Friday
Aug062010
House-Guests
Friday, August 6, 2010 at 8:00AM
The sign in my local hardware store read, "Never use a hatchet when removing a fly from your friend's forehead." I knew that. My tool of choice was a sledgehammer. I had one in my hand -- in anticipation of the house-guest who was coming to stay the night.
My friend A was having her apartment painted. It was a big place, and the guy, with roller and brush, was coating the walls all through the night. Her neighbor recommended him, and A knew the catch. He viewed clothing as a hindrance, inhibiting his craft. He willing worked, but he would only work naked.
I grew alarmed waiting for my friend's arrival. I knew my place was a mess. I lived alone, with my roommate, and was grateful we recently solved our impasse. Since I functioned best in disarray and she demanded order, we both gave up and agreed to live with chaos. Moreover, I had a preference for "people" in general. It was individuals who annoyed.
A was soon knocking at my door. I opened it to, "Just look at the nail on my right index finger. Will you? And I just had a manicure" I said nothing, and let her own this tragedy. She demanded, "Feel it, then you'll understand why I'm upset."
"Okay" I replied. "It's not smooth, but we all have to live with our jagged edges." She responded. "That's all I get from you 'words' and never sympathy. Now get me a file."
I found one afloat at the bottom of the sink in the kitchen. "This is damp and without traction" she complained. I answered, "Vanity goeth before the fall." Then I shoved her into my easy chair and nipped the offending extension with all that I had, a toe-nail clipper.
"See" I said. "That did not hurt at all. Now change the subject." as hives flaunted their presence in and around my wrists. Then she retired. “I can't sit up and read in your bed. Your shelf hits my back." I gave her a screwdriver and told her, "Take it down if you like."
I was exhausted from conversing, and made my bed atop the living room couch. In the morning, her face appeared like a curous sight, more like seeing a full moon on high, in a sun drenched day. My first words were, "How did you get here" blocking out all that had transpired.
"If that's how you feel, I'm leaving" and she bolted out the door. I said nothing, wanting no more strife. I had no cream, which she used in her coffee, for I drank mine black.
B was another house-guest. She lived upstate. She'd visit me and also go shopping. Bergdorf Goodman was her domain. She'd hire a personal shopper saying, "I don't know what I want, but I do know designers have taste." My home, back she would come, carrying garments by Valentino, Versace and Vera Wang. "Now I shall invoke jealousy." She claimed. "People shall know I am rich."
My response, "You're rich when you spend your time as you like."
Then she checked my attire -- orange tee-shirt, pink pants, yellow vest, green scarf, and straw hat dripping purple plastic grapes. "Stop shopping in the junior department." She demanded. "Come with me and I'll have you dressed in black -- like an adult."
I shouted. "Age is measured not in years, but in receptivity to new ideas."
Then I walked away and seconds later, returned. "Besides, my bright colors have a medicinal effect. My uncle, he's 96, is thrilled when I visit. With his macular degeneration, he claims I am the only person he can see."
C stayed with me a few days, too. For forty-five years he taught freshman English in the college that he had attended. Each time he received his salary check, he'd phone. "Another two weeks where I have not touched neither principle nor interest." That was an easy claim for him. The rent from the first floor apartment of his two-family home, covered all his expenses. They were few. When he bragged, "I always stay within my budget" I told him"That's going to be your epitaph."
Then he got cancer and nothing changed, but his health.
On the last day of his stay, I suggested we go to the movies. He went into shock. "I never do that. I watch them only on TV." While packing his bags, he surmised, "How can you WITHDRAW money from the bank. That is no way to live. Money was made for 'deposit only.' "
My reply, "If I leave it in the bank, I don't have it. It is I who has to pay the cost of spending time with myself."
(If you enjoyed this entry, please send the link to like-minded friends. I welcome new subscribers.)
My friend A was having her apartment painted. It was a big place, and the guy, with roller and brush, was coating the walls all through the night. Her neighbor recommended him, and A knew the catch. He viewed clothing as a hindrance, inhibiting his craft. He willing worked, but he would only work naked.
I grew alarmed waiting for my friend's arrival. I knew my place was a mess. I lived alone, with my roommate, and was grateful we recently solved our impasse. Since I functioned best in disarray and she demanded order, we both gave up and agreed to live with chaos. Moreover, I had a preference for "people" in general. It was individuals who annoyed.
A was soon knocking at my door. I opened it to, "Just look at the nail on my right index finger. Will you? And I just had a manicure" I said nothing, and let her own this tragedy. She demanded, "Feel it, then you'll understand why I'm upset."
"Okay" I replied. "It's not smooth, but we all have to live with our jagged edges." She responded. "That's all I get from you 'words' and never sympathy. Now get me a file."
I found one afloat at the bottom of the sink in the kitchen. "This is damp and without traction" she complained. I answered, "Vanity goeth before the fall." Then I shoved her into my easy chair and nipped the offending extension with all that I had, a toe-nail clipper.
"See" I said. "That did not hurt at all. Now change the subject." as hives flaunted their presence in and around my wrists. Then she retired. “I can't sit up and read in your bed. Your shelf hits my back." I gave her a screwdriver and told her, "Take it down if you like."
I was exhausted from conversing, and made my bed atop the living room couch. In the morning, her face appeared like a curous sight, more like seeing a full moon on high, in a sun drenched day. My first words were, "How did you get here" blocking out all that had transpired.
"If that's how you feel, I'm leaving" and she bolted out the door. I said nothing, wanting no more strife. I had no cream, which she used in her coffee, for I drank mine black.
B was another house-guest. She lived upstate. She'd visit me and also go shopping. Bergdorf Goodman was her domain. She'd hire a personal shopper saying, "I don't know what I want, but I do know designers have taste." My home, back she would come, carrying garments by Valentino, Versace and Vera Wang. "Now I shall invoke jealousy." She claimed. "People shall know I am rich."
My response, "You're rich when you spend your time as you like."
Then she checked my attire -- orange tee-shirt, pink pants, yellow vest, green scarf, and straw hat dripping purple plastic grapes. "Stop shopping in the junior department." She demanded. "Come with me and I'll have you dressed in black -- like an adult."
I shouted. "Age is measured not in years, but in receptivity to new ideas."
Then I walked away and seconds later, returned. "Besides, my bright colors have a medicinal effect. My uncle, he's 96, is thrilled when I visit. With his macular degeneration, he claims I am the only person he can see."
C stayed with me a few days, too. For forty-five years he taught freshman English in the college that he had attended. Each time he received his salary check, he'd phone. "Another two weeks where I have not touched neither principle nor interest." That was an easy claim for him. The rent from the first floor apartment of his two-family home, covered all his expenses. They were few. When he bragged, "I always stay within my budget" I told him"That's going to be your epitaph."
Then he got cancer and nothing changed, but his health.
On the last day of his stay, I suggested we go to the movies. He went into shock. "I never do that. I watch them only on TV." While packing his bags, he surmised, "How can you WITHDRAW money from the bank. That is no way to live. Money was made for 'deposit only.' "
My reply, "If I leave it in the bank, I don't have it. It is I who has to pay the cost of spending time with myself."
(If you enjoyed this entry, please send the link to like-minded friends. I welcome new subscribers.)
Reader Comments (8)
“Age is measured not in years, but in receptivity to new ideas.”
I absolutely agree. You are a wise woman Jane!
So whenever you need reaffirmation that being your authentic self is so much better than trying to fit yourself into a mold that others prescribe, inivite someone to stay for the weekend, although one night might be enough!
Dear Jane: A charming essay, I really enjoyed it. I'm also goad that living in NYC I will probably never need to stay over at YOUR place! (tho, who know?! love Anita K.
I love staying with you and hope that I will be in your next "houseguest" blog. These are wonderful stories.....funny - but not so much! You are the richest person I know - and the most mature - all colors and bank deposits aside.
An aside.....Break a leg! this coming Thursday.....I know you will be great....
have said it all before. still enjoying these stories!
I love it that you continue to be yourself -- and let houseguests be themselves. Interesting how houseguests provide a great argument for our living alone! I understand "frugal" but "C" should try a hotel sometime!
Wow. Inspired! To me, this post has a higher energy than other recent ones: a sharper wit, a deeper wisdom, and a quicker pace that swept me to end, breathless and mouth agape in awe of your brilliance. I wonder if you felt different when writing it?
There's lots going in this one...I deem being your house-guest a real privilege, right up there with being your friend.
I notice with pleasure that your readership is increasing!!!