A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood
Sat., October 25, 03:25 PM
I wish I didn’t feel so tired. It really is beautiful today, better than it has been in some time. It was so raw Thursday and Friday that I didn’t go outside any more than necessary. A little shopping so I could walk. But I seem to have a cold – I never catch cold – and it’s wearing me down. (Did I catch this from all you D’landers?)
Anyway, I decided to take advantage of the weather by raking a few leaves. Halfway down the block, a neighbor is doing the same thing. However, her tree is bare. My tree, still mostly green, is almost full of leaves, which makes me wonder where all these leaves came from. There’s no sense doing a complete job, not with all those leaves just waiting to fall, so I just cleared the walks and front lawn – four bags full. The neighbor began using a blower, far too noisy for me, but I was tired by then anyhow, so I came in.
The interesting stuff, should I care to nose about, is at the end of the block. The house there has always been a little trashy, with large yards full of junk. I’ve always considered the woman there no better than she should be (snark, snark), though I’m sure she considers herself better than Blacks and Jews. (Yeah, one of those.) When her mother died, she and her husband threw out tons of garbage, but the trash in the yard just changed. It was still trash. In August her husband died (a neighborhood mystery – they’re only about fifty), and I’ve noticed a big truck in her front yard. It says “landscaping” on the side, but it reminds me of the junkman.
When I was a kid, junk was a business. At one level, people like my dad saved scrap copper and brass and sold it at the junkyard for a few pennies a pound. (Everybody has to have a hobby.) At another level was the junkman with his horse and wagon. He was a curiosity – even the milkmen had trucks by that time. He traveled through the neighborhoods looking for junk to salvage. If you were throwing something out, you might offer it to him; if he bought it, you wouldn’t have to haul it away yourself. When someone died unexpectedly, he usually made out like a bandit as the houses were emptied. In return, the horse left something for the gardeners, who went into the street with shovels to retrieve it.
Anyhow, this woman’s house looks like fodder for the old-fashioned junkman. All her lawn statuary is knocked over. There are shingles torn off the house. The bushes are overgrown.
If we had ever been friends, I would stop by and see if I could give her some help. But she was always nasty to me. Maybe she has some friends who will help her. I have my doubts. I’d love to know if she’s going to try to sell that house.
My son is leaving for Italy tonight. I have mixed feelings: I hope he has fun; I hope he’s safe; I wish he were taking me! I won’t even be able to catch him online.
