I had the best neighbors of my entire life when I lived on a street over a few from where I do now. The whole neighborhood was friendly and most everyone got along.
I lived in a alright looking pink brick two level home. My landlord was great. He let me paint the whole house any way I wanted. He appreciated my colours picks and what I did with the place. He was a painter by trade. He also agreed a new kitchen floor needed to be put in. I said blue would be nice. He took me with him to pick out the floor.
I had lots of room for gardens in my front yard. I had a few things to start with. A huge bush that bloomed yellow flowers and a two hedges on either side of the porch railings. But mostly it was just weeds.
I erected my Canadian flag. Put out my hand-made one of a kind barn mailbox out on the front lawn and set to town on the garden.
It ended up being a pretty colourful garden.
This is how I met Norma. All 78 years old of her. She walked slow. She was skinny. But she had a huge smile. She lived across the road. She had beautiful full, alive gardens everywhere the eye could see trailing through the front yard and leading into the back. She had perennials. I had only planted a few. I was a renter. And annuals are cheaper.
It was one evening I was out watering my flowers when she came over. She talked to me about the flowers.
I really knew nothing. I had planted and hoped. The garden was too colourful and she knew that. But we enjoyed the conversation. I learned a few things.
She left that night and said "Been three years since someone planted a garden here at your place."
Norma had a husband. His name was Ken. He liked his riding lawn mower. He cut his grass a lot. It just never looked cut when he was done. I think he rode it with the blades up for something to do.
He had the nicest lawn on the street though, thick, rich and green. He was proud of it. When I crossed the road for a visit, I always went barefoot.
Norma and Ken liked to drink. A lot. Norma preferred whisky. Ken liked his beer. They would go out early in the morning. They would come home 15 minutes later and carry brown bags and a cardboard box into there home from the trunk of their red Grand Am.
Then they would get back into their car and go grocery shopping.
They were the best drunks ever. Laughing, happy and full of stories. They made me grin.
They sat on their front porch with coffee mugs every night getting right trashed, smiling and waving at all the neighbors and their dogs.
Norma took me into her backyard about halfway through the summer. I had wanted to know what the backyard looked like, but thought it too rude to ask.
It was a magical place.
So alive and large. There was paths that led to garden and more garden. It was a beautiful forest, it looked natural. But not over-grown.
She pointed to things she had been growing for 25 years.
Smack dab in the middle of the backyard was a huge massive Indian tee-pee.
She let me sit in it.
Norma and Ken dressed up for Canada Day. He wore red shorts and a white t-shirt. With a tie. That had little red flags all over it. He also wore socks with sandals.
But Norma. Wow.
She had bright red high heels on. She wore a poodle skirt. That had Canadian flags all over it. (Where does one buy that?) She wore a white t-shirt, a huge clunky red-beaded necklace. And a Bruce Springsteen headband.
With Canadian flags all over it.
They were also drunk by noon that day.
I decided to plant a rock garden on the lawn. It was August. I took my time at the garden place this time. I had found an old antique white metal garden cart in someone's garbage and I had a vision.
It looked pretty damn good that rock garden, by the time I was done. Pinks and whites. And small dabs of purple and green clinging to the rocks. I sat outside late into the evening with it on a lawn chair.
Norma came over the next night while I was watering my new little garden.
She was excited.
"This is nice," she told me.
"I know!" I said to her.
"That is a nice Trailing Petunia you got there, too," she said to me.
"Yeah," I said, looking over at the hanging basket I had also purchased the day before. "I am actually going to hang it over there on the corner of the house."
"Is that so?" she said. "Well I cannot wait until we get back next year to see what you have done with the garden. Can I have that dead geranium? Come on over to my place, too."
I handed her a white hanging basket, all stem and full heads of dead flower turning black and followed her across the road.
Norma and Ken owned a huge motor home. The kind you can drive. We sat on their front porch that night and they told me how they always left for Florida in November. Sometimes they got to see snow before they left, but some years they did not.
They only had one springtime where they had come back and seen snow. A few days after they got a home. A freak snowfall.
They went boondocking in Florida, they said.
What is that? I asked.
"Oh, we just park the home where ever we want until the sheriffs come kick us out. Sometimes it is in parking lots, sometimes in the woods, on the side of old hi-ways."
Apparently, from the way they told it to me, lots of old people do this. They have what you might call 'traveling trailer parks'.
I stayed on the porch getting drunk with them until two in the morning that night, listening to their laughter as they told me all about Florida.
And how to get away with dumping washroom waste.
Norma was over a few weeks later. She pointed to my Trailing Petunia hanging from my house.
"You are doing good with that."
"Yeah," I said. "She is a beauty."
"And pretty high-maintenance," she said. "I have been sitting on my porch for weeks now hoping you would almost kill that thing so I could have it. You get too much sun for it there. But I notice you water it two times a day. Come see your geranium."
I followed her across the road.
There she showed me, still in the white basket thriving brilliant red blooms.
Then she told me how she did it.
I spent a lot of time on their front porch for the rest of summer.
November came and I watched the day they drove away, heading to Florida, hitching their brand new pick-up truck to the back of the motor home. I waved at them.
I watched snow blanket their beautiful gardens and I watched the house lights come on every evening at 7 o'clock.
Their son came over and plowed what needed to be plowed and emptied the mailbox twice a week.
It took me two weekends to plant the garden the following spring. I took my time.
The garden was wonderful. It reminded me of whimsical fall days. I was pretty impressed with myself.
The garden smelt fabulous and my landlord had purchased new wood for it and even put it together in away that made it two-tiered.
My porch was my favorite evening spot.
Norma came over the day after they had arrived back home from Florida.
We sat on my front porch with two coffee mugs full of whiskey while she told me of their adventures in Florida. I showed her my thirty year old cafe kitchen table chairs.
It was late before she got up to go home.
That is when she pointed and smiled at me. "Those geraniums are fabulous. I should learn to keep my big mouth shut."
"I am keeping it all alive this year," I said to her.
"Shitty," she muttered as she slowly moved her 79 year old body down my driveway.
That summer, Norma and Ken spent a lot of nights on my front porch.
I lived in a alright looking pink brick two level home. My landlord was great. He let me paint the whole house any way I wanted. He appreciated my colours picks and what I did with the place. He was a painter by trade. He also agreed a new kitchen floor needed to be put in. I said blue would be nice. He took me with him to pick out the floor.
I had lots of room for gardens in my front yard. I had a few things to start with. A huge bush that bloomed yellow flowers and a two hedges on either side of the porch railings. But mostly it was just weeds.
I erected my Canadian flag. Put out my hand-made one of a kind barn mailbox out on the front lawn and set to town on the garden.
It ended up being a pretty colourful garden.
This is how I met Norma. All 78 years old of her. She walked slow. She was skinny. But she had a huge smile. She lived across the road. She had beautiful full, alive gardens everywhere the eye could see trailing through the front yard and leading into the back. She had perennials. I had only planted a few. I was a renter. And annuals are cheaper.
It was one evening I was out watering my flowers when she came over. She talked to me about the flowers.
I really knew nothing. I had planted and hoped. The garden was too colourful and she knew that. But we enjoyed the conversation. I learned a few things.
She left that night and said "Been three years since someone planted a garden here at your place."
Norma had a husband. His name was Ken. He liked his riding lawn mower. He cut his grass a lot. It just never looked cut when he was done. I think he rode it with the blades up for something to do.
He had the nicest lawn on the street though, thick, rich and green. He was proud of it. When I crossed the road for a visit, I always went barefoot.
Norma and Ken liked to drink. A lot. Norma preferred whisky. Ken liked his beer. They would go out early in the morning. They would come home 15 minutes later and carry brown bags and a cardboard box into there home from the trunk of their red Grand Am.
Then they would get back into their car and go grocery shopping.
They were the best drunks ever. Laughing, happy and full of stories. They made me grin.
They sat on their front porch with coffee mugs every night getting right trashed, smiling and waving at all the neighbors and their dogs.
Norma took me into her backyard about halfway through the summer. I had wanted to know what the backyard looked like, but thought it too rude to ask.
It was a magical place.
So alive and large. There was paths that led to garden and more garden. It was a beautiful forest, it looked natural. But not over-grown.
She pointed to things she had been growing for 25 years.
Smack dab in the middle of the backyard was a huge massive Indian tee-pee.
She let me sit in it.
Norma and Ken dressed up for Canada Day. He wore red shorts and a white t-shirt. With a tie. That had little red flags all over it. He also wore socks with sandals.
But Norma. Wow.
She had bright red high heels on. She wore a poodle skirt. That had Canadian flags all over it. (Where does one buy that?) She wore a white t-shirt, a huge clunky red-beaded necklace. And a Bruce Springsteen headband.
With Canadian flags all over it.
They were also drunk by noon that day.
I decided to plant a rock garden on the lawn. It was August. I took my time at the garden place this time. I had found an old antique white metal garden cart in someone's garbage and I had a vision.
It looked pretty damn good that rock garden, by the time I was done. Pinks and whites. And small dabs of purple and green clinging to the rocks. I sat outside late into the evening with it on a lawn chair.
Norma came over the next night while I was watering my new little garden.
She was excited.
"This is nice," she told me.
"I know!" I said to her.
"That is a nice Trailing Petunia you got there, too," she said to me.
"Yeah," I said, looking over at the hanging basket I had also purchased the day before. "I am actually going to hang it over there on the corner of the house."
"Is that so?" she said. "Well I cannot wait until we get back next year to see what you have done with the garden. Can I have that dead geranium? Come on over to my place, too."
I handed her a white hanging basket, all stem and full heads of dead flower turning black and followed her across the road.
Norma and Ken owned a huge motor home. The kind you can drive. We sat on their front porch that night and they told me how they always left for Florida in November. Sometimes they got to see snow before they left, but some years they did not.
They only had one springtime where they had come back and seen snow. A few days after they got a home. A freak snowfall.
They went boondocking in Florida, they said.
What is that? I asked.
"Oh, we just park the home where ever we want until the sheriffs come kick us out. Sometimes it is in parking lots, sometimes in the woods, on the side of old hi-ways."
Apparently, from the way they told it to me, lots of old people do this. They have what you might call 'traveling trailer parks'.
I stayed on the porch getting drunk with them until two in the morning that night, listening to their laughter as they told me all about Florida.
And how to get away with dumping washroom waste.
Norma was over a few weeks later. She pointed to my Trailing Petunia hanging from my house.
"You are doing good with that."
"Yeah," I said. "She is a beauty."
"And pretty high-maintenance," she said. "I have been sitting on my porch for weeks now hoping you would almost kill that thing so I could have it. You get too much sun for it there. But I notice you water it two times a day. Come see your geranium."
I followed her across the road.
There she showed me, still in the white basket thriving brilliant red blooms.
Then she told me how she did it.
I spent a lot of time on their front porch for the rest of summer.
November came and I watched the day they drove away, heading to Florida, hitching their brand new pick-up truck to the back of the motor home. I waved at them.
I watched snow blanket their beautiful gardens and I watched the house lights come on every evening at 7 o'clock.
Their son came over and plowed what needed to be plowed and emptied the mailbox twice a week.
It took me two weekends to plant the garden the following spring. I took my time.
The garden was wonderful. It reminded me of whimsical fall days. I was pretty impressed with myself.
The garden smelt fabulous and my landlord had purchased new wood for it and even put it together in away that made it two-tiered.
My porch was my favorite evening spot.
Norma came over the day after they had arrived back home from Florida.
We sat on my front porch with two coffee mugs full of whiskey while she told me of their adventures in Florida. I showed her my thirty year old cafe kitchen table chairs.
It was late before she got up to go home.
That is when she pointed and smiled at me. "Those geraniums are fabulous. I should learn to keep my big mouth shut."
"I am keeping it all alive this year," I said to her.
"Shitty," she muttered as she slowly moved her 79 year old body down my driveway.
That summer, Norma and Ken spent a lot of nights on my front porch.
Comments
You must be a fun drunk! *LOL*