Friday, December 05, 2014

Sidewalk Friends


I was walking Lily on Edgewater Drive yesterday and I saw Peter who was uncharacteristically home from work. Peter is moody like me and one of my favorite people. We have had many long talks about depression, mental illness, and suicide, while standing in the street sometimes for hours. He was with scary Jimmy who was up from Florida, visiting his brother next door. I could tell something was wrong by their voices. When I approached Jimmy said, "My brother Johnny is dead." I said, "No. I'm so sorry."

Peter then told me that Johnny had gone to Maine by himself for the weekend after Thanksgiving, got snowed in and was shoveling and had a heart attack. He was 58. I knew Johnny through his dogs Forest and Roscoe and his big garden in the front yard.

On my walk home. I saw the mashed-potato-kids and their Min-Pin dog Spud with their mom. The kids had just come off the school bus. They hugged Lily. Mallory and Lydia were so full of joy. Mallory wanted to show her mom her drawing. Their mother said "I won't look until you put your coat on. Now hurry inside and do homework before dance class." They have a KEEP OFF THE GRASS sign on their front yard with a gigantic blow up tin-soldier, standing on the grass.

I might leave some of my picture books for them. I have thought about it for many years and have never done it. I have too many copies of my kids books. The kids might even be getting too old now but I can wrap them and leave them at their door Christmas eve.

When I got home I read Johnny's obituary. Then I looked on a map to see where Cartier Funeral home was. It would be easy to get there. It was all the way down my street and one turn onto Mann Street. I slapped on my lipstick, black pants, black sweater, black hat, clogs, and yellow scarf and went to the 5PM wake. The place was packed.

Many of my sidewalk friends from Edgewater Drive and Ethel Street were there. I don't even know their names but I know their faces and their dogs. It was a shock just like when Armand died. I visited with Peter's mother-in-law age 92 and sharp as a tack. She said "He was like a son to me! I pray for everyone who is sick and they get better." She was wearing a purple crocheted hat with her white hair poking out on the sides. She held my hand and massaged my fingers as she spoke, "At Bingo I pray for people and they don't know, and they win."

Peter's wife was smiling like a red-headed Buddha with a gap between her front teeth and her sister Sue who I know pretty well, told off-color jokes. She called herself "the 66 year old virgin, Cherry and Webb."

I saw my bread baking pal Doreen who grew up with the Emidy family. There were 8 Emidy kids raised in the cobblestone house. Three of the original Emidy siblings still live on the street. They have sleepy apple-doll faces. Part of me thought Do I belong here? And then I thought, Yes I do. I want to pay my respects to my adopted neighborhood. The family seemed to appreciate my visit.

This neighborhood means so much to me over 20 years of walking my dog here almost daily. I cherish my walks along the pond. I call it my ten-minute vacation. I count these families as my sidewalk friends. I know it is extra special because I am a visitor and not a resident. That's what makes it work, my husband reminds me. And I know he's right.

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