Yesterday, I took the stack of cash I’ve gotten from selling off my stuff and I paid my final month’s rent in person.
After eight years in this house, I want to give myself the gift of a proper goodbye to my landlady, and not just slip away silently like I have done in the past, not trusting my emotions, wanting to avoid the unknown. Today, I want to practice saying goodbye. Someday it will be my turn to say goodbye to this very life, and I want to be good at it by then.
Miss Frances lives next door, in the brick two-story house where she has lived almost since it was built in 1948, and I never worry about stopping by unannounced.
I climbed the porch steps and rang the bell. I heard Gigi the toy poodle barking, and then Jane, my landlady’s granddaughter, answered the door. Jane’s getting married tomorrow and the house was in a flutter of activity.
“Grandma!” Jane yelled out. “It’s Miss Kathy.”
Miss Frances was in the kitchen eating turtle soup that her grandson brought her, and grilling a piece of filet mignon in the oven. She has been ill, and the doctor told her she needs protein.
Everything’s a struggle for Miss Frances these days, which can happen when you’re 90. She looked spectacular, though, in her slacks and flowered blouse and tasteful jewelry. Her pinkish hair had been done up just that afternoon at the salon and she looked ready for Jane’s wedding rehearsal dinner that night. But she whispered that she might not go. On top of everything, she came down with a bug that makes her tired.
I sat at the kitchen table and I told Miss Frances how much I have loved living in her house. I told her how much happiness I had there. At one time, I thought maybe she’d sell me the house and I could live there the rest of my days. That was my plan, even as a renter, to stay in the house across from the park and its centuries old oak trees, until I died.
And I could thank Miss Frances for the trees. As she and her family prepared to evacuate for Hurricane Katrina in 2005, she took a framed image of Mother Mary out to the front porch and prayed: “Please protect this house, and please protect the oak trees.” It worked. The house didn’t flood and the trees survived.
So my future seemed certain in Miss Frances’ rental. But then I got the itch to travel. If nothing else, I’ve learned to never say never. You don’t know how you’ll feel later on.
Miss Frances must have learned that lesson already. When I would ask her if she would ever sell the house, she would always say: “Well, you never know.” But my friends told me that is the fantasy of so many New Orleans renters: “Maybe my landlady will sell me the house.” As my neighbors pointed out: Miss Frances and her departed sister are “tough Italian broads” who never sell their rental properties.
I sat a few months ago in Miss Frances’ living room and she told me the story of when she and her sister bought this house in the early 1980s. Both their husbands were long passed away, and their father had told them to never buy real estate, as it was too risky. But the sisters persisted when the original owners passed away. They got a 30-year loan at 17% interest, which they later got refinanced for 10% interest.
Many people have lived in the rental house, including a concert musician, a teacher, a lawyer, couples, and single people. All of us have had the pleasure of living next to Miss Frances and her family, which includes her daughter and son-in-law, who live on the other side.
Miss Frances is the very best of landladies. She never, ever raises the rent on a current tenant. When something breaks, she has someone out there that day to fix it. And she’s totally respectful of the tenant’s right to live privately in the house. The only tussle we had was when I ended up with three dogs (two were visitors) for a short period of time. She reminded me I only had one dog when I moved in. One of the extras got flown back to his real owner, and the other was homed by a family across the lake.
Over the past few months, I got the opportunity to drive Miss Frances on a few errands. After all, I live right next door and work from home. One time Miss Frances said she needed to get to a metal shop before they closed for the weekend and pick up a silver plated vanity set – a mirror and brush – that she got refinished. With age and illness upon her, she is getting things ready for her heirs. Pulling up to the place, I saw a Trump campaign sign in the window and I joked that I better not go in. She said why not, she was voting for Trump. I said oh my god, why??? She said he promised to end abortions. And that’s what her Catholic religion told her. So, that made sense. I went in.
At the table, I apologized to Miss Frances for bringing her a big stack of 20s. I explained I didn’t have a local bank and couldn’t easily deposit cash anywhere. She asked me to count it out. I made stacks of five 20 dollar bills all over the table and then counted them out. I’ll be so happy on my travels to not pay out a big stack of cash or a big check each month, but this time it felt like an honor.
I’ll be going to the wedding tomorrow. I got my invitation in the mail and it brought me to tears. Out back one day when Gigi was being let out, I told Jane over the fence how touched I was to be invited and that I felt like part of the family. She said, “Well, yeah,” and moved her hand back and forth toward her grandmother’s house and then mine. Of course I’m family.
I could tell Miss Frances was tired so I stood up to leave. She stood to see me out. I’ll be here another month, but this would be the last handing over of rent money. When I was younger and saying goodbye to people, we would say: Oh, I’ll be back in town. Let’s get together. Let’s keep in touch. But now I know more. The truth is, we will probably not see each other after I take off in my tiny trailer, at least not on this Earthly plane.
At the door, Miss Frances opened her arms for a hug and commented that she and I had become friends. Yes, we are friends. Miss Frances is my friend.
It was a sweet parting.