Neighbours – Words for the Weary

Nothing provides a window unto the soul of suburban America quite like a neighbourhood list serve.

I was once offered the coveted position of list serve co-moderator in our small community. I turned it down. I knew that the power of moderating my neighbour’s comments would in time corrupt and destroy me, like Gollum in Lord of the Rings.

The following annotated content is but a small sample of what appeared on our list serve:

1. “The bitches are whelping”. This spectacular post came from a local biologist in reference to foxes mating in our neighbourhood. Mating foxes generate a lot of noise. So did this comment when it appeared on the list serve. Actually, so did his subsequent post about the Tufted Titmouse.

2. “Please have your son refrain from urinating in the creek. Not only is it gross but it upsets the fragile ecosystem”. The referenced son was none other than our own little boy. We asked him if he did indeed ever pee in the creek. He looked puzzled. “Of course I do”, he said. Then he added hastily, “But I never poop there!” I would say that outcome puts us in the running for Parents of the Year.

3. Original Post: Have you seen my lost cat Periwinkles? She has run away. Response: Is it possible she ran away because you named her Periwinkles?

4. Curb alert/free to a good home: One Kenmore vacuum cleaner bag. Slightly used.

5. Epic email chain: The original post came from someone who was asked to refrain from letting her dog poop on the church lawn, even though she dutifully cleaned it up. In response, she called the town police to inquire if dogs pooping on the church lawn violated local bylaws. She also noted in her post that the request had been made of her by a member of the Baptist congregation, since our community church is shared by several denominations.

This post set off a firestorm on the list serve. There were comments and rebuttals about race (I think in reference to the congregation being Baptist?), religion (why not), inconsiderate pet owners, and the general injustice and failure of local law enforcement and our elected officials. I stayed out of the fray.

However, I did briefly consider sending our son over to the church lawn to sort of stir the pot. You will be “relieved” to know that I refrained from doing so. And that Periwinkles returned home safely.

[If you know someone who would enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them the link to WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier!]

Image Credit goes to Roeselien Raimond – similar photos of funny foxes can be found at this site.

“What is the most reckless thing we can do today?” said my son to his best friend as they sat together in a red wagon atop a large hill. You know what happened next.

They emerged from the wreckage looking like they had been dragged across a cheese grater. In their wisdom, they were wearing helmets. In their minds, this was another glorious adventure.

My son and his best friend are inseparable. And not just in matters of self-destruction. Both are creative, kind-hearted, appropriately irreverent, tender. They love to laugh. They seldom shower. For years they lived across the street from one another. They were equally at home in both houses.

Three elements define their boyhood together: creativity, risk, and something physical like fighting, biking, sweat, or food. They often rigged lawn chairs in the upper reaches of a tree with ropes. They sat up there only two feet apart, talking on walkie-talkies. They dressed in armor with spears and shields and jousted on their scooters. They converted the back deck of an abandoned house into a pirate ship, replete with plank, gun portals, and a long section of sloping eaves trough into which they would pee. We could not sit on our sofa for years, because the cushions were perpetually used as a fort.

If you care to download it, I once received the 30 second video at the end of this post whilst at my workplace. The boys had taken our dog crate and taped it to a couple of skateboards. Then they built a barrier out of garbage cans in our driveway. One would climb into the dog crate while the other pushed it at top speed to crash through the barrier. Who needs virtual reality when your life is this real?

One of the hardest parts about moving to Switzerland was tearing the two boys apart. As we drove away, our son’s best friend ran alongside the car all the way to the end of the block. Many months later our son broke his arm. As we sat in the waiting room of the Swiss hospital his eyes welled with tears. I asked him if the pain was too much. He shook his head. Then in reference to his best friend he said quietly, “This is my first broken arm where he isn’t here with me”.

Video: https://wordsfortheweary.net/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/IMG_7314.mov

Tag: Neighbours

Inseparable – 05/02/2018