Florida fruits

My neighbor across the street brought us a lemon from her backyard lemon tree. Behold a Florida homegrown lemon.

Me: "What am I suppose to do with it?"

Her: "I don't know. Make lemonade?"

How to behave in the new hood

Several years ago, my neighborhood changed drastically. Death took a majority, others downsized, and my favorite of all neighbors moved to another state to be closer to his children. Where I once had a hood of familiarity and friendships intimate enough to refer to the same as family, I now have strangers who want little or zero contact.

Major upheaval in life. Or at least in my life.

Because gone are the days of knocking on neighbor's doors for borrowed sugar. Now, according to one of the new neighbors, a knock brings a greeter carrying a gun.

Gone are the days of sitting in garages drinking coffee and chatting up those passing by. Now, the garage doors are tightly closed as soon as a car enters or exits. Gone are the days of dinner invitations, block parties, and general niceties. Now, we're lucky to get a smile, a wave, or a mumbled greeting, let alone a sentence or two.

Perhaps it is also my fault. While I did greet new neighbors as they moved in, I haven't gone out of my way to further a relationship, preferring to gripe instead of their lack of what I call, "Midwest neighborhood-ness." Meaning, as it was in my youth, welcoming neighbors and bringing them, or pushing them, into the fold. Making them a part of the established group.

Once, during one of our frenzied hurricane preparation periods, I remarked to a new neighbor about his parked boat having been moved.

Me: "I was holding on to hope that your boat would lead us out of the expected neighborhood flood."

I was joking, of course. We sit on a hill. There is little chance of flooding.

He, however, did not chuckle. He snarled and then went on a ten-minute rant concerning a letter he'd received from the neighborhood association board informing him he'd exceeded the seventy-two hour parking period. He commented on neighbors further down the street in error of the deed-restricted rules. I was treated to angry words and a tirade on "whatever busybody neighbor had turned me in."

Me: (to my husband later) "I assured him it wasn't us, but I wanted to respond with a dressing down on how if he spent more time interacting or exchanging hellos with the neighbors around him, they might not be so inclined to report him."

The next day the same neighbor invited me into his house to see his renovations. I was walking my dog, but he insisted I bring in Elliot, and as the two of us heading into the front door, I looked back into our hood, hoping someone was watching me entering this angry stranger's house in case Elliot and I were never seen again.

Yikes! If I think this about my neighbors, what must they think of us? I wasn't precisely channeling my "Midwest neighborhood-ness."

This whole introduction is leading up to a problem we are currently having with my next-door neighbor, who has started taking to throwing out chicken bones into his front yard. Or maybe it's a whole chicken, I'm not sure. All I know is that my dog really likes this new occurrence.

Now, back in the old days, we tossed out dinner bones for the neighborhood dogs. Because one, dogs roamed untethered, and because two, the damage bones did to animals' teeth, and stomachs hadn't been discovered yet.

But having had to take my dog to the emergency vet following his ingestion of a pork bone, we are very leery of giving Elliot any type of bone, dog-made or otherwise, and these bones next-door are making potty runs and walking trips quite tricky.

My dog is ten years old and does a relatively decent job of remaining in our yard without a leash. Others have pointed out that perhaps the neighbor doesn't agree with us on this, but seeing how the neighbor's yard is certainly not up to our association code, I doubt he cares a hoot about our playing loose and fancy with the leash law. Which I believe pertains only to dogs outside of their own yards. 

Sure, the neighbor could prefer to not have my dog in his yard, but other than sniffing a rabbit under his bush, Elliot doesn't usually set foot in the yard because well, it isn't much of a yard. And even if my dog spent hours in this yard, throwing whole chickens or bones is a bit passive-aggressive, in my opinion. Having vast experience in the "Midwest neighborhood-ness."

The question is, how do I handle this situation?

My experience says to speak with my neighbor. Find out why he throws dead animal carcasses into his front yard and ask nicely if he could stop doing so. Or approach him another way and ask him if he knows a chicken died in his front yard. I've thought up several different approaches, but our friends and family members cringe at these, offering the other side where I'm a terrible dog owner, and while I admit some fault, I'm still good with hearing it from my neighbor's lips. As long as the communication is respectful and friendly.

This is how we always handled things before in our hood. We communicated. Granted, there was one incident that wasn't so friendly, and many feelings were hurt, but for the most part, we always spoke kindly with one another and came to an agreement we could all live with peacefully. Then we had a cocktail.

This new hood? These new neighbors? These tumultuous days of pent-up rage? I'm at a loss. Any suggestions?

An Elliot tale

The dog has been thrilled to have us back home. Especially since Madison and I are home most of the time during the day. He has been very needy, wants attention and love, and for us to play with him. He finally has comfort during the damn storms that have plagued us since we returned. He has been in heaven.

My neighbor, Bonnie, took care of him while we were gone. She came over during the day and took him outside and sometimes over to her house. Bonnie loves dogs, and Bonnie loves to reward dogs just for being dogs by giving them treats. Like bags of treats. If we are outside and she comes out, Elliot will take off like a shot to visit her. Because...she's the treat lady.

Yesterday, I went outside to retrieve my wallet, which I'd left in the car upon coming home from the gym. I took Elliot out with me thinking he could use a potty break. He instead needed some sun, so he plopped down in the driveway off to the side.

I was heading to the pool, so I just left him. He's getting to the point where he is too old and crippled to chase cars, and since the weather is so hot, he watches them go by. We rarely leash him at this point, and since he rarely stays outside in the sun past five minutes, I went back inside. Plus, it gave me a chance to sneak out into the pool without him knowing. Because he wants to come too and then, he wants to chase me around the pool barking like a crazy dog. Loudly.

I put away my wallet, told Madison I was going to sneak away to the pool, and reminded her that once Elliot started crying to come and get him. Because the damn dog won't just come inside. He will cry until you open the door, and then he will get up and walk inside. As I said this, I went back to the door to peek out at him. As I came up to the door, I saw that Bonnie's car was heading out. She was backing out of the driveway, and her garage had just closed. I looked for my dog.

He was gone.

Me: "Where did Elliot go? He isn't in his spot."

Madison: "Is he at the door?"

Me: "No. Shit. I bet he saw Bonnie."

Maddy ran to get on shoes, and we both went outside, calling his name.

Me: "I bet he's locked in Bonnie's garage. I bet he saw the door open and he took off like a shot, and she didn't see him! Oh, my god, my dog is locked in the neighbor's garage!"

Luckily, I have her garage code. Maddy ran over while I'm screaming out the numbers to her so that everyone and their brother can now get into the neighbor's garage, and as she pushed the button and the garage started lifting, there was my dog. Right at the entrance to the garage with a look on his face that said:

Elliot: "What the hell just happened? I came over to visit Aunt Bonnie, and the woman just took off and locked me in the damn garage. WTF?"

It was hilarious. After the fact. Damn dog.

Bonnie, when I called to tell her the story, worried he might have died from the heat if we hadn't found him. Maddy and I had pondered that, but we know he would have begun crying, and he's loud enough we would have heard him from inside our house. But I am lucky that I saw her leave at that time. Jeez.

It took a minute or two off of my life, I'll tell you that.

I tweeted:

My dog just got locked in my neighbor's garage, and she left. This must be why pets are supposed to be on a leash.

If only the man was a doctor

This morning I used the back of an envelope to write down a few things to pick up at Target today. After I wrote down the first four items (drugs meaning get a refill of a prescription), I left the list sitting on the counter. Later, I went to add the Downey to the list and found that my husband had added his own things to the list.

While I could read the orange juice, I wasn't so sure about the next item. I studied it for several minutes and then introduced it to my neighborhood coffee circle. No one had a clue what was written. Some of the guesses included:

• Washington apples - green?
• Green wipes?
• Some type of multi something in a green box?
• Meek Washington Greens?

We finally gave up and called my husband. He was very busy and not too happy about the phone call as he told me, "Mouth wash."


I made sure to get him plenty so that I never have to go through that again!

Giving neighborhood watch a whole new meaning

My neighbor Garnet, and I were out with the dogs when I noticed the mail truck down the street. I made a comment about how late the mail was and Garnet said the mail had already come. We both stared at the obvious truck down the street.

Then we began speculating on why the mail truck was parked outside our single 20-year-old male neighbor's house.

1. Perhaps the mail person had had a heart attack
2. Perhaps the mail person was inside the truck having lunch
3. Perhaps the mail person was inside enjoying some afternoon delight

We crossed off  #1 after wandering down to the truck. We could see the windows were rolled up and the doors locked and we didn't see anyone sprawled across the seats. Nor did we see anyone slumped under the pedal so we also ruled out #2.

We concluded #3 was probably the most accurate of our speculations. This was Garnet's suggestion.

Me: "Well, I don't see any rocking of the truck, and having once upon a time hit this truck I do know it is made of tin. If two people were inside doing the hanky panky, this truck would definitely be rocking back and forth.

Garnet: "I mean inside the house, not in the truck."

Me: "Oh."

they were enjoying the afternoon delight in the house."

We hung around watching and waiting, but no one came in or out of the truck. A few hours later the truck disappeared.

Today Garnet and I were outside once again and our mail lady drove by and hopped out to chat with us about a piece of mail she had delivered to my house.

I told her the tale of the mysterious mail truck.

Her: "That was my truck. It broke down yesterday. I had to have someone come and pick up me and the mail and then someone else came and towed the truck."

Me: "Well, that's boring, but mystery solved."

Garnet: "Our solution was more exciting. We thought you were inside the house having some afternoon delight."

Her: "If I were to do something like that, I'd do it on another street because boy, you two don't miss anything on this street, do you?" 

Good fences make good neighbors

My mother was, and still is, a big Robert Frost fan. She met him once and we grew up with her reciting his poetry almost weekly. In school we studied his poetry, discussing why "good fences make good neighbors". While I understood his concept, I didn't really get it.

I grew up in a wonderful neighborhood in Indiana. We knew our neighbors. We socialized with our neighbors, we celebrated with our neighbors and even vacationed with our neighbors. Those neighbors who worked knew those staying at home would watch out for their properties and their children.

We knew our neighbors by name and most times even those of their relatives. When someone new moved into the neighborhood, adults and kids made sure to welcome them. If there ever was a problem between neighbors, they talked it out. Everyone in our neighborhood roamed from one yard to another. If a neighbor's yard worked the best for the day's activity, that's where we played. No need to inquire of the owners, we knew it was fine.

The unspoken rule in our neighborhood: What's mine is yours.

There were no fences in my neighborhood.

Moving into our neighborhood in Florida, I was shocked when no one introduced themselves. I was even more shocked by how no one waved when we passed by on foot or in a car and how each yard had a fence. It took several months and new neighbors moving in before our neighborhood became friendly.

We replaced the wooden fence in our backyard with a chain link fences so we could see and talk to our neighbors behind us. We even put in a gate when we discovered the neighbors behind us had a daughter a few days younger than Madison.

Our street became one of the few in our neighborhood association where the board didn't receive complaints mainly because we worked together to solve problems. While our neighborhood isn't anything like the one in Indiana, I can honestly say that I won't leave my current house because of the great neighbors I have surrounding me.

Then along came Elliot.

He isn't the first dog in the neighborhood. All of my surrounding neighbors have dogs. Most of them have had dogs for over ten years, and while I wasn't a dog person I put up with the barking and growling and jumping, and never said a word when a dog would enter my house while accompanying its owner.

Now that we have joined the ranks of dog ownership (not by my choice, may I remind everyone) and now because we have a puppy who is more rambunctious and eager at spying the other dogs, apparently he's too much for one of my neighbors.

This became apparent when she came outside to tell me the following:

Her: "He is too rambunctious and our dog is too old to have your dog barking and coming over. She isn't getting her business taken care of in the morning and we can't have that."

Me: "So, what would you suggest I do?"

Her: "Well, our dog does her business between 7:30 and 8:30 in the morning so Elliot can come outside after that."

While not happy with her tone, we adjusted Elliot's morning routine. We began taking him in the backyard if he needed out between those hours and we waited to walk him until after her dog had returned from her morning walk.

The next confrontation came after Elliot and the dog on the other side of her became friends. They frolic together, chasing each other from one yard to the next which means they run through her yard as she sits in the middle of the two of us.

Her: "Why can't you take him to a dog park and let him run around?" she asked me. When I explained that my dog has car sickness she turned her head and huffed. I was told to train him to stay in his own yard.

Me: "Oh, our vet told us not to take him to a dog park until he is older. Besides, I can't imagine how we'd get him to a place to run because Elliot really, really hates being in a car. It's the craziest thing."

Her: "Well, every time Elliot is outside, our dog barks and we can't have that."

Me: "Uh..."

Suddenly, my neighbor refuses to acknowledge me. If she is in her car, she drives past me as if I'm invisible. If I wander am outside when she is outside, she immediately turns and goes inside. Yesterday afternoon I went outside to walk Elliot and she and her unleashed dog were in her yard. I called hello and she bent over to pick up something, giving me her backside.

Apparently, she is right and I am wrong.

So much for any past relationship we had. It has now ended because of our puppy. Who truly doesn't even pay attention to her dog.

Now, I understand Robert Frost.

One down, several more to go

Friday morning my neighbor-workers-for-hire, retired and itching for something to do, arrived to replace my windows. About an hour into the work they were rethinking that "needing something to occupy their time" decision, but being men of their word they kept working and took it one window at a time.

There was a lot of noise, a big mess, and a few choice words uttered, but by dark I had new windows.  Today, they finished the caulking and concreting (with Tom's help) and now I have to decide how to cover them so that I can run naked through my house.

Home Improvement Project #3

The area that is known as our library is about 190 square feet and opens into our living room. We had custom built bookcases built to outline either side and underneath the big windows. We bought two recliners and enjoyed the room for reading. I breastfed my children in that room and in those chairs and I napped a good portion in both chairs. After I rearranged my living room (with the addition of recessed lighting), the two recliners didn't flow quite as well into the room. I decided it was time to change the room into a dining area.

A friend of mine recently added an addition to her house. She got the idea from when we added our addition. She learned from all of our mistakes and built a better addition. She divided the room into a living room and a dining room. I decided I would take her idea and make it work in my house. She carpeted the living area and tiled the dining area. She thought it would work well in my library area. 

Tom and I toyed with the idea of putting in french doors or a sliding glass door in place of the windows. In the beginning, I hated the idea and he loved it. He looked into it. He decided against it. 

Then I was all for it and he hated it. We bounced around the idea for months, and then I conceded if I could get the recessed lighting in my living room.

Now we are back to the windows again and the door idea is popping up. The main problem is that the bookcases would need to be relocated somewhere else in our home. The best place would be in the room with the leaking roof which we have decided to leave for last in our projects. Keeping it simple we have decided to just replace the windows.

Off to Lowe's and Home Depot we went. We had great help in both stores. Home Depot won out because they had what we wanted in stock. We actually made the purchase, and since we were on a roll, we moved on to looking into replacing our front door and front screen door.

We found the replacement for the screen door. The door is a storm door with a retractable screen. At Lowe's, the door we wanted didn't have a very good doorknob or security rating, but the door was paint-able. At Home Depot the door we wanted had a great knob and a high-security rating but was not paint-able. The door did, however, come in a variety of colors, one being the matching Wineberry color of the shutters I would love to have outside my house, but am not allowed to purchase.

We decided on the "sandstone" color instead, but because we have not agreed on a color for the outside of the house we did not purchase the door. We just took a picture.

We rented a truck and brought the windows home. Tom moved the bookcases. The windows are sitting in my garage awaiting an installer. My two neighbors have decided they would like the job of window installation and house painting. One is a retired police officer, the other retired from fire fighting. They are bored.

They appear ready and willing but are getting a tad annoyed at our delay in choosing things. Tom and I are thrilled that we actually made a purchase. We feel like things are just moving along now.

Hopefully, these babies will be installed by the end of next week!

Day one - Elliot

• In the beginning, Elliot must've believed we lived in our van. This is because after we took him from his mother, we drove from one end of the county to another. We hit an outdoor fish fry where Elliot enjoyed the attention he received from adults and children alike. We visited a pet store which Elliot christened by peeing on the floor. Armed with toys and incidentals, we went back into the van where we then drove to view a van that Tom's co-worker is selling. Elliot offered them a gift by pooping in their yard and then he spent the rest of the time, hopping like a bunny through their high grass. Finally, we brought him home.

• He followed the girls around the neighborhood as they introduced him to the neighbors, but he was tired from his hopping around so they brought him home for a nap.

• After the nap, he greeted the neighbors and dogs with great puppy happiness. Penny, the next door dog, stood and allowed Elliot to race around her in circles, but for the most part, was unimpressed. "Not another one," seemed to be what she wasn't voicing. Coco, the dog two doors down, and the newest dog to our neighborhood sniffed him and then became frightened of our little furball. She kept backing up and hiding behind her owner.

• Inside the house once more, Elliot met all our visitors. He played with his toys and entertained everyone, playing with whoever would join him on the floor.

• He christened the house inside and out.

• He had another nap on the floor and then went on several more walks around the neighborhood, chasing Madison as she ran up and down the street.

• By 10:30 that night Elliot was out. He fell asleep outside his crate and never woke up when Darcy put him inside and shut the door. He never made a peep throughout the night and was waiting patiently this morning, sitting in his crate, when Darcy awoke at seven.

Our new addition seems to be fitting in quite well and we seem to be adapting well at our new job. Tomorrow will be the test as the girls and Tom head off to school and work. I have errands in the morning and afternoon so we shall see how our little puppy handles the crate and alone time.

Pet owners we will be

My mother wasn't one for having animals in her house. My brother and I would beg and beg for some type of pet but she would shudder to think of a stinky house with animal hair. Our one pet consisted of a turtle my brother pulled out Kentucky Lake while fishing and boy, should I blog about that animal!

Maybe it was my mother's reaction to animals, but for some reason, I was scared of dogs. We once took in a stray cat we found in the woods behind our house in North Carolina (she lived in the garage), but I avoided dogs at all costs. Which wasn't easy seeing as how in those days no one kept their animals leashed unless they were guard dogs or vicious. Dogs roamed the neighborhood at will and neighbors knew their names and who owned them. These dogs were quite gentle and great with kids and I usually just looked at them and said, "pet, pet" before moving on.

One night I babysat for a family related to my next-door neighbors. They had spent the day at one of their kids' sporting events where they opted to take in a stray mutt who was headed for the humane society if no one stepped in. Because they were unsure of how the animal would behave in their home, they kept her cordoned off in the kitchen where she growled every time I would enter. As if she sensed my fear. I was never so glad as to see those parents return.

Then, as luck would have it, that family purchased the house next door to me from their relatives. They, and the dog, moved in. By then, I was more used to her having babysat several times prior. Her name was Cary Jane and she quickly ensconced herself into the neighborhood.

She knew all of the kids and the adults and she knew things about each of them. My dad was who she went to when she was hurting or sick. My mother grilling steaks outside meant bones later in the evening. She knew which boys were the runners she could chase, and she knew that my friend Michelle and I were good for hugs, scratches, and love.

She was such a part of our life that I forgot that I was afraid of dogs.

Then, one day a stray dog appeared in the hood. He arrived in the morning and he would disappear at night. It was odd and no one knew who he belonged to. We tried following him, but he was very sneaky and he always outmaneuvered us and we lost him. Yet, he kept returning day after day until he stopped leaving at night and lived in our garage.

We named him Oscar, and we paired him with Cary Jane. In our minds, he stayed because he had fallen in love with her. My father administered his doggy shots, tagged him, and registered him in our name, although my mother pretended he didn't exist and called him the neighborhood dog.

When Cary Jane became pregnant, we held a little marriage ceremony for her and Oscar so the puppies would have a last name. Cary Jane gave birth to three puppies on the floor of her owner's garage and I watched her deliver them with my dad.

It was a sad time when we realized the puppies would not be staying with their parents. Each one went to a good home, but Cary Jane never got over losing them. She aged before our eyes, slept quite a bit, and she could've cared less about engaging with Oscar. The honeymoon stage ended before it had really begun.

A few years later, Oscar didn't come when I called him. I can still remember the odd feeling I had that something wasn't right. I'll never forget how my mother told us he had been hit by the paperman. She waited until after my basketball game when we were driving home. My brother and I were both in the front seat with her and we were gong on and on about how touch we were. Some competitive game, I'm sure, but my mother latched on to those words.

Her: "Are you tough?"

Us: "Yes. We are the toughest kids ever."

Her: "How tough are you?"

Us: "Tough enough to handle anything!"

Her: "Are you sure?"

Us: "We're sure!"

Then she proceeded to tell us that Oscar had been found by my dad in the street. He'd been hit by the man who delivered the evening paper. He didn't make it.

I held in the tears until we got home. My dad met us at the front door and both of us dissolved in his arms in tears. We buried him at our farm. And made sure to love on Cary Jane every day.

She lived a long, long life. She eventually moved with her family, but by that time all the neighborhood children had grown and left. I think of her sometimes. She was the greatest dog ever and I suppose she, coupled with the loss of Oscar, is one of the real reasons why I've never wanted another dog. When you've had perfection, why settle for anything less?

My girls have been begging for a dog for over a year now. Like my mother, I have said no. I wasn't interested in having a smelly, hairy beast in my home. I didn't think it would be fair to a dog to live in Florida in the heat. Gone are the days of free, roaming, neighboorhood dogs. Now it is a law to have dogs leashed and owners must be on poop patrol 24/7 or risk the wrath of angry neighbors. It just wasn't for me. Suddenly my fear of dogs had returned.

To counter my fears and objections, my husband sneakily volunteered us for dog-sitting his co-workers Sheltie, Piper. We took care of her for a week. She was a great dog. She hardly barked, hardly shed, and she was sweet and kind to everyone.

By the end of the week, I was in love and willing to adopt a dog. Her. Unfortunately her owners would not part with her. She went back home but my husband and Darcy did not let up on the can we get a dog mantra.

One day he took the girls and visited the very breeder who had bred Piper. They played with her newest litter and learned about Shelties. Then he took me.  Where I admitted the newest litter was cute. Slowly, day by day my objections weren't as loud or as strong as they had once been. When the breeder had another litter, off went Darcy and Tom. Where they picked out a newborn male Sheltie.

This puppy arrives at my house tomorrow. I'm worried and nervous, but secretly, I'm sort of excited. I want my girls to have their turn. I want them to have the experiences I had with our neighborhood dogs. I only hope that he will be as great as the three dogs I've dealt with so far. I'm channeling Cary Jane and Oscar.

Project #1- Steeler Mailbox

Each school year, I try to conjure up projects for myself to do while the girls are away at school. Every year most of them do not get finished, or for some, get started. I still have not finished Madison's baby photo album, and I've never started Darcy's.

Once I started a picture project where I sifted through my photos and boxed them according to dates and categories. I completed said task, but now there are more pictures to add, and where are they? Shoved into a drawer marked photos which, when full, they get dumped into an empty box labeled "photos to be filed."

This year my list of projects consists of finishing those baby albums, scanning all my slides, and preparing a hurricane kit. So far, I have not started any of these projects. My excuse is that I got sidetracked by this mailbox violation that I blogged about last month.

Last week my mailbox cover and flag arrived, and so today I went outside and put it all together. It took quite a bit of effort with Madison's help to get it all on straight and to get the flag attached. Once it was finished, my two neighbors, their dogs, and Madison and I stood around admiring it. But I spent too much time admiring it because I decided that the bottom half of the mailbox, nasty with rust, needed to be painted Steelers yellow. I added it for tomorrow's project. Here, for now, is what I have thus far accomplished.


Not bad for less than $25 considering the mailbox I really wanted was this one:

Email Goodies

These were sent to me by my neighbor. I thought they would give everyone a chuckle.

• A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they were drawing. She would occasionally walk around to see each child's work. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was. The girl replied, "I'm drawing God." The teacher paused and said, "But no one knows what God looks like." Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, "They will in a minute."

• A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six-year-old students. After explaining the commandment to 'honor' thy Father and thy Mother, she asked, "Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?" Without missing a beat one little boy (the oldest of a family) answered, 'Thou shall not kill.'

• One day a little girl was sitting and watching her mother do the dishes at the kitchen sink. She suddenly noticed that her mother had several strands of white hair sticking out in contrast on her brunette head. She looked at her mother and inquisitively asked, "Why are some of your hairs white, Mum?" Her mother replied, "Well, every time that you do something wrong and make me cry or unhappy, one of my hairs turns white." The little girl thought about this revelation for a while and then said, "Mummy, how come ALL of grandma's hairs are white?"

• The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of apples. The nun made a note, and posted on the apple tray: "Take only ONE. God is watching." Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a large pile of chocolate chip cookies. A child had written a note, 'Take all you want. God is watching the apples."

• The children had all been photographed, and the teacher was trying to persuade them each to buy a copy of the group picture. "Just think how nice it will be to look at it when you are all grown up and say, "There's Jennifer, she's a lawyer," or "That's Michael, he's a doctor." A small voice at the back of the room rang out, "And there's the teacher; she's dead."

My husband's green thumb

Several years ago we had to remove our wonderful, delicious, red ruby grapefruit tree to make room for our pool. In our area, the rule of thumb is if you remove a tree you must plant another tree. Tit for tat, so to speak.

We replaced the grapefruit tree with a pool a tangerine tree. Tom planted it on the side of our house in the front yard.

Within two years our tree had fruit and we enjoyed it each season. (Sometimes it also had a monkey, but that is a story I've already written about - see archives) This season right after Tom devoured all of the tangerines, the tree began to die. The cause turned out to be some sort of nasty bug that had attacked it several years ago, lay dormant in the roots, and then slowly began to kill off the tree. Eventually, we had to remove the tree.

To replace it I suggested a lemon or a lime tree. Something I could use in my liquor cooking. Tom listened, heard the ocean when I spoke, and returned with a key lime tree. I suppose he had visions of key lime pies for Sunday dinners. I sent him and the tree packing.

We went a few months trying to decide what to plant. Then one day while backing out of my driveway I saw he had come up with a solution. I saw this:

Only it didn't quite look like this at the time I spied it. What I saw were two sticks protruding out of the hole where our tangerine tree once stood. When questioned, Tom told me it was a cutting from a plumeria tree. These trees produce a fragrant flower that is used to make leis in Hawaii. A good friend of ours from Hawaii once assured us that these are the easiest trees to grow.

Her: "Just stick a cutting in the ground and watch it grow, grow, grow! Nothing to it."

Because our neighbor behind us never trims his trees and branches are constantly hovering over our fence and poking our screen, Tom is forever having to chop away so that the screen is not punctured. During one of his trimming sessions, he chopped off these two cuttings from the Bali Palace Plumeria tree. Then he did what our friend suggested and stuck them in the ground.

I didn't have much hope for these two sticks as nothing much has happened, but recently the leaves have started sprouting on the sticks. Tom has high hopes that it will produce foliage like the one in my neighbor's yard across the street.

They planted their tree several years ago and it has taken over the front yard. They are forever outside hacking away at the thing so it doesn't overtake the house.

It does produce a nice yellow and white flower and the smell is wonderful.

I've decided I shall take weekly photos of our sticks to see how long it takes to produce a flower. While this isn't what I envisioned as a replacement tree it does give me something to blog about!

Something beside junk mail in my box

This little gem appeared in my mailbox last week:

It reads:

The (email address included) Steelers Nation has found your mailbox to be out of compliance with the Steelers Fan Code of Ethics which states:

"All red-blooded Steelers Fans will display their loyalty on their mailboxes in a manner which should piss off their opposing fan neighbors."

Please bring this matter up to compliance or you may be sentenced to wearing the opposing team's mascot costume while watching the Steelers play. (Imagine how hot a fuzzy Bear outfit would be)

Go Steelers!

The picture, I assume, is what a Steelers Fan mailbox should be.

I immediately responded:

To whom it may concern,

In regards to the matter of bringing my mailbox into compliance with the neighborhood Steelers Nation, I have taken action and hope to have it resolved within the next month. An order for a Steelers mailbox had already been sent to the North Pole prior to receiving the violation notice, but due to a backorder issue, it will not be sent in the time frame needed to come into compliance. I have hopes that a temporary, but worthy, solution will be in place before long in order to "piss off my opposing fan neighbors". 

Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention as I have been quite busy working on turning an ordinary playroom/office into a Pittsburgh Steelers room as great as the one my own neighbor on (I supplied his address) owns. Rest assure that the mailbox situation is under construction and will be in compliance shortly.

Go Steelers!

Several years ago while on the Board of our neighborhood association I had to drop off a gift certificate at this neighbor's house. I was wearing a Steelers shirt when the wife opened the door and so she invited me in to view her husband's Steelers room. He, of course, was not there and thus I'm hoping he will be thrown off guard with that last paragraph.

What fun we Steelers fans are!

The mail gets delivered came rain, sleet, or accident

Today started out with a bang.

Literally.

The girls and I were in the van by 10:30 a.m. heading for Darcy's annual wellness doctor visit. I backed out of the garage and then stopped to make sure the garage door was closing because the day before I had backed all the way into the street before realizing the garage door had not closed.

Seeing that the door was in fact moving, I proceeded to back down the hill of our driveway where I stopped once again to do my annual check:

• Look left - The mail lady (her name is Cherie) was at my neighbor's mailbox across the street. She looked to be sorting through the mail which I figured would give me time to back into the street.
• Look right - Totally clear.
• Look left (because this was taught as the way to cross the street)

Only I didn't look left again because I wanted to track the damn garage door.  So, instead of looking left, I faced the front of the house and eased up on the brake to back out the van into the street. 

Yep. You guessed it.

Right into Cherie's mail truck. Because she, like me, wasn't paying attention to her surroundings. She closed my neighbor's mailbox and then accelerated so that my bumper met her driver's side.

It was more of a bump. Neither of us was traveling more than a snail's pace but these postal trucks are made of tin. There were so many dents and indentations in her door we couldn't tell which one came from my bumper, but because Cherie had her window rolled most of the way down, when I tapped into her, the window, with most of it inside the tin door, shattered...into a million gazillion pieces the size of a million gazillion peas. 

Fortunately, most of the pieces fell inside the door and into the truck with only about nine pieces falling into the street.

She was shaken. I was shaken. A crowd gathered.

Not really. My neighbor Garnet, two doors down, came out and made a few jokes to relax us. My other neighbor, a retired cop, came over and offered helpful suggestions.

Sid: "What you do is tell the supervisor that you were trying to get the mail lady's attention and when you knocked on her window the entire thing shattered."

Cherie was a good sport. She called her supervisor while I called the doctor's office to cancel our appointment. She pulled out a kit kept in the mail trucks for accidents and when she opened it a piece of chalk rolled out. This sent us into much laughter, and we made several jokes before concluding that it would be fun to draw the outline of a body behind the mail truck.

Thank goodness we only joked about it because when the supervisors arrived they were not amused by anything.

Supervisor One: (to Cherie)"Are you okay? What happened?"

Cherie: "I'm fine. We're fine. Cara, you tell the story."

Me: "I needed to get Cherie's attention regarding my mail. I knocked on her window and the damn thing shattered!"

The four of us snickered, but boy were the supervisors unamused. They stood, backs ram-rod straight, staring at us with VERY serious faces. We immediately stopped laughing. Cherie wiped her smile off her face. Both neighbors muttered under their breaths about getting back home and then did just that. I sighed and launched into the truth.

It began to rain.

One supervisor began taking pictures like it was a murder crime scene. I kept waiting for him to pull out gloves and a fingerprint kit. What he was taking pictures of was beyond me. There wasn't any damage to photograph unless he put the lens down inside the door of the mail truck. As for my vehicle, there was zilch. Nada. My big, ass, plastic bumper that has protected me in a few rear-end hits had no damage except for two pea-size pieces of postal window glass sitting on it.

Supervisor One: "Insurance information?"

I gave it to him. Cherie was sent on her way. I suggested everyone come into my garage out of the rain to finish filling out the paperwork. Both supervisors declined as if that were against the rules.

Camera Guy - "So, you admit you are at fault?"

Me: "Oh, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to admit fault, am I? I mean, I watched a lot of NYPD Blue and Cagney and Lacey in my youth."

Camera Guy (unamused) "Because usually we would have to bring the police into this."

He didn't look at me when he said this but stared out into my neighborhood. As if he'd delivered a very major line in a very major Oscar movie.

I too stared into my neighborhood, playing the part of the good guy being made to look bad by the evil supervisor with no sense of humor. I said nothing.

Inside, however, I was raging.

Me: "Are you kidding me?  By all means, please call the police. Please report that I broke a window in your postal vehicle. Bother the police with this nonsense while real crime is being committed in this county. I never said I wasn't going to pay for what I did. I gave you my insurance information. I told you what happened. You want me to get a ticket? For coasting down my driveway? Let's face it, both of us were not paying attention. It was a stupid tap. If her window hadn't been down, we wouldn't even be standing here in the rain having this discussion like its a matter of national security."

Silence.

I refused to give in.

Camera Guy: "Okay, so you'll have to pay for the window."

Me: "I gave you my insurance information. I'm sure I have coverage for a broken window."

They left. I called my insurance company. The agent asked if I had any paperwork. Uh no. I had Cherie's name but not her phone number. He suggested I get that information from her tomorrow when she blew through the neighborhood delivering our mail.

About two minutes after I hung up the phone with the agent, I spied a mail truck out delivering the mail to those three neighbors who hadn't gotten their mail due to my fender bender with Cherie. 

I took off running. I was in flimsy flip flops because of an inflamed ingrown toenail and couldn't move as fast as I wanted. I shuffled through puddles, waving my arms and shouting Cherie's name. Just as I reached the back of the truck, it accelerated and moved on to the next mailbox. I shuffled faster, increased my waving, and upped the volume on my shouting.

Again, I crept up to the driver's side window and off went the truck to the next mailbox. 

Seriously?

I just knew my neighbors were all looking out the window and laughing their asses off at me.

I screamed like a madwoman and apparently, that did it. The truck stopped. Huffing and puffing,
I went to the passenger window. It was up. I knew then this wasn't the same truck nor was it the same mail lady.

I hung my head, shuffled around to her open side, apologized for scaring her, got the number, waved her on, and started walking back home. I walked completely out of my flip flops and contemplated leaving them right where they were but I didn't. I picked them up and splashed my way home barefoot.

This will be the talk of the hood for the next few weeks.

Looking back over the entire incident, the one thing I vividly remember is that while standing with the mail lady, dealing with the supervisors, standing in the rain, and chasing down the mail truck the one thing that kept going through my head the entire time was how this was going to be a great thing to blog.

Weekend Memories of the 4th

• We stayed in the pool and just talked and talked about everything and anything until our fingers and toes were wrinkled. Friends re-connecting.

• The three of them, father and daughters, paraded around the pool singing, Yankee Doodle Dandy, waving their flags, smiles on their faces.

• They jumped and pushed until the waves were higher than the sides, and when we laughed we sucked water.

• When night came, we stood with our neighbors outside to watch what we could from our driveway. My neighbor, in her pajamas, her bald head covered with a hat, her little dog Pita at her side told us about fighting for her life from cancer.

• They both wanted it. They both needed it. An epic final. History made and shared with my girls.