Friday, August 28, 2015


just meant that several police responded to the report of a body. When a fire siren sounded, one of them left.

"Do you want me to go and get this tenant's application form?" I asked the two remaining.  "It will name his next-of-kin, with a telephone number."

When I returned with the pertinent information, there was just one policeman hanging out in his cruiser.  "I'll be waiting here for the coroner," he told me.

"I'll be here, too," I said.  And, then, we went on to discuss this type of shocking discovery we'd just made (though the actual discoverer did not seem to be dismayed; it was routine, he said).

Now, Reader Dear, as unexpected and upsetting as it was for me-- discovering that a tenant had suddenly vacated--I could not say it was a first in my land-lording log.  Though I had not seen the body at that time, Death had come creeping in to visit a tenant of mine one time before.

Barely an hour had gone by.  The weather in the parking lot was still a perfect ten.  I was chatting, by now, with the plumber who services my rentals.  He's got a garage unit there.  "Who died?!" he had asked.  As I was explaining, a tenant and a young girl approached us from across the parking lot.  (It was Mary.  She and her husband have been my most enduring tenants).

Mary introduced me to her granddaughter.  Then she said,
"I just want to tell you.
  My husband died last night."

Reader Dear (gasp*)...two at a time?!
Okay, that's a first!


*Both were cancer deaths.  I offered their
families my sincere sympathy.
(And I thought, Please don't let the rest of my
tenants be dying to leave this place!)

Wednesday, August 26, 2015


another land-lording first! 

At the beginning, I thought it was not a first, but a second.  However, with a second announcement, it became a first! Good gracious, let me hasten to explain myself.

Yesterday was a very lovely day, weather-wise.  I was off to Fairview Apartments to talk to a carpenter about replacing a door on a garage unit.   The garage is an old building.  The current door is old, wooden, warped, and an odd size.  The carpenter measured.  We discussed.  At the end of our conversation regarding the new door, he set out for the hardware store, and I set out across the parking lot towards my car.   That's when the police car pulled into the lot and parked.

That's when my day went haywire.

"Is there trouble?" I asked the cop as he got out of his car.  Everything was so peaceful in the parking lot.  I introduced myself as the landlord.

"Well," he responded.  "I'm just checking on one of your tenants.  He's got cancer, and he's supposed to check in with the cancer center every day by phone.  He hasn't called for a few days." 

"Oh! I did not know about the cancer," I said.  "He called me a week ago and thought that someone was possibly trying to break into his apartment.  It was just some bumping around at his door at one o'clock in the morning.  He was sitting right there near the door, reading.  The light was on."
I went on to explain that I had visited this tenant the day after he called.  The scratches on the door were old ones.  I had not been convinced that there was any kind of danger, or threat to his safety.  But I'd sent him a letter authorizing him to install a deadbolt on his door.

We walked together to the door, and rang the tenant's doorbell.  Twice.
Then I unlocked, opened the door a crack, and called the tenant's name.
He's going to come out of the back room of the apartment, apologizing, I thought.

But no.
There wasn't a sound.
(Dear Reader, is your stomach in your throat?)

" go ahead," I said to the policeman, and I moved out of the doorway.
He strode back to the bedroom, and returned immediately.

"He's dead," he stated emphatically.

Soon there were two more cop cars in the parking lot.

.............................. be continued

Monday, August 24, 2015

Socks in the Frying Pan

Despite the unpleasant images (or aromas) that title may cause you to conjure up, Reader Dear, the Irish band that carries that name is terrific!  The three guys with their Irish names and Irish accents and  their Irish singing and playing kept me mesmerized all evening!  It was, of course, another Sunday concert at the park.

The Small Actor, who also happened to be in attendance yesterday evening, agreed to go with me to the stage for a close-up view.  No sooner had we settled ourselves in the grass than a couple of dancers--a dancing couple, as it were--showed up to rearrange our view.  But they didn't do anything to mess with the sound, so it was all good! 

Later (you know, after dark), when Sean (only band member whose name I can spell) suggested that everyone in the audience light up the night with their cell phones, it was...ahhh...a magical moment!

At concert end, and on the way home, I had to try real hard
to keep my mouth shut.*
*The Yard Man has such an aversion to moaning and
bellyaching about a concert season being almost over...argh, only one more concert...and, gosh, I wish I'd have grown up dancing...and, oh, why can't there be concerts at the park all year...and well...**

**perhaps you aren't very keen on those kinds of
expressions yourself, Dear Reader...***


Saturday, August 22, 2015


That's what I'll call it, Dear Reader Dear.
I took a long hiatus.
But it's not meant to be a permanent dashing of hope for another blog post.
In fact, I'm making every effort to get another post posted post-haste.