If you haven't stopped by here before, one of my hobbies is fixing up old houses and turning them into rentals. I'm no real estate magnate, but I own a few. My current project is renovating the duplex I live in.

Anticipating that last weekend might be one of the year's last for warm weather, I decided to tackle one of the outdoor projects: Painting the Garage. It's been shaking paint loose like a wet dog.

I began with the sun just above tree-level and with my breath still visible. Scrape and brush, a clorox rinse, a layer of primer, and then the top-coat. Kinda like going to the hairdresser.

While I painted, I thought about straight guys. Oh no, not in the way you readers might think!

On one side of me are my ex-tenants, "The Ladies," but on the other side live a family with one child. They keep their house and yard neat as a pin, and drive neat-as-a-pin black Chevrolets: A SUV for her, a truck for him.

They keep to themselves, and I don't mind neighbors like that at all. The girl rides her bike up and down or plays hopscotch, but always by herself. The wife might be pretty, but she wears a grim expression when I see her striding from the SUV -- and that's the only time I seen her. She looks like she's always ready to lose her temper.

I see the husband the most. He quietly does the yard work and keeps their cars clean. He focuses on the duty at hand and when he says anything, he only says "hey." When I first bought the place, I introduced myself. He has a kind face, but I got the impression by the look in his eyes that he's terribly shy. It was sort of a pleading look.

They had a Husky. The dog was always outside by himself. He stayed in a pre-molded plastic house, and he pined day and night. I would see him sitting at the entrance of his little house, facing the rear porch and making the most mournful noises. It was upsetting at first, it was such a lonesome whine, but after awhile I got used to it.

Then one morning a few weeks ago I realized it was quiet and saw a new tree planted in their backyard. With the tree was a granite boulder with a plaque engraved big enough for me to see that it had the dog's name and dates. As it sunk in, the husband came into my line of sight, carrying a bag of mulch. He was planting flowers around the tree and boulder.

A few days later I noticed him again, huddled over something and when he turned, I saw he cradled a puppy -- a little Husky. I watched while they wandered around the yard, the puppy jerking its head everywhere and yawning. It was very cute.

So when I started the garage, I noticed him standing there, holding his little dog.

"Hey," I said.
"Hey," he nodded back.

I went to work. Later, I heard her:

"No!"

She sat on their wrought-iron swing with her dour look. She gripped a rolled newspaper.

"No! Bad dog!"

*smack*

Hubby was there, too, behind her, working the garden beds. He wasn't looking up. "Bad dog!" Something to work her temper out on.

The day continued. At some point, my tenant's son came down the driveway. "Hey, hugshyhermit, stop making so much noise, hee hawww guffaww." He's been 'visiting' for the last ten months. "Finally. You're painting the garage. I was getting worried."

Hee haw guffaw, and he stood talking in the driveway while I painted. He told me about the Bengals and the Browns, gave reports on all his Florida relatives and his take on the debates. He talked about the Dave Matthews moveon dot org event he went to. We talked about bars and drinking and getting into fights. While he was there, I must have completed an entire side of the garage.

The Ladies next door love to speculate. Do you think maybe this and what about that. Why do you think he's always talking to you? He says he wants a girlfriend but he never goes out. Have you seen how carefully he takes care of the yard?

Speculation is human nature. But I don't think my tenant's son is gay. I think he's an overweight, unemployed 30-year-old who lives with his mother. And if he were? He'd still be an overweight, unemployed 30-year-old living with his mother. As nice as he seems to be, that's a hot potato I'd pass on.

And the guy next door? Late in the day, I heard someone pull-starting a gadget, like a lawn mower. Looking up, the husband was trying to start one of those hand-held blowers, the machines that shoots leaves around. His wife was gone and he stood there looking right at me. It looked like he wanted to start a conversation.

"Hey," he said.
"Oh, hey," I said back.

After a few minutes, he got the machine started and its sound modulated as he paced around. Faintly over the buzz, I heard a door slam and his daughter yelling. "Dinner!" But he didn't stop. He didn't stop for a long time.

I think a lot of straight guys are lonely. I think life forces them to be isolated that way, even if they're following the rules. Maybe especially if they're following the rules. I think the rules for them stink.

I'm glad I'm gay. Gay people can make up rules as we go along.

My garage sparkles like after a trip to the dentist.