Minty Fresh

So there's this little girl, about 8 years old I'd guess (based on way too many years in elementary education), who lives somewhere in our neighborhood. I suspect she is the daughter of the guy with the big scary dog and even scarier attitude: "Hi, I'm your new neighbor," smile and shuffle. "uh, yah," look me up and down and spit. She's the granddaughter of the scary man's mom who I couldn't help but overhear screaming at the little girl one evening for playing with her friends too long.

Anyway, this little girl comes by our house periodically. She came by one evening about two months ago to ask us if we wanted the puppy in her arms (a sweet little pit-bull). "No thanks, but where'd you get it?" "Oh just got it the other day, but its not working out. Ya sure you don't want it?" She came back a few weeks later to show us her new puppy, a pug. I guess that one worked out better.

She also comes by to play with the kids who don't live here anymore. I guess she gets lonely.

Well, tonight just as it was getting dark, I noticed her standing at the edge of the street holding a basket with both hands. "oh no," I thought, "not another puppy." But no. After we put Emma in the house, she walked up and asked, "Would you like some tea? I made it myself, from leaves in my yard, Minty Fresh!"

I looked over into her basket in the ugly orange glow of our too bright (that's another story) street light. She had rows of dixie cups (you know, the swirl and spit type from the dentist's) half-filled with what looked like overcooked spinach, snails included, barely covered in murky water. I immediately recoiled from the whole scene and gratefully redirected her to my "tea drinking pal." Clever no? Not only did I not have to look at the disgusting soup, but I didn't even need to lie about not having any money to buy it with. That's right, this gross concoction, which didn't even smell of mint, was for sale. Clever girl.

Poor Al. He doesn't even like tea. I watched with great curiosity. Would the girl prevail on my soft hearted pal? Would he actually pay her for her potion? Would he even go so far as to taste the yucky brew? Ah, but this is where Al is infinitely smarter than me. He asked, "How much is your tea?" And the little girl in a very sweet voice says, "Its just three dollars." At that point I noticed the substantial roll of bills clutched in her hand - she'd been making the rounds all evening. I suspect this was her second or third batch for the night!

Suffice it to say that little girl had met her match in Al. He smiled and dug around in his pockets (I was wearing PJ's, obviously no cash) and said, "I'm sorry, all I have is a penny." The little girl paused for a moment, and then asked, "Do you think your next-door neighbors would like some tea." We both smiled and assured her that indeed they loved tea, and ran inside.

Two Words, no, Three Words

I realized recently that I haven't lived in a town for about 17 years, and I'm here to tell ya, I hate streetlights! I have an idea to make tin shades for them with star shapes cut out directing the light down into the street instead of into my eyes as I try to find the moon somewhere behind their glare. I also hate middle aged men, or really anyone, on a Harley-Davidson.

But I love the twenty something gangsta wanna be named "Chevy" who lives up the street from me. The other evening I was walking out to the street to finish pruning some branches on the road there. As I turned the corner, there was Chevy with a small kite trying to get it to fly. There was plenty of wind, but for some reason the kite just wouldn't take off. We both shrugged and smiled at the same time at the kite's obstinate refusal to go up. It was a moment full of unspoken good will and cheer. I loved it. But wait, it gets better.

Now you have to know that where Chevy was trying to fly his kite is a small parking lot behind a four story building and near a side alleyway. Pretty tight quarters and very tricky wind wise. Also, surrounded by tall trees. When I rounded the corner and saw this man wearing a bandana and low riding baggy jeans, overweight and running up the alley with a little kite on a string that was spooling out on the ground - I was instantly in love with Chevy. All my resentment for his previous weekend's performance - ala Marlin Brando and Stella, you know the one, where he's drunk and yelling outside her window from the street - evaporated with our mutual shrugs and smiles at the sweet absurdity of this dang kite's insistence on being earth bound.

So I turned to my pruning and Chevy sort of hung his kite up in a bush next to his door, kinda like tying your horse to the hitching post, and went inside. Pretty soon he was back out in the street talking on his cell phone. He was telling a friend about flying his kite "bro, like a thousand feet up in the air, mon!"

This went on for about another ten minutes or so. Me pruning, Chevy on the phone wandering in and out of his house, the kite fluttering on it's shrub in the wind. I sort of lost track of Chevy and his story, I was pruning bro, like a thousand little twigs, mon! Anyway, I was interrupted by Chevy, cell phone to his ear, saying "excuse me sir, did you see my kite? It's gone! It must have blown away! Did you see which way it went?" And sure enough, there was the string broken in Chevy's hand. We both looked around astonished that the kite could have made a break for it while both our backs were turned. Also, the wind which had been blowing at a good pace up till now, was suddenly still. Again, shrugs and smiles, and on my part at least, wonderful cheerful love for a troublesome neighbor. No sign of the kite.

I have a postscript to this story, it goes like this: about a week later, around 3 in the morning, I was woken from a sound sleep. Chevy was locked outside his apartment again, yelling at Maria. What woke me was Chevy bellowing, "I have just two words for you: F***ING B*TCH! No, wait, thats THREE Words!"

I could just see him in the dark - fuming, frustrated, and counting fingers.....

I fell out of bed laughing.