A gift of my job is the wonderful people who I am likely to meet. I was referred to a man named Pat through my accountant. She warned me that he was in his late 80's, had been "through" a couple of other Realtors and was best described as cantankerous. Dear Pat.
He had reasons to be cantankerous. His younger wife was leaving him, divorcing in fact because she didn't sign on for "old age". The house he had built, enjoyed and was comforted by had to be sold as part of the settlement. He had been a "money man" all his life. Wall Street thrilled him. He spoke to me often of the Bull and The Bear and would quiz me on occasion as to which market we were in on any given day.
He was Italian at birth. He stood all of 5 feet. He had a limp in his left side from a bad hip. He would say ... "too much time on the planet, I guess". Because of his mobility he had rigged a system from the top floor (raised ranch) to the bottom floor of a paint bucket on a pulley to cart needed items up and down the stairs. He once offered me a ride which I willingly declined.
He would call on the phone and yell. Sometimes in his native language about the lack of showings, the infrequency of ads, the terrible photos... and then he would call back and say ..."Bubbles, I am an ass. You know I love you."
And I did. I did know he loved me.
He had a boat he loved and took care of like it was his child. Teak oil and polish in the spring after the shrink wrap was removed. It was a sad day when a young neighbor came and pulled it out of his drive way. I was there, to steady him and to salute the "old girl" as she left. He may have shed a tear but would not have let me see it. He said..."Damn my brothers for making me sell it. Damn them for thinking I am too old to be out on the open sea. Damn, Damn, Damn." He was the oldest of several boys....now old men themselves. I said a little prayer... "Bless them for making him sell it... Bless them."
He owned a restaurant for years and loved to ‘hold court'. He sold it when his young wife wanted out of the business. "Biggest mistake I ever made" he would say ... and I wondered if he meant the young wife (now divorcing him) or the selling of the restaurant. The Restaurant was his retirement job. He was a remarkable cook.
I would arrive to his home for a showing and the scent of clove or basil or coriander would be overpowering. A plate wrapped in saran wrap sitting on the chopping block table with a note: "Bubbles, I know you are trying to lose weight but you must try this... and besides, there is more of you to love."
The clients would think "how cute, the old man has a girlfriend".
He invited me shooting one day. How could I refuse? We went to Centerville down some dirt road to a club set with different ranges of paper people with rings around their torso. He took from his trunk 15 boxes of guns. Each gun had a story. Each had its own personal meaning. I used to love to shoot. As a girl I would earn badges in Girl Scouts for various talents with guns... I was a country girl. Pat handed me a pistol that felt so good in my hand. It is hard to explain. Like a pen that writes well or a leather wallet that makes you happy when you touch it. This gun fit. This Parabellum-Pistole was easy to shoot, very little kick and truly my favorite. Soon the men at the shooting range came over to review Pat's cache of guns and learn more about the woman with the pistol. With a beam in his eye he said "Bubbles is using a 1908 Luger I took off a German who was trying to steal your freedom boys. I was 18 and at war." He wouldn't let anyone else hold it that day. Just me. He told of the other guns he had and where they had come from like a grandfather raving about his grand children. I was glad I had on sun glasses so he couldn't see my tears.
A man at the end of his life.
He moved into an Assisted Living facility before the house was sold. So I would go on Thursday night when he held "Casino Night" for his peers. All 5 feet of him dressed in a vest with a straw hat, white shirt and red arm band.... Pat was running the show like a charlatan selling snake oil. He always had a full house and always had crazy gifts for the winners...Like dinner in his apartment, homemade stew, cookies for a week. I did note most of the players were women...which didn't hurt his ego one bit.
His brother has a home on the water in Falmouth and he called to invite me to a St Patrick's Day feast. I said but Pat you are Italian... and he said..."Bubbles, both countries start with an "I", come to dinner I want you to meet my daughters." Like every other meal he'd ever indulged me in... the Corned Beef was delightful. The home made wine a treat and meeting his grown (older than me) daughters a trip. His eldest daughter pulled me in the kitchen and told me to stop "leading him on". I laughed. She was hurt. I invited Pat to explain our relationship and he said... "I'd rather not". I decided a battle not worth fighting.
I learned that day of the wounds of his family. I learned of the distance between him and his girls. The miles of unspoken hurt. He was not an easy man. We never know the sins of our parents. Do we?
My husband never met Pat. But loved the food I would bring home to him from Pat's Kitchen. My husband went to battle for me when he thought I was being yelled at too much by the "little Italian" and loved that Pat called me Bubbles. My husband saw my treatment of Pat the same as my treatment of all my trusted clients. And I think, was a smidge jealous that I got to shoot a Luger.
The house sold finally. Pat's brother the attorney called and yelled. I yelled back. Pat called and yelled. I yelled back. His ex wife called and said ...do you see why I left him? I agreed. The house closed. The money was deposited and I got the call...
"Bubbles, will you come for dinner?"
He made me the most amazing beef I have ever had. He sat me on the couch with a TV tray, his home made wine and a meal I will never forget. He brought out the photos and paintings of a younger man who was Gary Grant gorgeous, although still 5 foot tall. He told me of his first wife and apologized for his daughter's behavior. He spoke of his ‘philandering" as a young man and his propensity to flirt (no secret there). He was proud to announce he had put in a bocce court at the assisted living residence and had been getting people out of their wheel chairs to play. He felt more alive there with people around then he did in the old house. Opera played in the background and he would stop and explain what Verdi meant by the passage being sung. His eyes closed his face toward the sky his wine glass moving with the cadence of the music as he told me of the tragic love or funny mischief in the song. He was a character. A true character.
He was a curmudgeon. He was cantankerous. He was a flirt. He had a temper. He was opinionated and stubborn. He had "time on Planet".
When I was riding my bike through Tuscany with my friend Alyse, my husband called me to tell me Pat had died. I would miss the funeral.
My husband, with out my asking, took the day off from work to represent me at the church. When he emailed me of the event he said Pat would have liked to have had me there. My husband was shook by the awful things said about Pat by his daughter from the pulpit. So this story, this recollection is my eulogy. To a man I will never forget.
With much love....Bubbles.
Tuscan-like patio's extends around this Contemporary
Warning. My husband got a call from LOWES credit services saying that our bill was late in payment and if he would pay with a different credit card the woman on the other end of the phone would be happy to excuse the late fee. 
;)
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