The Story of The Blue House!

We drove by the house after another disappointing meeting with a landlord, who had answered our ad:

Three dogs are looking to rent a house.

We are a middle-aged, honest, hardworking couple with three big, lazy dogs. Our dogs are well-behaved and housebroken—so are we. We are looking for an older house that has seen better days—just like us. It seems we are getting judged by our numbers and not by who we are, and it bothers us so much. Life can change in the blink of an eye. It happened to us.

So, I guess we are looking for another dump, because that’s all you will offer us!

We don’t have children; we don’t do drugs (only cigarettes and chocolate, and we never smoke in the house), we don’t party (the dogs don’t either), and we only yell loudly when the right team has a touchdown (or a goal). We are looking for an older house in need of some TLC, preferably with a fenced-in backyard. We will not give up our dogs because we are moving.

We are good people, and we are sick and tired of being judged by numbers.
(This was our ad in 2013)

Back then, our credit was shut. We had just moved to Columbus a few months earlier. It had been an out-of-state move that we couldn’t afford, but we tried to better ourselves. Two years after being houseless, we left Memphis, Tennesse and moved north, in the hope of making more money, and we ended up in a small, dirty house in the hood. We had fallen for a nice voice on the phone and had trusted blindly and naively. After all the luck we had had, this time someone took advantage of us.

But even when we were poor and didn’t have a pot to piss in, I never lost my spunk. That’s how the mind works, or my mind. I never adjusted to the fact that we had lost all. I still acted (and dreamed) the way we had lived for so long and for so many years. I was confident, full of hopes and dreams, and I didn’t want to take “NO” for an answer.

In my book, I write:

Grabbing the bull by the horns? No. You don’t just grab the bull by the horns, you hold him tight, give him a kiss on the forehead, slap his behind, and set him free.

I live by it. Perhaps this should be engraved on my tombstone. Life has taught me that the silverplatter doesn’t exist for me. If I want something really badly, I have to work for it, too. The universe has been kind to me, but it only helps me to a certain extent, and then it leaves it all up to me. I have to go after what I want. I am the architect of my happiness. I am the blacksmith of my luck.

We had been so excited when we got answers to the ad, but most houses were out of our league. We were both feeling down when we left. A landlord who had also answered the ad had just offered us another dump. A very small house, the current renters were still living in it. There were half-cleaned, dried dog mishaps all over the living room carpet. The garage was filled with trash bags, at least 50-80, because the couple had decided to save the money for the weekly trash removal. It was dirty and messy. The couple was behind with rent, that’s why he wanted to rent to us, “as is”.

There was broken glass in the yard, and I remember how hard it had been to hold back my tears and my disappointment. I remember turning around and saying, “Really, that’s what you got out of our ad?”

Terry and I looked at each other, said politely good-bye, and left. Why trade one dump for another?

When we tried to get out of the neighborhood, we drove through some smaller streets, and that’s when I saw The Blue House. It had character, it was older, and it was unusual, a bit out of place. All these wonderful qualities we possess as well.

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I asked my husband to turn around. I wanted to write down the phone number. He looked at me with pity in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. “We can’t buy the house. We will never be able to buy a house again.” We both knew it. It would take over ten years to get some kind of credit back. It took five more years to have decent credit score numbers again.

Back home at the dump, I looked up the blue house. It was for sale, and it needed a kind buyer. One that was willing to put some TLC (Tender Loving Care) into it. No heat upstairs, no A/C either. The fence needed to be replaced, and the yard was a mess. No dishwasher in the kitchen.

I fell head over heels. This is where I wanted to live. If only dreams could move mountains.

The next day I called the number, because we had nothing to lose. A very nice lady named Kelly answered, and she explained to me that the house was for sale. I knew that, but I also knew it had been for sale for a very long time.

The house belonged to a garden center; they had numerous properties that they rented out. The blue house was their only house in Columbus, a bit further away from their main location. I left my number and asked for an email address.

The next day, I applied to rent the house. I was honest about our situation, added pictures of our dogs, and sent my request. I put in the work. I had worded my wishes—our wishes.

Every day, I went back and looked at the few online pictures of the yard and the rooms. Every day I dreamt to live there. It gave me hope when hope was needed.

Then, a week later, I got an email from the garden center. The office manager, Kelly, had talked to her boss, the owner. Another potential buyer had just changed his mind in the last minute. The owner wanted to meet us. I called Kelly, made sure she had all the information she needed. That it was all out in the open: We have no credit, we don’t have savings. We were poor! We worked hard, and we were honest, but we had three big dogs.

She knew. She told me about her dog, Mama Love.

Two days later, we met the owner, shook hands, and looked at the house. The old wood floors, the banged-up doors. We signed the lease, paid the deposit, and rent. We moved in on December 22nd.

This was the best Christmas ever. We had a small $10 cheap Christmas tree set up on a moving box. We laughed, and we smiled. We couldn’t believe it. We had left the dump behind. We had bettered ourselves. Against the odds!

Before we paid the January rent, I promised Kelly and Dave in an email that we would try to pay our rent on time every month. We promised not to be problem renters.

We kept our promise. We have lived here now for 12 years. We have been late with rent 3 times, but no later than the 10th, and we always communicated.

Our rent was $950 back then. Our rent is still $950.

For whatever reason, the owner decided year after year to renew our lease with the same conditions. Every year in October, I send an email, and I ask carefully how much the new rent will be. Every year, I get the same reply: “No changes.”

Kelly passed away from cancer in 2016. I had gotten to know her very well. Our landlord, Dave, passed away last year in August. He was my husband’s age. Both men had open-heart surgery in the same week in 2019. Dave’s wife, Amy, is now running the office. She has been running it for a couple of years. She is my age.

We live in a blue house, and we love the place. For us, it’s a mansion. We treat it like it would be ours, with pride and with joy. We have invested and paid for repairs ourselves because somehow, we have to pay it forward. Kindness needs to be repaid with kindness. We pay it forward because this is what the universe expects from us.

We even have a painted picture of our blue house; you can see it in the top picture behind our dog, Vader. A friend of mine painted it, and every evening when we watch TV, I smile when I look at it.

Yes, after all the houses we owned and lived in, The Blue House is our dream house, because we didn’t expect to be that lucky.

Wow, I opened up, didn’t I? 🙂

If you are interested in my story, our story. Here is the link to my book “Losing it all.” It’s not a sad story, but it is a true story: About friendship, dignity, sausage-making, and love. It’s a story about hope because, and please excuse my harsh language, “Shit happens!”

The ebook is free in February if you have KindleUnlimited!

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Daily writing prompt

Write about your dream home.

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