I had an appointment this morning with a man at Palmetto Citizens to talk about refinancing the house, seeing as how interest rates are about half what we’ve been paying. (There’s no time like the present, folks — see the ad at right.)
So my wife walked me through all the documents she had gathered in preparation, and I nodded, and eventually said, slightly hyperbolically, “You realize I don’t understand any of this,” and she said she knew — but she had to be at my son’s house this morning taking care of our grandson.
In the end, she decided to bring him to the meeting. I could have handled it, you understand. I understood the broad concepts, and knew that we were shooting for a number that would enable us to wrap together the basic mortgage and our home equity loan into one payment that was sufficiently lower than our total now that we can still pay it off, via overpayments, in five more years — which is when we’d be done with our current 15-year mortgage. I had, after all, suggested we do this. Actually, I meant that I wanted her to do it, but you know what I mean.
I had the bundles of documents, and the numbers written out in front of me, and was all set. Except that she and I both felt better with her there, and doing the talking, while I rocked my grandson’s carryall back and forth, and jiggled my keys in front of him.
But I tried to act like I was following the proceedings, with a fixed look of concentration on my face — just like our little guy in this picture taken during the meeting. We were a team, and together we got through it, and it’s looking good…