the funhouse, part two

I spoke with my former landlord today, a call to inquire about my security deposit (the check is in the mail, he says). I like him, and trust him. The check is in the mail.

He went above and beyond the call of duty when I first moved into the FunHouse. I called him over the day after I moved in. I was having some terlit issues - nary a flush, to be specific.

Dean arrived and with tools in hand and a run to the hardware store, he fixed the problem. Sorta. Fixed it enough to make it livable, which meant - in a daily living way - "if it's yellow, let it mellow." The john had an annoying tendency to run and kick on even when no one was around or had been using it. Almost as if it was reminding itself of what it was supposed to do when called upon to do so. But mostly, it was not an issue. Nor was any other quirk of the house. I learned to adapt, to take care, and to fix when things needed fixing. (Such as duct taping the gaps under the sink so no more mouses could come on in and poop.)

But Dean gets the gold star for helping me get my g*dforsaken motorcycle out of the moving truck and next to my porch, where it lived for the next seven months, earning admiring and lustful looks from my neighbors and their visitors (who didn't understand when I told them it wasn't worth anything - crappy and need of work, and too small powered for their big frames; it's a chick bike, 250ccs, great for beginners and back roads - a big man would have to fold himself in half to ride this steed).

The neighborhood kids - and I mean little ones, grandchildren and nieces and nephews of my neighbors - also took a fancy to the bike; took a fancy to the bike and the woman who owned it; the woman who also drove a pick-up truck and a bicycle; a woman who lit her back deck with criss-crossed white lights, and filled her window panes with construction paper to keep out prying eyes but allowed the sunshine in.

During my conversation with Dean this evening, I learned that the new tenants have opted to keep the construction paper. I'm surprised that the house cleaners who prepped the place for the new folks didn't take the paper down - it wasn't held with superglue; just fat-sized double stick tape. But maybe, just maybe, the house cleaners thought that it looked good and, obviously, the new tenants thought so as well. This pleases me. I put some thought into the paper, the colors, the placement, how it looked from the outside as well as from in. When I put it up, I thought it would be temporary, but it worked so well, I made it permanent (trading two-sided tape for better fat, sticky stuff).

In leaving my FunHouse in Oxford, I also left a birdhouse built by my Dad,the lights on the back deck, and some under-counter lights installed in the kitchen. It pleases me to think that others are enjoying these small adjustments and that my FunHouse, save the bikes, still looks much the same from the outside.












(For more about the FunHouse: go here and here.)