on sunday morning i was out watering my beautiful trees and the three
crepe myrtles that are about 6 feet tall in front of my cottage.
it was a lovely crispy fall morning. the sun just heating up.
( expected to rise to 94 F .. 34.4 C ) later in the day.
walking their giant black lab, max . . . and wee little cream colored
malachai (a huge biblical name for a short sweet terrier) . . .
came roger and tammie. my good friends and neighbors across the street
about two doors down.
“did you see the police car in front of your driveway on thursday night?”
asked roger. NO! was my reply. “what in the world were they doing here?”
and why in front of MY driveway??? !
well. the answer was that the house right next door to mine . . .
yes. the now a rental property that belongs to the tree killer was broken
into and robbed. the new renters had only been in it for about a week
i guess. and thank goodness they were gone when it happened.
none of us could really believe it. nor did we want to.
crime had reached our little “leave it to beaver” neighborhood.
wayne and alice walked up with their ‘buddy and izzy and sammy.’
i filled a big bowl of water for all the lolling tongues and wagging tails.
we soon were visiting about other things . . . the guys talking about
the oklahoma sooner’s loss to kansas state in a big embarrassing way. . .
soon it was starting to warm up and they all moved onto their dog walks.
i finished watering and went back into my own little cottage.
i thought about the house next door. i say house. it is a house.
it has never had the chance to be a home. and there is a big difference
when my own cottage was being built, the house next door was already
there. a young couple lived there with two small boys.
he was deployed to afghanistan at the time. i got to know her a little bit.
she would sit out on her front porch and talk on the phone for hours.
he came home. a change was felt. he mowed. and did some work around
it. one day he and i talked. i told him i was glad he’s home safe and sound.
he said safe. but not so sound.
and that he would be packing up and leaving. they were selling the house.
it seems she had been “cheating” on him with his best friend, the whole
time he was away. sadness. worse than a flesh wound of war.
the next owner was a father who bought it for his daughter to live in while
she went to the university here. perfect he thought! a good safe home for
her. a nice little investment for him.
she lasted about 6 months.
he called out to me when he was moving her out one weekend.
i was getting into my own car. it seems she was making some pretty
good money each month by “renting” it to “room mates” who each paid
her $200 per month! cheap for them. money for her. quite the little
entrepreneur! except. . . she quit going to classes. they PARTIED
constantly (right by my bedroom window! lol!) and she had a tiny little
dog she called agnes. now who would name a dog agnes?
all times of the night . . . “AGNES!!! . . . “AGNES!!! GET IN HERE NOW”
so. . . disgruntled dad kept the house as an investment and leased it to
a big construction company for their workers to live in while on projects.
the next inhabitants were 10 hispanic contract laborers. i liked them
okay. we would say a friendly “ola!” and “muy caliente!!” when we
saw each other. “si! muy caliente.”
they all drove a brand new pickup. there were 7 pickups in all.
on weekends they would play wonderful mexican music
(i love their music! always makes me want to dance!) and they would
lie on the concrete driveway under those trucks “fixing” them i guess.
or maybe they just loved looking underneath them? i don’t know!
FINALLY. the prodigal daughter’s dad sold the house to a young woman
who was getting her life back together admirably. she had been a felon and
had done about 8 years for drug sales or something.
she had two dogs i fell in love with. . . rocky and buddy boy. huge dogs.
while she was there . . . her dad died of cancer. she got laid off of a good
job because of budget cut-backs and then after months of desperation,
the bank foreclosed on her house. i helped her move. it was a sad day.
she was and is a good person. (she is happy now. soon to have a new
husband and a baby. we keep in touch.)
and if you follow the peanut . . . you know the latest owner.
. . . the little man with his trusty chain saw. that’s the story of
that poor house. now it’s had trees brutally torn down and it’s door
caved in. and all it’s ever known is loss.
i’m sad for you little house.
is it tree karma? is it betrayal karma? is it ungrateful youth karma?
is it tragic loss and bad economy karma?
i don’t actually think i believe in karma. at least not like that.
but i’d like to think that someday, some nice young family will come
along and love you and appreciate you. and will make you their