So, I have to take a break from the spooky. I'm currently working on that last post, but I can seriously only work on it during the daytime, plus, there's time constraints. Let's talk about my Saturday, shall we? It was an interesting one, I tell ya. The Sister moved back home after house sitting since May. I had planned to give her cat breakfast and then move her back up to the tree house they live in, then decorate for Halloween in The Sisters' room as well as the rest of the house.
I was having weird dreams about trees waiting at a stop light and not being able to handle the truck and having to drive to the coast when The Sister wakes me up. It was 11.30 in the morning and I hadn't accomplished what I'd intended to do. She wants to finish the side yard, which we started working on last Sunday. Sure, OK. We spent six hours out there with what should have been a two hour job tops. We're not entirely sure how that happened. Right when we started, she was trying to get this plant out of a cement planter pot, which had grown its roots through the bottom and I was slipping on new covers for the lawn furniture cushions that dad had purchased at a yard sale in the spring. Our large gingie kanga cat, Colonel Mustard was rolling around in the grass. Then vehicles pull up at the house next door. It's a house that the realtor has been busy working on from six months. These were the wrong cars and the wrong people. 'Must be whose moving into the house.', which turned out to be a correct assumption. Two adults and a teenage girl. The latter of which strolled across the street, said hello, and started cuddling Colonel Mustard. Turns out that I'm living next door to the number 1 fan of Supernatural. Not only that, but I have a feeling she wants to be Mrs. Dean Winchester like yesterday. I can't fault her. Though Supernatural wasn't a show when I was about her age (I'm guessing 13 - 15), there were things I was cuckoo-ka-choo over. She actually seemed cool, even if a bit awkward, and has a gingie cat of her own. If I were her age, I think we'd get on well and be best friends within a month. However, as I was standing there talking to her I couldn't help but think, "Am I talking to a ghost girl? Is she real?" I say this, because her parents never once looked over wondering where their teenage daughter was, or why she was talking to or harassing the neighbours. They never called her name to come help unpack the cars. They just didn't even seem to care. Is this just how this family is? Because it's not a family I know of whose from around here, especially not in this day and age. Or was it because they have no teenage daughter? We'll see down the road if we see her more, coming into the yard to play with Colonel Mustard, talk to us about Supernatural, her parents call her back into the house, or if she gets off the school bus. She did shake our hands and say it was nice to meet us before heading back over the street. She certainly felt real, so perhaps she is. One can never be too sure. Or, I suppose someone like me can never be too sure, eh? So, it must be said that I was in my pyjamas. Black cat face pyjama's no less, with a canary yellow tank top. My hair not brushed. This is not an uncommon occurrence here, as I believe like mountain people, that my yard is like my living room, so this is appropriate attire for working in the yard or fetching the mail. It is not appropriate if I'm leaving the house though, I'm not a slob. No one here cares, as they realize this. So, our neighbour whose been here two years is a black guy who is also a Muslim. This shouldn't matter, but in this story it does. It doesn't matter to me, although I'm curious if he changed to that religion or if he was born a Muslim, just because I find things like that fascinating. But I don't want to know to be judgmental or anything. No, I mention it, because within the past ten years dad's become one of those white people because he insists on listening to conservative talk radio and Fox News. (yes, I'm rolling my eyes). Anyways, at first he didn't like the new neighbour because *gasp* he was black, then later *double gasp* he's a Muslim. I'd just look at dad in a blank stare and say, "So..." Because obviously I know that none of those things make for a bad person or neighbour. Anyway, they're like super bff's now. Which does tie into today and also the fact that the neighbour knows I wander around my front yard in pyjama's. Recently, I was just wandering around looking the grass for different fungi or mosses to take pictures of. I also might have been talking to myself (Now, I'll go back and take a photo of blahblahblah) while wearing pyjama's. I turn around to come back to the piece of yard I'd already hit and he was standing at the end of his drive staring at me. 'Oh great, the neighbour things I'm a loon.' I smile and wave and then he asks me a question and I couldn't hear him, so my pyjama'ed self headed across the street and we had about a ten minute conversation about all sorts of random topics. So, fast forward to today. Him and dad are gabbing in the street and dad calls to me and motions me to come over. He has no qualms getting his pyjama'ed daughter to wander out into the street (this is not a busy street) and talk with the black Muslim neighbour. Dad's growing up, putting conversation before stupid and highly unwarranted fear. Because the neighbour's cool. I personally think he's a little batty telling me he's about to get 5.7 million dollars in a grant that he won't have to pay back from the government and I should do that too. I may not pursue that, but more power to him if he does manage to land that. However, harmlessly batty is not a bad person or neighbour. Hell, I'm harmlessly batty in my own ways. Dad just wanted me over there so I could remember something the neighbour told him, because dad forgets things. They had just been talking about the neighbours kids, because dad's pretty much, "We neeeed trick or treaters!" haha, he's so funny. We never get trick or treaters and it's so fun for us to hand out candy, because we never really have to do it. But dad can harass people like that because he is rather charming and amiable and people really like him and somehow don't mind. The Sister and trooped from the front to the back yard several times for things and Colonel Mustard would follow us. He's a brave and fearless cat really. He never cried on car trips to the vet and is the only one of our cat who wants to be outside. But, once his humans were out of view, he'd cry his little kitten cry (even though he's a long legged large cat), and I'd have to go back so he could see me. Once I came into view, he'd stop crying and just stand there. He's so strange, but really sweet and he had so much fun outside today. The Sister apparently disturbed an underground bumble bee nest with our dirt farm. I call it the dirt farm, because she'd be raking through it to graze and level it and clip root shoots and it just looked like she was tending dirt like it was a garden. I kept making those jokes all day. It's because dad had a pile of lumber in that spot and the ivy had taken over, now that both are gone from our work last Sunday, it's just a whole bunch of dirt. But then I'm not sure if that bumble bee lived there, because to the right under the azalea bush, she'd been spraying water and then there were ten bumble bee's hovering and flying around over there and swooping back into the ground and out again. It was actually pretty cool to see them all checking out the threat. Luckily we're done over there, so hopefully we won't disturb them again. Then there was the obstacle of putting shepherds crooks in the ground to hang bird feeders from. Our yard is nothing but clay really. We don't have lovely nice dirt. We watered this spot and used a crow bar and rubble mallet to break up the soil (we had them out already to break up the cement like soil in one potter plant earlier in the day) and using the rubber mallet to bang them into the ground. That probably took a good hour right there. Plus, for a not busy side street, everyone kept zooming down it. I usually sit here at the computer and can see from my window if and when people turn on to the street or leave from it. It's usually dead, even on a Saturday. Today, man, it was hoppin'! So I'm full of glorious Krystal's burgers and a cherry slushee and I'm in desperate need of a shower, and that will end this day as I'm exhausted.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorA girl from South Mississippi who finds herself in exploration. Archives
November 2019
Categories |