And My Friends Call Me Naive. Pshaw!

You know how you go out to walk the dog and next thing you know you're in a strange man's bedroom?

Okay, I didn't either when I woke up this morning, but not so much anymore.

The beagle and I were strolling Marshall Street in the sunshine when, from across the street, a man waves and shouts hello.

I said hi and he starts crossing the street, saying he wants to talk to me, so I pause while the dog does his business.

When he reaches me, he says, "You look like one of the few responsible people in the neighborhood," to which I respond, "I like to think so," all the while thinking "Not even close, buddy."

Seems that my neighbor and new acquaintance is looking to rent his house because he's moving to Bellevue and wonders if I know of anyone looking for J-Ward digs.

Off the top of my head, I don't, but I promise that I'll give it some thought and let him know.

"Well, come inside and see it so you'll know how to describe it," he suggests.

Or does he really mean, "Come upstairs and see my etchings, why don't you?"

Don't try this at home youngsters, but I parked the dog at his fence and blithely followed a strange man into a strange house for a look-see.

Truth be told, it is a great house with huge living and dining rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows.

The charming kitchen had an old 1924 refrigerator I couldn't help commenting on.

It's the kind that actually has legs to raise it off the floor, white enamel trimmed with black and, of course, no freezer.

Vintage stuff.

Upstairs, there were three nice bedrooms; the master bedroom had a big closet and another had a New Orleans-style balcony overlooking the backyard and the off-street parking.

There was a trunk room (!) with a window even, for storing one's luggage and such in between cruises and traveling abroad.

Walking back down the staircase, he asked me what I did for a living and suggested I move in.

Seeing as how my entire household consists of me and a beagle, it seemed a bit much, so I politely declined.

But it was a lovely house and someone will be lucky to enjoy its retro charm, whether or not they have steamer trunks and valises to occupy the trunk room.

If you're looking to become part of the Jackson Ward 'hood, you'd have a prime base of operation (just ask George: 649-7067).

You'd also have me for a neighbor and I could introduce you to the guys who host Whisky Wednesdays.

What more could a newcomer to J-Ward hope for?