Prattle Inc.

For Now

When the black walnut and oak trees are bare I see the man I've never met walk to the bathroom in his boxers about thirty times a night. He, or his wife(?), hang pants to dry on hangers on their screened in back porch. The teenager at the house beside the old man's performs choreographed dances over and over again in her bedroom. This house's screened porch is filling up quite nicely and I'm sure they call it a storage room. Six houses behind and vertical I can tell when a couple of my friends are up or if they have gone to bed for the night.

The white blooms of the "popcorn trees" all around town have already begun to wither. The flowers are beginning to green and leaf out and now it's called the "pee-pee tree" because those gorgeous bursts of spring turn out to have the absolute worst fragrance - ammonia, and it is strong. Once the Bradford pear trees start going to leaf the bigger trees are right on their tails.

Soon my "friends" will be invisible again until fall.

Who Are The People In Your Neighborhood? Part 3

About a week ago I saw her, the young 50's, active grandmother dressed in white tennis shoes out for a morning walk. She pushed a baby stroller and her leashed dog kept pace alongside. We must have had the same schedule, because for days she was a bit ahead of me before my turn and I only saw her from behind as she power-walked up the sidewalk with the dog and the stroller.

When I left a little earlier than normal this morning I saw that the baby stroller had no baby in it. It carried an old, blind cocker spaniel.

Who Are The People In Your Neighborhood? Part 2

Neighbor kid, approximately age 8, comes tearing out the front door and tugs on Dad's shirt to make him turn off the weed-eater.

"Dad, Dad. How many ounces of gun powder do you use to make dynamite?"

Ah-hem. And a good morning to you, sir.

Who Are The People In Your Neighborhood?

Walking Sadie, the dog, earlier this evening, I passed a house with a man who has Down's Syndrome sitting on the porch. In the Southern fashion, I said hello as I approached. Etiquette says that you ALWAYS say "Hello," or at least full handedly, not partial handed, nor a finger-raise (clear sign of a non-native), wave to each person you pass.

He motioned me up to the porch, where he was sitting on the swing, holding the tiniest radio that I've ever seen. I said "Hi." No response. I asked if he was enjoying the evening, no response. "What's your name?" I asked. Again, no answer. I wondered if he were mute. I didn't really know what to do at that point, he invited me onto the porch, but then just kept staring at me.

Finally, he asked "Do you have a pen?" I replied, "No. I'm just out walking the dog. I don't have one."

"I NEED A PEN!" he yelled, seeming agitated.

"Is there one inside?" I asked, a little bit taken aback at his tone.

He patted the porch swing he was sitting on, indicating I should sit down.

"I'll get one", he said as he got up and went toward the screen door.

So I sat for quite a few minutes, taking in the street, the houses, a little nervous, hoping that his parents, or whoever takes care of him wouldn't look outside to see me on their porch and think that I was strange or dangerous. Just when I was about to give up on his return and leave, he came out holding a pen and small piece of paper. When he handed it to me, I saw that it was a regular 8 1/2 x 11 sheet that had been folded three times in halves, until it was about the size of a business card. Thinking he wanted me to read it,  I partially unfolded it, and noticed that each segment had words written in different handwritings. One started out "Dr. Anderson is my dentist...", another had religious oriented writings, "Praise be to Jesus, Lord God in Heaven..." He snatched the paper back from me, once again seeming upset, then carefully refolded it, and placed the blank side firmly into my hand, along with the pen.

It took him a few minutes to get his words out, he stuttered and stammered, and pointed out to the street as he talked. He started to tell me about his van that was parked in front of the house. He pointed to the paper I held and said, "My van is jacked way, way high. Up to here," indicating with a hand held over his head. Then he forcefully tapped a finger on the paper, and said, "Write. With short letters."  I did, and printed the letters, no cursive, my best guesstimate as to what 'short letters' meant. 

He proceeded to tell me that "The park (sic) lights on the van are 6 feet up, way, way high." I wrote it, verbatim. He continued, taking a while to formulate the words, "There is a button that makes the van sound like a rescue van. It goes 'Do, do! Do, do! Do, do!" I laughed, saying that I wasn't sure how to spell 'dooo', but he wasn't amused. He pounded on the paper reiterating, "Do, do! Do, do! Do, do!" So that's what I wrote.

Trying once again to converse, I showed him the paper and asked "Like that?" Mad again, he pointed  to the leftover white space of the paper where the sentence stopped at mid-point, "No, no, NO!" He reiterated "Do, do! Do, do! Do, do!" Ah! I had to write it again, he wanted every space of the paper covered with words. So I filled it with more "Do, do, do's."

The moment I got to the end of paper, he quickly grabbed it out of my hand. His smile took over his entire face, the forcefulness and agitation completely wiped away. He held it in front of him with both hands, grinning from ear to ear, and rocked back and forth a little bit.

Then he glanced over at me, still grinning widely and simply said, "Bye!"

So Sadie and I went on our way.