Through the Eyes of a Delivery Goddess |
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Since many of my "good" delivery stories have been exhausted, I've found it difficult to have anything fun to fill the Curbside Etiquette space lately. I have had many requests from people to keep writing, and just in the past few weeks, folks have said, "who cares if it's not a delivery story - your life is full of stories worth sharing." So, with your permissions, I'll continue trying to find something to pass along weekly, even if it might not be a delivery story. Most of you know I'm currently working at an Auto Salvage Yard (Junk yard) a few days per week, to which there are a few goodies attached. Perhaps I can relate some of those as time moves on. But for now, I thought I'd start with a memory from my childhood about the Fourth of July, since yesterday was - amazingly enough - July 4th. There was a small neighborhood group that I ran around with as a child; it was a fairly rural community, so pickin's were slim at best. The family at the beginning of the road had four kids; the family almost across the street had two. Eddie lived "Back the Alley", and then there was me ... the only child from up the road. To give you the full understanding of the story, I'd like to expand on your knowledge of my neighborhood - down on the highway, Mrs. Nose had a small local general store. Gas pumps, cigarettes, drinks, a deli case and of course, the most important product she sold was candy. She lived in the last house on Johnetta Road that you could see from where we kids all lived - she lived at the top of the hill before the road dropped down sloping gently toward the river. When anyone from the neighborhood stopped at her store for milk, bread, or any other daily need, she was full of personal questions. She was the town "neb". One year, my dad decided to dig out the unexcavated part of the basement and make a gameroom. (enjoyable stories about my dad coming in the future - stay tuned). My dad is the most creative ameture inventor I know. He built from scratch a conveyor belt to take the dirt from inside the basement, out through what would become a window, and into ... well it started out with wheelbarrow loads, but quickly turned to truck-bed loads after realizing how long wheelbarrow loads were going to take. Now, you have to understand, that our house was at LEAST a football field's length away from the road at the top of a hill that was our yard. Our yard was littered with trees, so to see the three feet of conveyor belt sticking out of the window down next to the ground would take some studying from the road. BUT, two days after my dad poked the conveyor through the block wall, I was stupid and stopped at the store to buy some candy on my way home from school - the store served as our bus stop. Mrs. Nose could hardly contain herself as the bell clanged when I opened the door: "What is that thing sticking out of the side of your house?????" It's one thing to be nosey, but she was not even remotely afraid to let you know she was nosey. I explained it was a conveyor; we were digging out the basement. She had other questions, as you can imagine, but that was the BIG one. The other interesting folks in the neighborhood were the Becks - Mr Beck claimed to be a witch doctor... well, OK, maybe not a witch doctor, but as kids, we all got that picture in our heads when he said he could heal anyone of anything by pushing around the muscles in their feet. He was the typical older fellow withe the dull-green colored work pants hanging from suspenders over a bright white tee shirt with at least one small bleach hole somewhere on the front, and a ball cap to cover the five strands of hair left on his overworked head. Mrs. Beck stood all of 4'10", if that, ... and seemed to smoke a carton a day. We never saw her without a cigarette - it's a wonder she didn't burn down the house. Mr and Mrs F lived along the road, too - I only remember seeing her once, but Mr F wondered the neighborhood looking for someone with which to share his lonely afternoons. If my dad was working on a car in our garage, you can bet Mr. F had a way of seeing it from his house across the street, and four houses away, and he was always right there sitting on a ten gallon bucket of tar, with a cigarette, watching my dad work. It seems like he was retired when I was a kid - or perhaps on some kind of disability after a work accident, I can't really remember. The rest of he households seemed to keep to themselves.  The four-kid family's dad worked in Ohio for a summer one year, and brought home fireworks, which even then, (I'm not THAT old), were illegal. I was the oldest of the group, and was probably around 13 at the time. We spent time strategically finding a place in their back yard where we could light off fireworks and not be seen by anyone except the next door neighbors, who were decent folks and wouldn't care what we were doing. They had a daughter one year older than me, but she had moved on from our group to some much cooler friends from "in town". She might have been with us this Fourth of July night ,but I don't really remember. Mr. V (Dad of the four kids), instructed us all in great detail about the dangers of the fireworks, and how we were NOT to touch anything, even if it had been spent. He designated each of us a place to stand, and a place to run and hide behind if something happened that one fell over and came screaming toward us. It was finally dusk, and we were all a jittery bunch of nerves waiting for our exciting, illegal endeavor. Mr. V set up a few Roman Candles, and just as he was getting ready to light a match, we heard sirens. "Run!!!" he yelled. "Hide - behind the trees- across the creek... RUN!!!" We figured Mrs. Nose had called the cops on us - God knows she could see the entire neighborhood from her perch on the hill (even though the V's house was almost a half mile away - remember, it is a rural community). Our teeth chattered and our knees knocked as the sirens got closer and closer. Flashing police lights pulled onto Johnetta Road and went SCREAMING right past our house, followed closely by an ambulance, both of which slid sideways into the driveway two doors up and across the road into the Beck's driveway. Wow- Time to change our diapers!!!We later found out that Mrs. Beck had collapsed in the kitchen while cooking or something. She was rushed to the hospital and released the next day. We went ahead and set off our fireworks after Mr. V felt the police were a safe distance away, but we were filled with paranoya at that point. WHEW! That was a close one!! Last night, in our little Shantytown neighborhood, folks all around us set off illegal fireworks, and emptied live rounds from hand guns into the still night air. The cops rode by, probably enjoying the show. My ... how times have changed! |