After spending the better part of a year in Seattle with WAY too much time on my hands and a hope that someday I would be so busy that I would dream of a day off...I'm dreaming of a day off. And it's great! But isn't life funny: a year of next-to-nothing, and then I start teaching an acting class, I have an opening night, and I start a dog walking job, all in one weekend. Phew! That was back in September, and I haven't slowed down, so forgive the belated story I'm about to share:
The Friday before Halloween, I was walking my Irish Weiner Dog, Riley, and his little spaniel girlfriend, Ceri, when I saw The Man at The Christmas House hard at work. Being armed with two adorable pups, I decided to be brave and walk up the sidewalk where The Man was working, in the hopes of sharing a smile or even a verbal greeting. I've found that if anything can crack a smile in a hardened face, it's a puppy. But as I got closer, my resolve weakened, because The Man was hard at work topping his chain-link fence with 2 feet of chicken wire. This is seemingly not the act of a person looking to make new friends. Seeing those snowmen and Santas and little baby Jesus' through the grey mesh of chicken wire only added to my sense of sadness, and also made me a bit fearful of getting scolded for walking too close. But, cute puppies! I marched forth, with Riley and Ceri acting as my Angry-Man buffers. When the dogs were only about 6 feet from him, he took notice of them. I won't say he smiled. But he did stop his activity for a moment and looked down at the two of them. He is a tall man, probably 6 feet once upon a time, but now his shoulders are hunched forward, his head hanging down in such a way that I imagine him having to take great care should he ever choose to look skyward. He had only to shift his gaze from fence to ground in order to see my furry friends, and from there, his eyes came to meet mine. There was no smile in his weathered face, and for a moment, I admit to being a little afraid. I could see this face on Scrooge, and yet, here was a man who began decking his halls with all things Christmas before the leaves had begun to change colors. So, I smiled at him. I said hello. And he said, "The kids have been in my yard." His voice was soft, weathered like his skin. "They took one of my candy canes and knocked down some of the lights." I had noticed this earlier in the week, and I told him so. "I hope this keeps them from doing it again," he continued. He had a few front teeth missing, and he took care with his speech. "Kids," was all I could think to say. "Kids." His eyes went back down to my canine wards, and while I didn't see much of a shift in his face, I'm pretty sure he smiled at them, in his own way. "I like to walk by your house," I said. "It makes me happy." He brought his focus back to the chicken wire and carried on with his work. I walked away, feeling sad and happy, all at the same time. More than anything, I felt nervous, because it was only 2 days before Mischief Night, that night before Halloween when toilet paper and eggs are bought in bulk by kids for the sole purpose of wreaking a little havoc in their neighborhoods. What better target than the house decorated for the wrong holiday?
I breathed a sigh of relief on Halloween morning, to see the Christmas House tucked neatly behind it's new fortifications, nary a TP'd tree in sight. (I kind of like to imagine The Man spending the night on his porch with a shotgun on his lap, glaring deep into the eyes of any would-be hooligans with that Dirty Harry "Come on punk, make my day" gaze that turns tough-guys into sissies.) I haven't seen The Man since I spoke with him, but I am happy to report that all of his snowmen and Wise Men and giant candy canes are just where they should be. Guess the chicken wire is doing the trick. Or maybe those kids are secretly a little happy to have some Christmas in their 'hood.
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