Mills House Hotel, Meeting St., Charleston, S.C.
The photo of the beautiful
Mills House hotel has nothing to do with my whining entry except that I simply want to move in and live there.
People asked all day if I had a good Mother's Day and I've been scowling and saying, "No". Grrrr.
Many of you know that I rent out the basement and upstairs back room in this old barn of mine. I'd love to sell my house and downsize to something smaller and manageable but that isn't going to happen for a while. Meanwhile, it's a great place to live, except that it is a very, very old house held together by a hundred and fifty years of paint layers, and I have to deal with tenants. I've been extraordinarily lucky with my tenants, but even though it's strictly forbidden, sometimes they leave. I must not be baking enough cookies.
Upstairs tenant left and was kind enough to recruit a replacement but after all these years I almost slip into a depression each time they turn over. I dread opening that door, cleaning another bathroom, wiping everything down, spackling nail holes, painting baseboards to freshen it up for the next occupant and that is what I did yesterday. Blah.
I finally called my handyman since the back door has been gradually settling in one direction while the house has settled in another. When he said, "Do you want me to finish sanding those walls and slap some paint on while I'm at it?" I almost hugged him in pathetic gratitude. I am too old for this.
Meanwhile, my son got back in town and took me out to
Brett's Roadside Kitchen on James Island for dinner tonight. I just got back and I can hear my handyman humming while he works. Things are looking up.
