Life on Argon Street - part 8

Current mood: ditzy



Nothing is Ever as it Appears...or How I Discovered I was living in Harper Valley PTA.



 If I have learned one thing in my 51 years, it is that nothing is as it seems. There are always layers upon layers to any one story or individual. (Ogres are like onions)


Such was the situation on Argon Street. I suspect that we were not unique, however. Anybody who lives in Suburbia could tell you tales about their own particular neighborhood and the denizens who lived there.


I briefly mentioned some of my neighbors in previous chapters. The All American Dad and his step-son. The Southern Belle. The Oracle. And numerous households filled with children. Just the tip of the Iceberg.


Dad and son turned out to be a happy gay couple. Poppa was married to sonny boy's mom, and when the divorce was settled, sonny boy stayed with his sugar daddy. Nice couple, good neighbors... never would have guessed that one was coming. (And I usually have excellent Gaydar) I was sorry to see them sell the house and move, but the couple that replaced them was wonderful too, so it wasn't a bad trade.

Dan & Kelly were a nice young couple from the heart of the midwest. Sweet natured and fun, if they were hiding any dark side or intense secrets, we never saw them. As they started expanding their family, they sold the house and moved on as well. They were replaced by a nice family from Tucson. This family already had three small kids, all close in age to my own children. My initial reaction was contentment, as my kids might find some new friends near their ages to play with.   As if.

Where's that journal of events that will come back to bite you on the arse when you need it?

The Southern Belle turned out to be viewed as the Wicked Witch of the West by most of the kids in our neighborhood. She was one of those people who kept an immaculate property and screamed regularly at the children in the area who would dare to trespass on her front yard. She had a green gravel front yard with a huge mound of white gravel in the center. Rumor had it that she buried her late husband under said mound. This amused Mary to no end, and served to keep the kids in our neighborhood on their toes around her. She and I got along pretty well. She was quite the craftsman and the interior of her house showed it. She had installed some marvelous oak wood flooring and built all kinds of custom niches and alcoves throughout the home. She started out by hiring some work done by other carpenters. While watching them work and seeing how much they were charging her, she realized that she could do the work herself at a fraction of the cost! In many ways, she was an amazing woman. Unfortunately, she was a bit wacky as well. That teacup that she had with her every morning that everyone assumed was her morning coffee was usually laced with a shot or two of Jack Daniels. I would say good morning to her whilst retreiving the morning paper and almost get knocked over by the scent of whiskey. Great way to wake up every day. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. She also despised cats. When you have the biggest litterbox in the neighborhood outside your front door, it's easy to see why. Somewhere along the way, however, she got it into her mind that my cat (we only had one at the time) was solely responsible for the accumulation of cat poop in her front yard. She would dutifully clean it up daily. I would usually find it sitting on the stoop of my backyard gate the next day. Her way of saying she did not appreciate my cat using her yard as a toilet. While I sympathized to a degree, I could not convince her that I was not the only cat owner present, that our neighborhood had several feral cats, along with virtually every other house having their own cat as well. I finally reached my limit with her when I caught her throwing all the cat poop into my driveway and wetting it down with her garden hose. I called the cops. (who as you recall I was now on a first name basis with...) You haven't lived until you've seen two tough looking cops trying unsuccessfully to stifle laughter while you're explaining why you asked them to drop by and explain to the lovely Southern Belle why her actions are unacceptable. (Flinging poo is a no-no, wetting it down is reprehensible) When our family cat kept disappearing and showing up at the city pound, I finally discovered that she had a cat trap that she was using to attempt to clean up the area of unwanted felines. At one point I baited it with a stuffed animal and a note asking her to stop kidnapping (kitnaping?) our family cat. It did not help the situation any, but I thought it was funny.

Eventually, she would decide to sell the house in Arizona and head back to Arkansas. I've never seen her happier than when she was telling me about the move. I swear, I think her southern accent got a little thicker that day.

The saddest chapter in the tale of the Southern Belle? The family that bought her house (and it sold at a premium because of all the beautiful oak flooring ) ripped out all the woodwork and installed big red mexican tile throughout. I always wondered why they paid well over $30000 above the market value of the house and then destroyed the very thing that made it worth so much? Go figure.

to be continued...