A few years ago I saw an old man sitting at the window of this house, day after day. He had an old dog he called 'Jack', and they would walk the streets of 6th Avenue, three blocks from my home.
Jack and the old man were alone in the house, and seemed to inhabit only one room, the kitchen. It was the only room that ever had a light burning, and also the only room without shades.
The house caught my attention because the old man seemed so alone, and I wondered how he was managing. He and Jack always walked slowly, like they'd been together a long time. Then, one day I noticed that the house never had a light burning, never had the old man at the window. It was like this for several years, and when I drove by, I thought for sure that the old man had passed away - and he had.
I pass this house on my walks, and yesterday a contractor and his son were making plans to fix up the house, by pulling out all the old shrubery, putting in new ones, and by painting and remodeling the inside. They've started to spray-wash the outside, getting it ready. They said they'll be painting next week, gutting portions of the old house, redoing the porch. The contractor is the grandson of the old man who owned it, and he said he will be living in the house with his family when it is finished. I'm so pleased that someone is taking care of this old property, and I'll post a picture of it when everything is finished.
I just wish this contractor had been able to make all the repairs and make it more presentable when the old man was alive - but, who knows, maybe living in an old relic of a house with its memories is just what the old man treasured.
