Other People's Houses: More Adventures in Housesitting

So, if you saw this picture of a house you might get to live in for free for 6 weeks of winter

 in fancy, sunny La Jolla, CA, you'd be intrigued, right? 

I was. 

I found it through Trustedhousitters.com at the last minute, just when our SoCal rental of two months was coming to an end. We'd done this before, with moderate, adventuresome success, in France and Italy and San Fracisco. Three bedrooms, two baths, walk to town and the beach. 

Free. Absolutely free. Except for tending 3 sweet pets.

Mia, senile pot addict

River, a love

Tule Fog, eternally pissed

How bad could it be? We met the homeowner and we met the pets. While patting the dogs, I watched cat-sized tumbleweeds of dog fur drift across the floor. I noted the absurdly thick layer of dust on the coffee table. No biggie, I thought. I can handle a wet sponge and a vacuum.

This house could be lovely, I thought.

Stan was all in, like a man running for home base, on fire, no looking back. He's a good Yankee and likes not spending one red cent if he doesn't have to. He was listening avidly to the owner about how to switch the solar heat to the hot tub as if he were going to move right in, while I was surreptitiously, behind her back, slicing my dagger-sharp hand across my neck in the time-honored "Put a lid on it, Buster" gesture. I wanted to leave the figurative escape hatch open until we'd seen and heard more.
We saw more. Lots more. And heard more. Lots more. Our divorced, hoarding, lonely, overweight, Stanford-educated daughter of a renowned physicist, homeowner had boundary issues, not knowing when to stop talking.

Or when to determine that she had saved enough pickle jars without lids, shopping bags from yesteryear, plastic bags, bars of soap from hotels, dime-sized bars of used soap that might still have some life to them, empty Amazon boxes, radios from the 60's, hair and cleaning products she seemed not to use on either her hair or her home. She saves the tiny plastic strip you peel off a sealed bag of cheese--like, 50 of them, in case the cat wants to play with them. She saves the plastic wrapper that a 12 pack of toilet paper comes in. I kid you not. I keep finding them in the back of the stuffed closets. 

That's because we moved in.

Garage

Every box she's ever met.

Her office. Maybe she's a genius?

I mean, we all have clutter. I understand. I have owned 3 houses at one time, two of which were full of other people's lifetimes, and another from which I'd purged all evidence of my husband's bachelor-style "housekeeping." I, too, like to have a good old shoebox on hand, should the need arise for a handy container. 

But this homeowner's parents had died 8 and 10 years ago, in this house, probably in our bed. She hasn't--how to phrase it nicely--moved on. The dust-encrusted footrests to a wheelchair and a blood pressure cuff were tucked under our bedside tables. We don't know where the wheelchair is, but it's here somewhere.The blood pressure cuff box is in the garage. The instructions for it are under the adult diapers under the bathroom sink, where everything still smells a little urine-y and medicine-y. It's where she throws her clean towels for safe-keeping.

Office shelf. Yes, that's a can of Raid.

When YOU go away and someone might come through or--God forbid--even STAY in your house, wouldn't you put some of your crap away? Like throw your washcloth in the washer? Or clear a postage stamp-sized area of a counter? Or hide your retainer/tooth-grinding guard? And your huge pile of grandma-style dirty underwear?

Retainer in holder above faucet. I don't want to know about the electric kettle.

How she left the kitchen before heading to LAX. She likes to rinse and dry cat food cans because "the ants are terrible" but leaves old dog food and curdling milk out.

The Guest Room. And she knew I wanted to have guests.

I almost melted down. But Stan and I cleaned the first layer the first day, just so that we could stand it. Then we hired two professional cleaning women for 3 hours. They were highly impressed by what they found. I think when I'd called and said the magic words "La Jolla," they'd pictured dusting crystal curios and gently Swiffering their way to $250.

Instead they broke a sweat within 15 minutes, their eyes wide in astonishment. "How do you know this lady?" one of them carefully ventured. "The internet," I replied, and she gave me a look that spoke volumes of an encyclopedia called "WHAT DID YOU EXPECT, YOU CRAZY LADY? From A to Z."

Pool and hot tub

But there are nice parts to being here, now that it's clean. Now that she owns 500 fewer shopping bags and 20-30 fewer Amazon boxes (that she'll never miss). Perhaps this was her plan all along, to come back from the Middle East to a spotless house. But the empty Rebel Yell bottles tell a different story. She won't notice the clean house. She won't notice the lack of dog poop ringing the pool, or how her sad plants off the back deck are coming back to life after being watered, pruned, fertilized. Or that the loose boards of her deck have been refastened by handyman Stan.

The nice parts are sitting on that gussied-up deck in the unusually hot California sun with a good book. Walking a block for roasted brussel sprouts drizzled with balsamic vinegar, having a pizza and a beer, because we can, and because no ferry is involved. Having nothing to do all day but wonder what's playing at the movies, the folk club, the Old Globe Theater. When to get a massage. When to go for a run or a workout.

Front yard garden

And our owner is a kind and good person, just thwarted by her past and her need to acquire something she can never attain. She has a beautiful, chard-heavy vegetable garden in the front yard. I commend her for bucking the neighborhood trend, where everything is groomed, manicured, and lifted to perfection. She has loved and loving pets who have become dear friends to us. She has a Ford Hybrid we get to tootle around in. She is generous enough and adventurous of spirit enough to put her house and pets out there to strangers. She gave us tickets to see an amazing concert last night. Maybe we'll come back next year. We have the cleaning lady's number still. So maybe.