Making My Heart Go 'A Pitter-Patter

Just like a bell and Pavlov's dog, I have my own stimuli that drives me into various levels of stroke. Carolsue calling me and saying, "I need to talk with you as soon as possible!" is pretty high on the list. So is a text from a tenant saying, "I need your e-mail address."

Friday my phone alerted me with the previous message. It was from Artie. At the moment I was reading my text, Marty Sunshine just happened to have walked in the kitchen. He said my face went white. "Something wrong? Did someone die? That text wasn't about your father was it?" he asked in husbandly concern. "Do you need to sit?"

I just shook my head as my imagination went into overdrive. I expected the worst. When I told Marty about Artie's text, he just couldn't fathom the correlation between my mental health and five words sitting on my phone. But, he didn't know the back story.

A few months ago, Candy had called me OUT OF THE BLUE to tell me about the trouble in paradise between her and Artie. Of course, I have never personally met Candy. Before and after this occasion, we hadn't been particularly friendly. So, this call was a bit unexpected. On that particular day, she said that she "thinks of me as a friend," and just needed to talk. More likely, she didn't want me to be floored if they broke their lease two months later because she wanted to move out. And, right after Candy's girlfriend chat, Artie and Candy bounced the rent check.

So, a cryptic text from Artie had the same physiologic response as putting me in a pit of vipers.

Instead of texting Artie back (which he indicated Friday morning was his preferred mode of communication) I called him, saying, "Hey! I got your text. Is there something we need to discuss?"

Though I am not too sure about Candy, I actually like Artie. He stepped up right after the rent check bounced last October. Now the rent checks come from him. He includes late fees. I wouldn't let him keep his rottweiler in my home. According to Mr. 114, Artie hasn't. Also according to Mr. 114 Artie takes very good care of the home. Mr. 114 hasn't really commented on Candy, only to say he didn't see her there last time he did work for me.

What Artie really wanted from me on Friday was to send me pictures of the aftermath created by the basement flood a few months ago. I knew about this when it happened. And thankfully it is fixed. At the time I knew I would need to call James the Hell's Angel turned Carpet Guy to replace the rotted carpet, but I was waiting until Artie and Candy got back to me. Friday they got back to me. He is sending me pictures. And by the way, Artie told me, the rent will be on time this month.