(no subject)
My neighbor Maria is dead and I don't know how I feel about it. She was an older woman and had been sick for some time, but I'm sure her husband Rudy is distraught. Fortunately, they had many children and in turn, many grandchildren. When I look out the window to the side yard, I can see their light on over the fence and hear the radio and voices - the clan has gathered to comfort their father/grandfather and each other.
When I was a little girl, I would walk the neighborhood dogs. I yearned for my own dog but my parents would not get me one. Rudy and Maria were very kind and let me walk and play with their dogs. First there was Cesar, a sweet rottweiler who never threatened me once - the most he did was drool. However, he bit one of my sister's friends and was presumably taken away to be put down. They then got two shelties, Max and Scottie. I would often let myself into Rudy and Maria's house/backyard and they didn't mind one bit. In many ways, I felt like one of their granddaughters (and in time I did befriend a few of them, even went trick or treating with them some years). One set of my real grandparents is dead, and the other set, at the time, was an ocean away, living in Thailand. Rudy and Maria were like proxy grandparents - they always had ice cream bars ready, they made note of my birthday and would give me little gifts. In return I exercised their pets and would sit and have little chats in the dining room, often with Maria.
After I "graduated" from junior high school, my parents finally relented and got me my own dog, Cody (who is an old fuzzy lady now). I became wrapped up in the dog who was finally my own - other neighbors who had seen me grow up (and many of whom have since moved away) commented that they were thrilled for me because I had been so good with the neighborhood dogs. I also became wrapped up in high school and the friends and activities I became involved with there. I was enjoying "growing up", but time is also unkind. My little visits to the grandparent-ly Rudy and Maria became fewer and eventually stopped.
At one point, a neighbor boy named Tony who had in some ways taken my place (he is younger than me and started going over to Rudy and Maria's a lot to play with their dogs) told me that they had gotten a new sheltie puppy. Thinking I would be welcome as usual, I went to go greet the new pup. Maria was there and while she seemed happy to see me, she also took an accusatory tone with me, demanding to know why I never visited anymore. I don't remember what my response was, but I remember the feelings of shame, resentment, and embarrassment. I lost interest in the new puppy and just fled, and I haven't been back to their house since.
Time continued to be unkind to my idyllic childhood memories of the older couple. I discovered that Rudy seemed to have a drinking problem, combined with a bad temper. I found a smashed beer bottle in our backyard one day which was probably flung by him in a fit of rage at Cody, who would bark when she heard him. Most of the time he'd just throw kibble over the fence to quiet her down, but I suppose the mixture of alcohol and annoyance got the better of him. I also heard about a domestic altercation that occurred when one of their daughters was visiting with her family. The police were called, I believe. All of this made me angry at them; I couldn't even look at them. I was always afraid of running into them at the mailbox. What I learned felt like a justification for my selfish abandonment of them. I grew up and moved on but they stayed the same.
I'm not sure why I'm rehashing all of this. I half hoped that writing out these memories would help me get a grip on how to feel. A woman is dead and I'm half awash in remembrances and half detatched, musing over how the world goes on when some people feel like the world is ending. I don't feel comfortable with just going next door and knocking, what with the myriads of family members that are probably there now. I actually need to be planning a part of my trip this summer right now but I'm mucking about just type type typing. I guess I'll just follow my parents lead. It's my dad who talks to Rudy and who would update me on her condition and, now, on her ultimate demise.
When I was a little girl, I would walk the neighborhood dogs. I yearned for my own dog but my parents would not get me one. Rudy and Maria were very kind and let me walk and play with their dogs. First there was Cesar, a sweet rottweiler who never threatened me once - the most he did was drool. However, he bit one of my sister's friends and was presumably taken away to be put down. They then got two shelties, Max and Scottie. I would often let myself into Rudy and Maria's house/backyard and they didn't mind one bit. In many ways, I felt like one of their granddaughters (and in time I did befriend a few of them, even went trick or treating with them some years). One set of my real grandparents is dead, and the other set, at the time, was an ocean away, living in Thailand. Rudy and Maria were like proxy grandparents - they always had ice cream bars ready, they made note of my birthday and would give me little gifts. In return I exercised their pets and would sit and have little chats in the dining room, often with Maria.
After I "graduated" from junior high school, my parents finally relented and got me my own dog, Cody (who is an old fuzzy lady now). I became wrapped up in the dog who was finally my own - other neighbors who had seen me grow up (and many of whom have since moved away) commented that they were thrilled for me because I had been so good with the neighborhood dogs. I also became wrapped up in high school and the friends and activities I became involved with there. I was enjoying "growing up", but time is also unkind. My little visits to the grandparent-ly Rudy and Maria became fewer and eventually stopped.
At one point, a neighbor boy named Tony who had in some ways taken my place (he is younger than me and started going over to Rudy and Maria's a lot to play with their dogs) told me that they had gotten a new sheltie puppy. Thinking I would be welcome as usual, I went to go greet the new pup. Maria was there and while she seemed happy to see me, she also took an accusatory tone with me, demanding to know why I never visited anymore. I don't remember what my response was, but I remember the feelings of shame, resentment, and embarrassment. I lost interest in the new puppy and just fled, and I haven't been back to their house since.
Time continued to be unkind to my idyllic childhood memories of the older couple. I discovered that Rudy seemed to have a drinking problem, combined with a bad temper. I found a smashed beer bottle in our backyard one day which was probably flung by him in a fit of rage at Cody, who would bark when she heard him. Most of the time he'd just throw kibble over the fence to quiet her down, but I suppose the mixture of alcohol and annoyance got the better of him. I also heard about a domestic altercation that occurred when one of their daughters was visiting with her family. The police were called, I believe. All of this made me angry at them; I couldn't even look at them. I was always afraid of running into them at the mailbox. What I learned felt like a justification for my selfish abandonment of them. I grew up and moved on but they stayed the same.
I'm not sure why I'm rehashing all of this. I half hoped that writing out these memories would help me get a grip on how to feel. A woman is dead and I'm half awash in remembrances and half detatched, musing over how the world goes on when some people feel like the world is ending. I don't feel comfortable with just going next door and knocking, what with the myriads of family members that are probably there now. I actually need to be planning a part of my trip this summer right now but I'm mucking about just type type typing. I guess I'll just follow my parents lead. It's my dad who talks to Rudy and who would update me on her condition and, now, on her ultimate demise.