In my mid-30s as all my friends were getting married, having babies and buying houses, I decided I’d do the same thing. Well, “same thing” within my control, that is, which was the “buying houses” part.
Now, what might make a single 30-something who’d recently separated from her starter husband, thereby stripped of all her savings, living paycheck to paycheck and at the time, living in a basement apartment, believe she could buy a house?
No idea. For whatever reason, my addled brain decided I’d buy a house, and the quest began.
I cut out any and every kind of excess in my life. No more dinner with friends (unless they paid); no more wasting money on books (we had a library, for goodness’ sakes!); no more frivolous clothing purchases; no more buying lunch at work. True, life became pretty boring, and true, I lost a couple of friends, but I was a Woman on a Mission.
Every Friday evening while the TV blared its (non-cable) shows, I’d tally up my finances. Had I managed to increase my savings by $3.72? Whoo hoo! That’s almost four bucks closer to owning a home.
Chaser says, “Mum, you can have loads of fun for free. Like catching Frisbees in the snow.”
Finally, after almost four years, I had the down payment for a tiny house in a questionable area of town. I was blessed with a friend whose brother-in-law was in the business of buying, then renovating and flipping, houses. He happened to be between homes at the time and agreed to renovate the place-for free. (Side note: it didn’t hurt that he looked like a young Robert Redford back then, hacking at walls, sanding floors or pulling out kitchen cabinets in scruffy jeans and T-shirt).
On moving day, I piled all my possessions in the living room, covered by a tarp. I lived for three months out of a suitcase, eating from a hot pot in a bathroom with the only running water (from the tub) in the house.
Finally, the house was done–and I LOVED it. It was tiny, but it was 100% mine.
Next up: meeting the neighbors. I’d already encountered the couple on my left, one evening when I’d forgotten my keys and the husband next door showed me how to jimmy the window and climb inside.
The other side proved more tricky. Mrs. Brown (as I’d learned on the day I moved in as she stood on her front stoop glowering at the movers, twice barking at them to remove a box that had somehow encroached “my property” by a millimeter) was a rather tough nut to crack.
She seemed entirely immune to my friendly “good morning”s as I left for work. The broad smile and enthusiastic waving were greeted with a chill that would freeze rain before it hit the ground.
I asked myself: What would charm a nasty, fresh air-loving 70-something with preternaturally good eyesight?
Then I had it: banana bread! A staple in my baking repertoire, relatively easy to make, a loaf was always well received and made a pretty package, too, once wrapped and boxed. I mean, who doesn’t love banana bread?
So the following Saturday morning fresh and early (but not too early), I knocked on Mrs. Brown’s door.
Just as I decided she must be out and turned to leave, the door opened. She wore what my mother used to call a “housedress,” named that way, I always thought, because it appeared to be the offspring of a housecoat and a dress. Her wiry grey hair was tied back in a bun, her lips pursed as if preparing to chastise me.
“I thought I’d introduce myself,” I said to the silence. “I made this for you.” I proffered the package. Had she forgotten how to speak?
“It’s banana bread.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she grimaced. “I can’t eat that. I’m diabetic. I bet it has sugar in it,” she said, the contempt thick in her voice.
“Well–maybe you’d like to keep it anyway?” I asked. “You’re welcome to give it to someone else. One of your kids, maybe? Or a grandchild?”
“There’s nobody,” she snapped, snatching the package. “Let me see what I can do with it.” With that, she shut the door.
“Lovely to meet you,” I said to the air. There was nothing to do but go home.
Over the next two years, I reminded myself–on many occasions–to remain open about Mrs. Brown. Eventually, I learned that her only daughter no longer spoke to her. Her husband had died a couple of decades before. Her one (ungrateful) niece visited once or twice a year, only because she was counting on an inheritance one day.
Basically, Mrs. Brown was old, ill, and lonely. I couldn’t blame her for being unhappy. By the time I moved away, I did manage to find a single area of shared interest–the rose bush that had been in my back yard for years before I moved in, and which Mrs. Brown enjoyed tending. In the end, I felt sympathy for her and her desolate existence.
Now Zoey, no matter whom she encounters, is always open to the possibility of friendship (banana bread or no banana bread).
Case in point: Jasper.
Who’s Jasper, you ask? Well, he happens to be a four–year-old, 95-pound German Shepherd. Whom we adopted last week!
Say hello to Mr. Jasper!
And while she wasn’t foolhardy enough to offer an immediate open-paws welcome (she could sense that the Big Boy is twice her size), Zoey was clearly receptive, friendly, and a good ambassador for a newcomer in the house.
I could almost hear her speaking in dog dialect: “This here is where we sleep, Jasper. That one is yours. And over here is where Mum preps our dinner. Now, if you stand past this line–she calls it ‘Out of the Kitchen’--then you get fed faster. So I’d advise following that rule, at least.”
For the first few days, he trundled behind her like cans on the back of a “Just Married” car. And by the end of two weeks, we were treated to scenes like this:
I love how Zoey naturally gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. And since Jasper has done nothing to betray her trust, Zoey is perfectly happy to have him around.
Now, I wonder if she could have charmed Mrs. Brown? I guess we’ll never know.
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Follow up to last week’s challenge: Go with Your Gut.
As suspected, there wasn’t much in the way of “women’s intuition” (or, really, any gender’s intuition) for me last week.
Oh, but wait: if I suspected in advance that I wouldn’t experience intuition, then does that suspicion constitute some kind of intuition? So maybe I’m a little intuitive after all–??
As I mentioned last week, for me, this is a tough one. I tend not to notice gut feelings even when they do occur. So let’s do a little recap of the week.
On Monday, the HH and I met with Jasper’s new trainer. Looking back, I did sense that his approach was perhaps a tad too hard-line for my tastes (and, frankly, not the best for Jasper’s temperament, either). I tried to implement the Caesar-like belligerence assertiveness, really I did–but it doesn’t seem to work for me.
From Tuesday to Thursday, the HH and I enjoyed a little getaway up north. I’d say any intuition there was entirely absent. The place was beautiful (and the locale, most definitely: lake, forest, running water, wildlife, sunshine, fresh air. . . a perfect setting in which to relax and escape city life).
Was I justified when shrieking and swerving away from the baby groundhog we encountered on the path during our walk? Did I intuitively know it was going to rain just as we approached the beach? Did a gut feeling lead me to choose the stellar restaurant at which we dined on our last night there? In all cases, I’m going to say, “probably not.” But who knows.
The week ended with lots of catching up at work and attending a party with a friend. Pleasant, enjoyable, uneventful.
One thing that did strike me about recent weeks, though: my intuition when it came to our new dog, Jasper. From the moment I met him, I felt that he was the one for us.
Two dogs doing their thing.
Despite a lifetime of apprehension about the breed (German Shepherd) and my staunch belief that female dogs were best for me, I agreed to foster and now adopt this big, goofy, sweet and gentle boy. It’s been about a month since we first got him–and so far, that particular gut feeling has proven correct.
Maybe the tide is turning after all?
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Bless you for giving Jasper a chance. He looks like a fine beast. Give him an ear scratchy from Harry.
I often have felt that dogs i have had the pleasure of owning are much more open to people.
I also find that they have good intuition if that can be expanded to know who wants to be approached or now.
congratulations on your new pup. I'm glad you trusted your gut and gave him a chance. he sounds like a good one