I dreamt about Jon Hamm last night. Jon and I, along with Jenna Fischer (apparently only St. Louis actors are allowed in my dreams) were at Llewelyn’s Pub in the Central West End. It was the old Llewelyn’s, before the addition, with the grill in the front and the bartender who barked at you if you asked what kind of beer they had. What makes this significant? It was one of several ‘stress dreams’ I had this week.
Apparently everyone has them. Some are pretty common, like your teeth falling out or showing up to class only to find out there is a test you didn’t know about. You wake up and realize after a quick survey of your mouth that everything is OK, and you go back to sleep. But mine were worse: snakes, rodents and monsters were involved. And I know just who to blame for my unsettled psyche: the prior occupants of a house my daughter just moved into. I don’t know the names of these five college girls, but if I did, I would print them in bold just to shame them!
My parents did a good job of making sure that when I left their house, I knew how to take care of myself. I can clean a house, use a hammer and screwdriver, unclog a toilet, paint walls, put a ladder up on a roof to clean gutters and mow the lawn. Apparently, this was not the case for the prior occupants of this house.
The smell was the first sign, followed by stickiness on the floor, followed by, well, you get where I am going. If anyone would like photographic proof, email me. I give them credit though, it was the first time I’ve seen mold grow on the outside of a refrigerator. And so we began cleaning, scrubbing, fixing and replacing. With the landlord out of town, we had no way to, uh, discuss our dissatisfaction. There we were, the three of us, me with my out of control OCD, my husband and his ADD in full force, and my daughter (without any three-letter diagnosis)—working to make the house habitable.
The landlord eventually surfaced, and we had a nice talk. OK, maybe it wasn’t so nice, but it was honest. And sure enough, he sent in his work crew to finish the job we started. So, as we drove home from New Orleans and I contemplated my five days in what I lovingly refer to as that hell-hole house, I realized a few things. I am grateful my parents taught me how to do ‘basic stuff’ and that both my kids can do the same. I also taught them to respect authority, but maybe I should have taught them when to respectfully tell authority you aren’t going to take it anymore. And finally, I learned that I am too old to do this ever again.
So last night Jon and Jenna visited me in my clean sheets, and this morning I woke up happy. No more stress dreams. And even though my daughter is 600 miles away, I know there is nothing she can’t handle, including a caulk gun.
Contact Patty at phannum@townandstyle.com.