Coming and Going

Some time ago, my wife, Christine, and I were renting a house from an elderly couple who lived next door. The Jhertz were in their eighties and pleasant enough although a bit quirky, commensurate with their age. For example, they wanted us to put our garbage out the night before, not in the morning. Occasionally, when trash is out all night, animals prowling about scatter said garbage all over the street in search of tasty morsels. Even though the Jhertzes had to, every now and again, clean up the results of Rocky Raccoon's shopping spree, they insisted on nightly garbage positioning, so I obliged. After all, they were the landlords.

As the name implies, they were the lords of their land, and they let us know when we didn't comply with their feudal decree. One time, Mrs. Jhertz told me that when I park my car, I should back in like her. While I tried to placate her with how that was a good idea, but my car had blind spots which made backing up difficult, she was having no part of it. So now, I had to back in every night when I got home from work, and on Tuesday nights, I had to look out for the trash cans as I reversed up the short driveway.

All this irritated Christine. She wanted to tell Ole Lady Jhertz to mind her own business. She often referred to Mrs. Jhertz's decrees as "blue laws." It had nothing to do with outdated statutes. Mrs. Jhertz's hair was blue. I don't think it was intentional. I think she was colorblind or something because when she dyed her hair, it came out blue. I was drilling in the reserves during this stage of life, and my friend, Will, who was from out of town would stay with us on drill weekends. We were all in our thirties. Will had a wife and family. We caught up each month over dinner. It's not like we were up partying until the wee hours of the morn. Mrs. Jhertz stopped by one afternoon to inquire about the man who occasionally stayed with us.

"That's my friend, William. He's the Commanding Officer of my reserve unit."

I could see it on her face. Another decree was about to spew forth. I also could see Christine's expression as well. She was about to throw Old Blue out of her house.

"I talked to Mr. Jhertz, and your friend can stay only one night, not two," Mrs. Jhertz announced.

I agreed because although a monthly lease meant we could leave at a moments notice. It also meant the Jhertzes could toss us out in the same timeframe. Our rent was very inexpensive, considering we were in a two bedroom house, and we really didn't want to leave. Unfortunately, Christine was fuming. She was an up and coming executive for a Fortune 500 company with a sizable team of her own. Having to take inane orders from some old lady with blue hair was wearing thin. A few weeks later, Mrs. Jhertz was at our door again. Christine didn't let her in. They carried on their conversation through the screen. I prepared for the worst.

"You people are coming and going too much," Mrs. Jhertz informed.

"What do you mean?" Christine asked.

"All day long, you people leave then come back," she explained.

"That's because we live here," Christine reasoned.

"Well, you need to plan your day so you come and go only once."

"Plan my day?"

"Yes, if you people were better organized you would come and go only once."

I was half listening to the conversation. Christine isn't one to mince words. I figured at any moment she was going to tell the fossil at the door to try "going" herself. Instead, I heard the door quietly close.

"What did she want? Eat more fiber?" I asked.

"We're coming and going to much."

"Coming and going?"

"Yes, we now have one 'coming' and one 'going' per day."

"And you agreed to that?"

"What choice do we have?"

So for the next six months, we planned every excursion to ensure we complied with Ole Lady Smurf's "coming and going" edict or "CAG" as it came to be known. The worst part was on the weekends when we might want to go grocery shopping because we were out of food. If we spend our CAG on that, we couldn't go to the movies later in the day unless we hadn't any perishables. Or if friends dropped by and wanted us to go out, we had to inform them that we were not allowed to leave because I expended the CAG with a trip to the pharmacy earlier in the day. Sometimes, one of us was called into work on a weekend, which meant we spend our CAG on the man.

I took care not to violate any of Mrs. Jhertz 's rules. When I was coming, I backed in being careful not to run over the garbage the wildlife spread all over the driveway. It was a matter of time before I slipped up, and went out to get my car washed one Saturday morning. It was spring, and I wasn't aware that Christine had gone for a walk earlier in the morn. Technically, since she didn't actually use a car, Christine's "going" shouldn't have counted, but not being a lawyer I wasn't sure the legal precedent to invoke. When I pulled up I saw, the Blue Fairy at the door. Since I was already a real boy, I knew this wasn't going to be good.

For a moment, I thought I could just back over her as I maneuvered my car in reverse down the short driveway while dodging kitchen trash and recyclables. Mrs. Jhertz was gone when I got out of my car. Christine met me in the driveway.

"Let's go," she said.

"We can't. I already 'go-ed' today." I explained.

"We have some houses to look at," Christine noted.

Depending how you look at it, we came and went two, maybe three times that day. This was during the bull market of the 90's. Christine had taken all the money we saved, since our rent was so small, and put it in aggressive growth funds. She managed to squirrel away six figures. We bought our first house three weeks later. It was very freeing to be able to live in our own home. I pulled my car into the driveway anyway I felt. I put out the garbage in the morning. Each month, Will stayed with us for two whole days.

They say that you can't appreciate something until it's taken away. The best part of home ownership by far was the freedom to come and go as we pleased.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on December 15, 2016.