As I prepare myself for the new year, I think back to many things. Today I have been recalling a woman I first met about 1991. She called off of my ad for handyman work. We had just recovered from a hard freeze, an uncommon circumstance for southeast Texas. Her high sitting mobile home had been outfitted with unprotected PVC plumbing. There was not even skirting around it. The pipes had leaks. She asked me to repair them. I had not worked extensively with whole house PVC plumbing. I had no reason to think the entire exposed pipe system needed replacing, because, when I turned on the water pressure, there were just three visible leaks. I undertook to repair those leaks. That done, I found a few more leaks when I turned on the water. And again. I chased leaks all day. My bill to her was, in my estimation, not that high. But, as she told me, with great indignation, "I paid less than that to put it in new." She had to pay me by monthly installments, which I readily agreed to. The last payment was short ten dollars and I wrote that off.
About fifteen years later, while working my job as maintenance at some apartments, I realized one day that the person living in a certain apartment was this same woman. She never showed a sign that she recognized me and I gave no clue. My memory was jogged, because she had a son living with her. He was an objectionable sort of guy, who took issue with every word out of my mouth. After repeated encounters with him, it dawned on me that he was the one that did me the same way in 1991.
She was a good woman, one who made crafts and sold them. She once gave me a wooden car her late husband had made. Our one issue with her was the incessant smoking, which carried into neighboring apartments. We had some hairy incidents over this. Eventually, she died. Her son immediately moved out, without taking anything of hers. He also refused to release the apartment, so we could empty it and rent it again. Eventually, we gained access. As we gathered all of her stuff, I could not help noting she owned several books on writing. She had worked the dream of becoming a published writer. Many objects about the rooms gave clues that proved her to be a complex person I wish I had gotten to know better in life.
Her dreams all ended as we sent off the best furnishings to the Teams outlet in Tomball and the rest went in a dumpster. This tribute may be all that will remain to remind the world she was a fine woman.
About fifteen years later, while working my job as maintenance at some apartments, I realized one day that the person living in a certain apartment was this same woman. She never showed a sign that she recognized me and I gave no clue. My memory was jogged, because she had a son living with her. He was an objectionable sort of guy, who took issue with every word out of my mouth. After repeated encounters with him, it dawned on me that he was the one that did me the same way in 1991.
She was a good woman, one who made crafts and sold them. She once gave me a wooden car her late husband had made. Our one issue with her was the incessant smoking, which carried into neighboring apartments. We had some hairy incidents over this. Eventually, she died. Her son immediately moved out, without taking anything of hers. He also refused to release the apartment, so we could empty it and rent it again. Eventually, we gained access. As we gathered all of her stuff, I could not help noting she owned several books on writing. She had worked the dream of becoming a published writer. Many objects about the rooms gave clues that proved her to be a complex person I wish I had gotten to know better in life.
Her dreams all ended as we sent off the best furnishings to the Teams outlet in Tomball and the rest went in a dumpster. This tribute may be all that will remain to remind the world she was a fine woman.
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