and "trailer park". We were constantly reminding people that although our home had been pre-assembled elsewhere and trucked in, it was sitting on its own permanent foundation and was not a "trailer" or a "unit" or a "coach", but a real house. Hard habit to break, though. And a wonderful source of bad jokes. (Erika moaned: How am I ever going to tell my friends that my folks have sold their beautiful Alamo home and moved into a trailer park? Haha.)
But, oh, the luxury of having someone else trim the bushes, tend to the pool, plant the flowers! All we had to do was enjoy. Our last few years in Alamo were a constant battle with so-called "gardeners". Once I left a big tall weed near the patio just as a test. It was there for weeks. Once, when I was resting on my bed, I heard voices outside on the patio and when I checked, there were two of my "mow- blow- and -go" gang stretched out on the lawn chairs having a nice chat. They were quite surprised when I appeared.
I now live in another mobile home in Lakeport on a lagoon that stretches in from Clear Lake. This house has had kind of a hard life, I think, doors a little crooked, floors a little slanted. A cake baked in the oven will be a bit higher on one side than the other. We bought it on the spur of the moment just months before Erik died. I think if he had been himself and in good health it would have driven him crazy to live here because nothing is "plumb". My kids will tell you that, to their Dad, being "plumb" was next to godliness as a virtue. But I am very happy here, it is airy, bright and comfortable and I am willing to overlook my little house's eccentricities to be near my family (some of 'em, anyway!) and to enjoy the abundant bird life on the lake and the wonderful clear air and beauty of Lake County.
And I am definitely not living in a trailer.