All we've done on The Box House the last few days is clean, clean, clean, continue to try to find new homes for stuff left by the previous owners, and interview possible tenants for the second floor unit. We've had maybe a dozen inquiries over the last few days, and a few who took applications. There are more appointments scheduled for tomorrow and Wednesday, and a couple more who want to take a look over the weekend. I think we'll find a decent enough match (touch wood).
But man, what a weird situation to be in. Here I am, judging these people the entire time I'm showing them around, and they're doing the same to me and the building. When it comes to the end of the tour, a gut impression has already been formed--and I'm insulted when somebody I liked doesn't ask for an application or another appointment. What's wrong with my house? Why aren't you jumping at it? Others are overly eager, praising the unit up and down and already envisioning where they're going to put the sofa. Some take applications, relaying elaborate explanations for what we'll find when we pull their credit. Each tour ends with a Box House family meeting where we share our overall impressions. Even the dog seems to weigh in with an opinion, having wagged her tail at some, barked her head off or whined at others. Don't laugh, I take her opinion seriously as well. Maybe she senses something we don't.
I'll be glad to have the whole process behind us.
Anyway, one of my ways to de-stress is to surf the Library of Congress digital collection. I'm such a geek, I know. Tonight I stumbled upon a series of images from a 1903 visit Teddy Roosevelt made to our town. Living in a post-Kennedy assassination world, it's strange for me to see a political leader so open and vulnerable. And really, I wish everybody still decorated with good old-fashioned bunting like that. I think I'll look for some to put up this Fourth of July.