The little old man... across the street...

I love my home and the neighborhood where I live.  I am certainly lucky to be in this house because after all, my husband and I drove up and down this street over and over when we first moved into this sweet little town.  We were looking for that tell-tale-sign.  Literally, a Realtor sign.  At the time we were renting a very unique little cabin in the woods, yet we were captivated by this one particular street.  This one particular area of town was the place for me.  This is where I had to be.

Meeting my neighbors was very important to me.  I wanted to care for others on my street and I hoped in return, they might watch over my home.  Little did I know, I would be living directly across the street from an elderly widower. 

Now, it's no secret that I can be a little over zealous.  This man in his eighties, seemed overwhelmed by me at first.  Our discussions were brief.  Did this deter me from interacting with him?  Heavens no.  I couldn't just walk away and ignore my, "little old man neighbor."  If I were coming or going and he was outside, we would exchange a friendly wave to one another.  Politeness on his part?  Maybe.  But I didn't care, I was optimistic that he and I would one day, be good friends. 

At the time I was a mother of a little one year old baby girl.  When I headed out for a stroll with the baby, I'd catch him peering out the window at us.  If he and I met eyes, he would dip behind the curtain.  As months passed, I would deliver homemade cookies to him, decorated in colored sugar crystals marking the event at hand.  Heart shaped cookies on Valentine's Day, Green clover cookies on St. Patty's Day, etc.  If I had a hot plate of left overs, I'd run it across the street.  If we celebrated a birthday, I would deliver a scrumptious piece of cake to his door.  He always thanked me cordially.  His acceptance of my friendship made me most happy.

A couple of years passed and my belly grew as I awaited the birth of another baby.  I would see him watch me as I would waddle about out in the yard.  He would nod at me with a smile and I would smile at him in return.  When the baby arrived, he came to my doorstep to congratulate us and to find out what we had.  I told him a little baby boy, Charles.  He was pleased and happy for us.  He told us he loved looking out the window and watching the daily adventures of our family life.  

Days and months passed.  I continued to deliver the celebratory sweet treats on various holiday occasions.  Meanwhile, he continued to watch us through his window.  Sometimes he would duck behind his window curtain to watch us inconspicuously.  Other times, to my surprise, he would stand in the window, hands on hips, looking out in approval of the family fun being had across the street. 

He was outside constantly working on his yard, his flowers, his driveway and his very notable garden.  Then, I would watch him, this little old man, busy with his work.  He trimmed away at the grass growing out along side his driveway on hands and knees, I would emerge with my weed-whacker.  He would hear me start it with its high pitched buzz and he would glance over his shoulder at me disapprovingly.  I would nod my head at him.  He would give me zero encouragement as he went back to his work.  When I was finished, I would walk across the street and say, "Hi Joe! Why don't you use a weed-whacker like I do?" 

"Lazy!"  He would say.  "That's lazy work!  How do you think I've stayed so limber?  This is how I stay in shape."  With raised eyebrows I would quickly change the subject.

"How's Charlie?" He would say energetically.  He loved my little girl but it was that little boy toddling around my front yard that took him back in time.  I would say, "Charles? Charles is fine." 

I have to admit this yard work, "thing" between he and me became an unspoken competition.  I would hear his mower start up, he would see my lawn service show up.  We would share a look.  He would shake his head back and forth at me, which meant, "Lazy."  I would raise my chin up as though to say, "Well,... I don't care."

In the fall he would rake.  I would get out my leaf sucker and be done with my leaves in half the time.  As I put my leaf sucker away and surveyed my front yard with pride, he would stop and look at me, shake his head, and go back to raking.  I could hear the words being spoken telepathically between us, "Lazy."

In the winter he would shovel, we would snow blow.  Not that we didn't offer to help him out during the season changes but he would refuse help in the name of exercise.  "Look at my arms!" He'd say.  Yes, yes Joe, I know. 

Those early years we shared friendly waves and greetings often.  He would walk over sacks, filled with delicious garden veggies to my door step.  He conversed with my husband and me often.  He told us how much he loved watching the kids play and how, "Little Charlie's growing up!" Oh, don't get me wrong, he still did the, "tisk-tisk-tisk," when the leaf blower emerged in the fall or the snow blower emerged in the winter but over time he broke me down.  We dropped our lawn service eventually, and began mowing our own lawn with a push mower.  I'm guessing this pleased Joe to no end.  Over time, our snow blower broke down and quit.  We never replaced it.  Jokingly, my husband and I laughed, "How pleased Joe must be watching you shovel, all in the name of exercise!"

In the fall, I rake some but the leaf sucker still emerges to this day.  I am always hopeful I get a little, "Joe-Credit," when I'm scraping the leaves off my front yard with my good old fashioned metal rake.  I suppose at times Joe bugged me a little, but somehow, some peculiar way, Joe snuck into my brains way of thinking.  I too bought edging clippers.  Often when Joe was on hands and knees doing his edges, I was on hands and knees doing mine.  One particular day, my husband came out the front door and said, "What are you doing?  You're turning into Joe!"  I just glanced up at him and smiled.  Maybe I was. 

I certainly craved his approval and possibly he knew this.  He surely knew more than me, after all, look at his edges, they do look nice over there.  Maybe he had a point to this whole, "exercise" thing, just maybe.  As I pushed the mower, I did it with vigor, for the exercise.  When I shoveled, I did it with vigor, for the exercise.  When I raked, I did it with vigor, for the exercise.  Does the little old man across the street notice?  Does he nod in approval?  I can only hope. 

I began to explore Joe as though he were my homework assignment.  Who was Joe?  What had he done?  Where had he been?  What adventures had he experienced?  What happened to his wife?  I learned a lot about Joe over the years.  His military experiences, his childhood joys, his golfing gift, the love of his life, who he lost to cancer.  His sweet boys who come by weekly to drop in for a quick chat or garden goodies.  His grand kids who I'd see running in his back yard.  I explored his life, both past and present.  I would sit on his couch and we would chit-chat about everything.  He loved to show me his house and how everything is placed, "Just so."  His garden, a masterpiece.  The rows are straight as arrows, his vegetables grow beautifully, his flowers flourish and his in-ground compost compartment is most certainly held in high regard.  He is a special person and he has lived to celebrate more holidays, more birthdays, more events than you or I could ever imagine. 

Time passes by but now it's me, watching him, through my windows.  If his shades aren't up by 11:00 a.m. I begin to panic, and bring it to the attention of my husband.  "Do you think Joe's okay?  He hasn't raised the blinds."  I watched his car as it stayed parked in his driveway for days, then a person started coming daily at noon to deliver lunch.  Eventually, the disappearance of his car, which has never returned.  I find through discussions, Joe is losing his vision.  When he looks out the window now, I realize, he can't see my children running and playing in the yard.  I look at him sadly sometimes and wonder how he's doing.  At night, if the shades are pulled, I look for that silver lining cast from his reading lamp.  I know if it's on, he's up.  I see the flicker of the t.v. around the edges of the window shades and I know he's watching t.v. but if it's dark too early in the evening, I worry.   

When I see him emerge outside I smile.  What would life be like for me if I couldn't see him?  If he wasn't tending to his back yard and his now, smaller garden and flowers?  My heart aches at the thought of Joe not being right across the street.  He is in his upper 90's now.  I see him outside in his old sweater  He looks content and comfortable in his lovingly worn clothes.  At times I see him dressed up and dapper looking when his children come to take him for Christmas dinner or a special event and I smile, as he walks to the car without assistance.  I chuckle when I see him come outside, his hair all askew, I know he's been napping.  I think I've grown to love this little old man across the street but I don't think he knows it. 

I don't want him to go anywhere ever.  If God would let him live forever, I'd be okay with that.  He makes me smile and he makes me laugh.  He is one definite neighbor that I adore.  I'm grateful for him and I'm proud of his longevity.  He has taught me not to be lazy and those words run through my mind every time and I mean, every time, I start up that leaf sucker!!  HaHa.  So as I work through another winter season, I worry about Joe in the cold temperatures.  I watch his chimney to make sure smoke is flowing.  I think of him cozy and snuggled in across the street and I hope and pray he continues on in this life.  I will envision the warmer months to come where I will plan to see Joe, sweeping off his porch, as I have every year now for 12 years.

Sarah