We got a call while we were on vacation from our neighbor, who owns the rental building next door. Apparently, the Porta Potty the carpenter has been using was placed on the neighbor’s property, and he was none too pleased about it. I can’t say I blame him.
Ben moved the Porta Potty to the front of the house, on the miniscule piece of the sidewalk that we can claim as our “property.” It’s a beauty, no?
I’ll be so happy when all the detritus is gone from the front of our house. I’m commissioning my mom, who has an amazing green thumb, to figure out what to do with our tiny plots of “land,” i.e., the dirt between our house and the brick sidewalk.
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I’ve been remiss in not mentioning how we got so much of the demo done while working full-time and caring for our daughter. The secret has been our neighbor, whom I’ll only refer to as the Horseman.
The Horseman’s yard abuts our house, and he’s been around long enough to remember when our enclosed porch was a yard. We live on perpendicular streets; a large condo building sits on the corner of our intersecting streets, and our houses are to either side of the condos, his facing south(ish), ours facing west(ish). Since our property line is the perimeter of the house’s footprint, we have no yard to speak of. Nothing at all. That means our kitchen window looks out over the Horseman’s yard. His yard, which he shares, as far as we can tell, with a teenaged daughter and his own parents, among others who appear to live in his home, is grassy and green, and holds a lot of stuff for such a small space: a swinging loveseat, a small play gym for children, several car tires, some gas cans, some pieces of wood, and a lawnmower abandoned just a few feet from our house’s east-facing rear wall.
The Horseman used to haul out garbage and do other odd jobs for our home’s previous owner, a middle-aged woman with a pre-teen son. He himself is middle-aged, with permanently sooty hands and dark, bushy hair. He doesn’t speak so much as emit sounds that tumble out of his mouth as mumbled stream-of-consciousness, edged with a smoker’s rasp. Despite being really slight in size, he works like an ox, and has hauled out tons, literally, of demolition debris from our house.
We’re not sure what he does for a regular job. All we know is that his truck broke down right around the time we needed help with the demo and hauling away, and he was willing and able to do it. So he has hauled out garbage pails overflowing with junk out of our house, has ripped things down with his bare hands, and along the way, has even given us some really good ideas about how to remodel–where to put a closet, how to finish a beam, what might be lurking beneath the old linoleum. We couldn’t have done without the Horseman, so here’s to you.
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