There's a redbud tree in our front yard-a giant, well-nutured, mature one-that's my favorite, next to the weeping cherry we got Matt last Father's Day. The redbud, though, is growing low, touching the ground in places. It's difficult to mow around.
Tonight I sacrificed a few branches, hated cutting them off, but it's really a giant sacrifice for our family. Every branch that goes into the trash opens up a little window into our lives for our nosey neighbors, the Kravitz family. Gladys Kravitz inspects everything we do, who comes and goes, what time of day we're coming and going, and if she can't figure it out she asks us.
It was a field day for her when I came home early from California; my brother picked me up at the airport and spent the night at our house. I worked in the yard everyday, and kept driving back and forth to my dad's house, helping out with Kate.
Gladys marched over-literally marched-and said, "Where have you been???" I told her and she continued, "Well, where were Matt and Sam???" (always three question marks after her sentences.) I explained the situation. "Well, whose car was in your driveway???????" (big question.) Damn it. It would have been the perfect chance to say, "My boyfriend's," but I'm weak, and she scares me. I explained further, wimping out completely.
Gladys said, "Well, I had Mr. Kravitz look over your fence one day to see what was going on!!!"
When my mouth finally closed, I slowly walked away from her, saying under my girl-who-got-her-ass-kicked-in-dodgeball voice, "You can think those things, Gladys, but please don't ever say them outloud."
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