Rear Window

I was inspired by BB's astounding descriptions of her neighborhood regulars. Even though I live in the country I have the perfect circumstance to people watch and my neighborhood is totally "different," for lack of a nicer word. You may remember the 1950's movie "Rear Window," with James Stewart, well, I have a six foot wide picture window in my work office where I spend at least half of my waking hours. From it I can discern countless bits of trivia about the passersby. In this community there are anywhere from 100 to 150 tenants, some permanent, some temporary. At one point or another during the day each of these tenants must pass by my window and contend with, though usually without knowledge, my appraisal of their particulars. Not to mention the many looky lu's that drive through to see what's down this mile long private road to the community. For example, it is still early and already I've seen:

the racing teen. He speeds by Mon-Fri, in his thrice destroyed Taurus, with a look in his eyes that is a combination of unbridled determination and wreckless abandon. I've known him since he was 6 yrs old and it freaks me out that he is so grown. Not grown up, mind you, just grown. His driving to the HS each AM is a constant sore spot with my LC who feels he should also be able to drive instead of taking the bus...but I digress. Also by my window this AM has passed:

the red-faced, Irish lass. Several times daily she walks her poodle typed mongrel puppie, one of those dogs that's cute as a button at birth but quickly becomes one that even a mother couldn't love. A sweet woman with a heart of gold, a temper to match Beezelbub and the most delicious Irish brogue. I could listen to her for hours. Long white hair frames her perpetually ruddy complexioned face. And talking about odd couples (was I? anyway...) just pulling into his driveway is her husband of many years..

the pillsbury doughboy/skinny version. From Mexico, he works at a local bakery, odd hours, and I always picture him covered with flour and donut dough under his fingernails. Missing many front teeth, his appearance is a little comical yet he's a very serious family man, having raised 2 daughters, now in their 20's. I've learned to only stop to talk to this man if I have at least half an hour to burn, a very verbal fellow. Ah, there goes our community maintenance man,

Mr. " mucho problemas, Teddi. " (How my name sounds with a Spanish accent.) His actual name is one of those beautifully flowing Spanish names that rolls off the tongue like a musical note. The title I just alluded to is the most heard phrase when he comes to my door. After 20 years of living in the states and working here for the community he still speaks only broken English and I'm always in a quandry wondering if he really understands me or is just shaking his head up and down to appear intelligent. Much more to this man than meets the eye. Before meeting him I'd heard of people who came to the state to work and sent their paychecks back to their families but I didn't really believe people would do that. He has been doing this for much of the 20 years he's been here. He is provided a home here in the community as part of his income. Although I probably couldn't do without him he sure frustrates me at times. Being born and raised in Mexico he just has such a different cultural background and set of attitudes which often affects his work. Now, there goes an unusual couple out for their morning stoll, one of my RV customers just passing through town.

Manon et Serge. Those are their real names. A young couple from Quebec, they have bulit their own RV and are on a worldwide tour. Their website has a pic of the RV which now is additionally covered with written names of the places they have visited including Afrique.

The very first passerby I see each AM is the mom of a girl who waits at the bus stop with my son and I each day. I could think of some very cute nicknames for her but she is a dear friend and I'd only make those jokes to her face to make sure she knew their intent. One nickname she'd be comfortable with is:

lady in fuzzy blue robe. On cold mornings like today she wears a long flowing, royal blue, fuzzy fabric robe over her clothes, for her walk around the corner and down the block to the bus stop. Guts, huh? The funniest thing about it is that her 85 yr old dad, when he was alive, used to wear the same getup to walk from his home to the garbage dumpster and when collecting soda cans for salvage. He was a real site, one I'll remember fondly for the rest of my life.
At 7am this morning, a tenant who'd moved out, leaving his cousin to finish out the eighth year of his lease here, walked by my window. He's returned from his hometown of somewhere in Kentucky since his cousin has just suddenly died after a short bout with Lymph cancer. This man is the...

Wild hillbilly from hell. Hell being-not Kentucky- but a crazy military background and a monsterous drinking problem that had made him an extremely bitter person. He had rare lucid moments when he seemed much more human. His temporary move back to his hometown was a last ditch effort to change his life to one resembling humanity. I must admit that a recent discussion with him reveals many changes that I hope will continue to grow in him. It seems he may again be a resident here. His cousin often graced my window view and many affectionately know him as

the glory man. He could often be seen walking down the road with his arms swaying and pointed heavenward as he chanted "all the glory," as if to be praising and thanking a divine being for all around him. He was a beloved tenant who left many indelible marks on our neighborhood and our hearts-the "altars" he built out of stones and an assorted hodge podge of miscellaneous stuff, the effigies of, who knows, made out of twigs, curtain rods and the like, the endless kindnesses he performed, helping a man who had alsheimers remember his way home-every day, putting an extra steak on the Barbie to share with neighbors.

Just a few of the souls that have caught my eye this morning.