Meet the Neighbors

Don’t get all excited, my furniture’s not here yet. Tell you the truth, I’m afraid to call the driver and hear what might be going on. It’s raining here, which means snow in the mountains. Good for ski bunnies, bad for truckers (unless they have a thing for ski bunnies). You realize that once the stuff gets here – if it does – I will be complaining about unpacking it and having nowhere to put everything. Just sayin’.

In the meantime, I actually met one of my previously invisible neighbors!

B., who lives to the left or the right of my house, depending on how you look at it, came out and introduced herself when I was getting my groceries out of the car* and gave me a quick overview. She and her husband, who is wheelchair bound due to Parkinson’s, have lived here for 20 years, as have most of the unseen inhabitants, give or take a decade, including my neighbors on the other side. I haven’t seen them, but I have seen and heard their yappy dogs, who have taken it upon themselves to overcompensate.

Here B. lowered her voice and informed me in whispered italics that they didn’t speak English and were, in fact, Mexican. Gasp! I’m pretty sure they already know, and if they overheard her and can’t speak English, they wouldn’t know what she was saying, but I just nodded. It was the same way some people whisper “cancer”. Someone who’s lived in California her whole life, the state where the most popular boy’s name is Jose, shouldn’t find Mexicans whisperworthy. She also truly believes her husband will walk again because she prays every day. Just sayin’.

On to the people across the street from me, who really need to maintain their palm trees. The residents are unseen by everyone, and B. referred to them as “the Boo Radleys” while assuring me their house was lovely inside, despite not having been painted outside for 40 years.

Next to the Radleys is a French couple. He owns a restaurant in San Francisco and rides his motorcycle there every day. Apparently his wife spends most of her time in France, so I doubt that I’ll have a chance to practice my rusty fran?ais or canvass their views on Marie Antoinette any time soon.

The house beside the Frenches has been for sale for over a year. According to B., it’s due to its “terrible layout”. Maybe I’ll call Roger and Tanya at Sell This House and tell them I have a project for them.

As for my house, the same man lived in it for over 50 years, whereas the current owners only lived here for a year, and “didn’t garden much”, hence the lawn and shrubs being overgrown. The rain is watering the lawn as I type, and maybe I’ll do some gardening when it’s over. Have no idea how to prune bushes, though.

*I’m beginning to wonder how I will manage without the rental car once I give it back, while being simultaneously horrified by the constant freeway driving everywhere. I may well be the only person in the entire US of A who prefers city driving to highway driving. But then, I’m also the only one who doesn’t find “This is Spinal Tap” funny, so I shouldn’t be surprised.

pixelstats trackingpixel