Glad to still be having birthdays

I pulled into the driveway of the little yellow house and turned off the truck. The owner was expecting me and I had, for once, arrived on time. As I walked toward the front door I noticed that the front yard was very neat and the hedges trimmed. The eaves were freshly painted and the carport swept clean around a shiny four door buick. The little house looked like one from a magazine with jonquils blooming and two cement deer resting under a large oak tree. The only thing that kept it from looking like a Norman Rockwell painting were the bars on the windows and a storm door that belonged on a bank vault.

I reached the front door and knocked. I knew somebody was home because I could smell bacon frying even with the door closed. I waited a few minutes and after no answer knocked again. After what seemed like ten minutes, I heard latches clinking and chains sliding and the door opened a few inches. Through the crack in the door and the smell of the bacon I could see the wrinkled brown face of a little old lady less than five tall. I introduced myself again and she turned and walked toward the kitchen, my invitation to come inside.

The house was just as neat on the inside as it was on the outside. The furniture and carpets were dated, but neatly arranged and very clean. As I made my way to the kitchen I glanced down at the folder in my hands to be sure I remembered her name. "You doing ok today Mrs. Madison?" I asked as I placed my notes on the table. "You sure got it smelling good in here."

That got a little smile from her as she pulled out the chair at the kitchen table and slowly sat down.

"Yeah, I'm good." she said. "Been up since 3:30 because my arta-ritus is hurtin again, but that is almost every night now. I have to sit by the stove to cook my breakfast cause my feet hurt when I stand up too long."

Most of the clients I visit are older and almost always have a long list of complaints at the ready. I halfway listened and just nodded my head as I looked over her file.

"You are the only one living here Mrs. Madison?" I asked absently, just to verify her income statement in the file.

"Yeah, just me." she mumbled. "My husband passed in 91' and my daughter lives in Texas. She got some babies, but they a long way off."

I took my flashlight from my back pocket and asked her if it was ok if I looked around a little at the work that had been done. She agreed and got up, as most clients do, to escort me through the house. As we walked through the living room I noticed too many pictures in frames on the walls and every flat surface in the home. Men standing beside women holding babies. A family smiling beside and older model, very shiny car. A young man in an Army uniform. A spray of flowers from a funeral. A portrait of Martin Luther King Jr. The same pictures with different characters that I see in most homes.

"Was your husband in the Army?" I asked, making small talk as we walked toward the bathroom.

"No." She said softly. "My son was. We lost him in Vietnam in 68'."

I looked at the Army photograph again. It was old. One of those serious looking bootcamp graduation pictures that nobody really likes. All of the pictures look old as I glance around the room. Leisure suits in some, black horn rimmed glasses in others. Big hair from the 60's and afros from the 70's. All taken in a color that reminds you of an old movie.

"Sorry to hear that." I offer as we stand there looking at the photo. "I know that was tough."

"Yeah." she said. "I wish he had been here to raise that no count boy of his. He ain't in jail now I don't think...I don't know. My daughter used to keep up with him, but she's in Texas now. Ya'll can't fix my roof, can you?" She says changing the subject.

Clients are always asking for more that we can provide and I am used to telling them we cannot. I tell her that I will look in the attic and be sure that there are no leaks.

My inspection is complete and I walk back to the table to tell her my findings. I did find a plumbing leak in the crawl space that will eventually rot her bathroom floor, but I cannot fix it for her. It is not part of the program. I hate to tell her because I know it is something she will have to pay for herself. Her reaction is muted when I tell her and all she says is she will take care of it.

"You really need to have somebody take a look at that leak." I mention again as I collect my files and prepare to leave. "It's not a hard one, probably just the wax ring on the toilet. A five dollar repair."

"I guess the man that looks after my yard can do it." she says. "But he is 80 years old and don't get around like he used to. All my folks are moved away or passed. Just me now."

This is the part of the job I hate. Little old lady living on a fixed income with nothing to spare. It would take me 15 minutes and five dollars to fix this for her, but I can't. Partly from a liability standpoint, but mainly from the slippery slope I would create by doing the repair. Do it for one and I would be expected to do it for all. The little old lady grapevine is extensive. She knows I can't help her, but she has that same look on her face that my grandmother did when I fixed things around her house. Drawing with an imaginary pencil on her palm while she is thinking. Writing it to memory.

"I wish I could fix it for you Mrs. Madison." I offer as I turn the knob to leave. "I really wish I could."

"Don't worry about it young man." she says. I'd do it myself too if I wasn't down in my back. After 86 years I have figured out ways to get things did. I used to cut that grass out there too, but it's a lot hotter than it used to be."

I hear that last one all the time. I guess it seems hotter to me too, but I always thought it was that extra 20 pounds I carry around now.

"I can't move like I used to."she says as I walk out the door. "But at least I'm still having birthdays!"

I laugh and tell her to have a good day and climb in the truck. I place my folder in the stack and lean back to buckle my seat belt. "Glad to still be having birthdays."

Family dead or gone, 86 years old with aches and pains, bars on the windows, but glad to still be having birthdays. How minior this plumbing leak must be to her. At least the bathroom is in the house. She can go, even if it is by herself now, anywhere she wants. She can ride any bus, eat at any resturant or drink from any water fountain she wishes. The bumps and bruises along the way that have often made me think the earth would cease to spin, the deaths I thought I would never get over and the ones I have left to face. They are all who I am now. A man at 48 hoping to have 86 birthdays.