Norman and Zelda

The other day, I forget why, I remembered a crazy neighbor we had when I was a kid. I'll call him "Norman Northman." He lived kitty-corner from us, in a fairly large house, and his boat—a smallish sailboat—was always parked by the curb or in his driveway. I honestly don't think I ever saw him take it out anywhere. His favorite occupation seemed to be bringing out his lawnmower and swearing at it. Those were probably some of the first epithets I heard. He didn't seem to ever mow the lawn; he'd just swear at it for a while and then get bored. I'd be up in our treehouse and hear him, from across the street and over our house's roof, so I'd hang out and watch for a while.

Our next-door neighbor, an 80-something man who lived with his slightly older sister, would mow their lawn every week, sans any swearing. Sans speech, mostly. I only remember talking to them a couple of times. Old people were kind of scary when I was a kid. For six months, we housesat for my mom's professor and took care of her dog. Down the street lived an old lady named Celda, but my brother and I called her Zelda the Witch. Mom would visit her sometimes, but we stayed as far away as we could. Another neighbor, George (was it George?), wasn't scary at all. He was an old bachelor who had a lot of bachelor's buttons growing near his house, among the weeds. The irony only occurred to me many years later.

My other favorite thing about Norman had to do with our car. I don't remember what he drove before—maybe a pickup?—but after my parents bought their first and only new car, a white Nissan Maxima, Norman decided he needed one too. So he bought an identical car, and fitted it out with a lot of radio antennae (he was a radio geek, I suppose) so he'd look like an undercover cop. Apparently it brought him a lot of joy to drive around and make people nervous.

Comments

[Matt]

I remember George. He was one of the nicest old people I knew when I was a kid. He was always interesting to talk to, and I remember I was very sad when he died. I remember Mom taking him some food a couple of times when he was very sick. I think his daughter visited him a couple of times but not very much. I remember being sad at his funeral (memorial?) because there weren't many people there but he had lived in that place for a very long time.

[mom]

How strange. I don't remember us being in Cheney when George passed. His daughter was from Coeur d'Alene and I thought he went there at the end to stay with her. He died of colon cancer in his 90s. He never ate vegetables, except potatoes. Ok, I just called Dad and he remembered George's death but not the memorial. April, what do you remember?

[April]

I was actually surprised that Matt mentioned a memorial service. I don't remember going to anything like that. I just remember his house being empty for a while afterward. Maybe he did go to his daughter's at the end. Isn't it strange how we can all remember such different details?

[Peter]

What delightful character sketches!

It brought to mind our own kitty-corner neighbor growing up, an older man I have never laid eyes on. He lived behind a thick hedge and always seemed to be calling for his small, white dog (whom we saw frequently) with a hushed voice -- muted, perhaps, by all of that shrubbery: "Come, Tissue. Tissue: come, come." We called him the Tissue Man; we never discovered his real name.

[Katie]

"Tissue" is a hilarious name for a dog!

At first I thought George's lack of veggies may have contributed to the nature of his demise, but I think if you make it past 85 you shouldn't have to correlate illness with lifestyle!

I hope George's final days were peaceful, wherever they were.