BON VOYAGE SEQUEL

As I am preparing for my sojourn from the neighborhood where I have lived for 25 years, so many of you requested that, if possible, I entertain you with more stories about some of the people who used to live here. Message received! So, here is the sequel to “Bon Voyage.”

First of all, please understand that through the years, there have been many nice, normal folks who lived here. However, their stories are not nearly as much fun to tell.

A couple with whom I was very friendly lived here for many years. He was a retired military pilot who fueled airplanes mid-air. His best friends were always former navigators, because he said that he always had a very bad sense of direction. His wife was a symphony violinist, and we enjoyed spending time together. We had much in common—-except our politics—but in the good old days that really didn’t matter.  

After a Presidential election, I was sitting at the community pool reading a book, when she, and two other women, entered the pool gate and sat at an adjoining table. They complained bitterly about the outcome of the election. Suddenly, my friend, the violinist, turned to me, and said, “Oh! I am so sorry. I hope that we haven’t offended you.” Looking up from my book, I said, “Not at all. My guy won.”  In today’s political climate,  they probably would have drowned me.

I was not at all friendly with the couple who bragged that they saved on their water bill by not flushing their toilets.  Her motto was, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow.  If it’s brown flush it down.” I thought it totally uncanny, and took a perverse pleasure seeing the Roto Rooter Man at their home several times.

Then there was the neighbor whose adult children decided to build a big boat in her front yard. The Association Manager told her that she couldn’t do that. When she said, “Why not?” He replied “Because we live in the desert, and you don’t have a dock.” He might not have been so flippant, had he known that she always carried a pistol in her purse. As a matter of fact, her second marriage wasn’t made in Heaven. It was made at a meeting of the NRA.

Another neighbor had a husband who was a talented artist. His paintings and sculptures were truly beautiful.  However, sometimes he was overly enthusiastic with his brush. One afternoon, when she returned from a get-together with friends, she discovered that her beautiful mahogany breakfront had been painted a peacock blue with colorful designs. With great forbearance she said, “ I guess the chairs are next.”

Many of the homes in my small neighborhood have matching house numbers such as, 10 Rd, 10 St., 10 Circle and 10 Place. When a substitute mailman takes over, the neighborhood marathon begins with people dashing about putting mail in the correct boxes. However, it doesn’t stop with the mail. One morning, I heard the sound of electric shears coming from my backyard. The gate was open and a little fellow was humming and trimming my bushes. I shouted, “Stop!” What are you doing?” He looked at me as if I were nuts, and replied, “Well, I am trimming your bushes.” I replied, “If you want to keep doing that, it’s okay with me, but you might want to do it at the right house.”

A sweet lady who lived a few houses from me suffered from dementia. One day, her caregiver stepped outside for a smoke, and the sweet lady slammed the door behind her and called the police saying, “There’s an intruder in my house.”  Three police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck arrived.  Her daughter was called to provide identity, and I think the caregiver gave up smoking.

Another feisty woman was in the hospital recuperating from surgery.  When the nurse didn’t answer the call bell, she called 911. After the hullabaloo and excitement calmed down, they took her phone away from her.

One of the most colorful characters in our neighborhood liked her whiskey. I think it stimulated her already bizarre behavior. She had a little buck-toothed dog named after a Chinese Emperor. She hired an artist for $5000 to paint his portrait. Then, she had an unveiling of the painting. As we raised our glasses of wine, the artist unveiled his work with great ceremony. It looked like a little buck-toothed mutt to me. A few days later, the woman told me that she had to go to an oral surgeon to have a tooth removed.  I told her that I would drive her there.

On the day of departure, she got into my car and said, “I am going to die!” She had convinced herself that she would not survive the tooth extraction. So, she handed me some paperwork. “What is this?” I asked.  She said, “It is my will, and tells you where to send my dog. The portrait goes to a doggy museum.”  I looked at her and said, “ I can promise you that you are not going to die.”  I figured that she would probably survive, and if not, there would be no recriminations. She lived long enough to write a novel, pay $25,000 to have it published, and drive around the Country trying to get bookstores to sell it.

The lovely couple who bought her home decided to paint the walls, because they had been painted in  many different colors. However, when the former owner removed her wall hangings, it was discovered that she had painted the walls around the wall hangings, so, with the wall treatments missing the walls looked like a bad  case of the chicken pox.

Then there was the guy who was a chef at a famous restaurant. He enjoyed swimming in the community pool, and also enjoyed showering in the outside shower in his altogether— removing his bathing suit. When he wanted to hang out with the neighbors, he meant it!

Those were the days.

Esther Blumenfeld