7/2017
As my wife came home today and after passing our neighbors, over the hill and down to the bottom, there was a vacant car parked. It was almost in the middle of the road with the driver’s door and the trunk open and nobody around. It was a mid-nineties 4 door sedan, yeah a grannie car.
Right about here, most women would immediately change into a cut off T-shirt and panties and go looking for Freddy Kruger. And that’s just what my wife did, figuratively speaking.
An elderly woman came walking out of the woods with several trash bags in her hand and using a cane. By woods, I mean undeveloped brush and bramble, poison ivy and sumac, wait-a-minutes, cat claws, deadfall thick enough to stop a turkey hunter kind of woods. My wife inquired if she needed help?
“No, but I’ll bet you’re wondering why I have these trash bags in my hand?” she said. “I’m so-and-so (mentioning her last name), but I’m really a so-and-so (mentioning her maiden name). And who are you?”
So, my wife told her who she was married to and that she lived right over there.
“I know who you are, you married that Doctor that works in St. Joe?”, she said. “I come out here to dump my leaves. There isn’t any place to dump leaves in town anymore. All the neighbors leaves end up in my yard and I have to clean them up and bring them out here to dump them. I’m 93 years old and had new knees in ’07 and fell down and broke my pelvis a couple of years ago. That’s why I use this cane. Now, who are you?”
So, my wife told her who she was married to and a brief local family lineage.
“Oh, that Doctor that works in St. Joe, huh. I knew his Mom, we went to school together.”
I don’t know how it ended, but Angie didn’t come home with any knife wounds and the car is now gone.
Small town happenings from your grumpy Uncle/Brother Dave.
Weary