There is a house across the street from ours that a young man recently bought. He got it for a steal given its size/location because it was a short sale. Why was it a short sale? Not sure, but I'm going to guess it has something to do with the state that the previous owners left the house in when they left. It was, in short, a shit hole. I'm pretty sure the Weeble-shaped older couple who had lived there were hoarders. At least that's what the contents of their garage would've led one to believe. And from the looks of the photos of the interior that the realtor was brave (or stupid) enough to post on the online listing, the same went for the inside of the house. Nasty and gross. But this young dude snatched up the house and has been slowly cleaning it out and up, and it's actually beginning to look nice.
This morning, I've been working at home. Since we have no office, this means that I set up at the dining room table, right by the windows that look out toward this house across the street.
All morning I've been observing this guy working on the exterior of his house with his dad, who must be in town for the holiday. It's hard to tell if they're talking much, but they're working together, very in-sync. Right now, they're installing a new light on the outside of his garage.
I watch them with their simple familiarity, and it makes my heart ache.I miss my dad every day, but especially during December--the month he passed away. I wonder about what he would have helped me do to my house--what projects he would've helped me with (prior to BH's arrival). He was insanely handy. He could fix or build pretty much anything, and one of the (few) ways he showed love was by helping me with such things when I needed it.
They just finished up for the moment and went inside together. I know this father and son aren't thinking about how lucky they are to be working on home improvement projects together. But some day, this will be a good memory.