I had exactly half an hourís warning before the landlords (Fred and Jerry are their names; Fred lives up the block from me, and Jerry lives mostly in Thailand but happens to be visiting here for a few weeks) descended on me yesterday afternoon with the new toilet. So it was a matter of prioritizing. There was no use trying to clean the whole house. I didnít even vacuum up the leaves that accumulate daily just inside the front door.
But I did make a few swipes at the bathroom floor, making it look a little less like a gas station rest room and a little more like a place where a civilized person spends way too much time these days (owing to the fact that that person is a few weeks shy of turning sixty). The thing is, they donít care. They never mention my lack of housekeeping skills (or my lack of interest therein). Theyíve even told me that what I do inside my house is none of their business. Thatís the kind of landlord-tenant relationship that I appreciate.
They also promised to come back and fix the windows that the rock-throwing neighbor kids broke a couple of years ago. Because the windows are double-paned, there arenít any air leaks. So Iím in no special hurry, which is probably a good thing. It took them from August until yesterday to keep the toilet promise.