Sassy's Norman Rockwell Neighborhood

 I am Sassy Sue - and this is my Norman Rockwell world.

I had rescue roses on the altar for Reformation Sunday. The frost was coming, so I cut them before we had two nights at 20 degrees. Some buds had been nipped earlier, but the five-inch rain encouraged the plants to keep growing and blooming.

They looked forlorn on the altar, mostly closed from cold outside, waiting for their big day. Yesterday, the blooms were fully open and photogenic.

I knew who wanted them most, after the service was over. Our neighbor's daughter brought two vases back not long ago. "My mother finally gave up the last rose." That meant she kept them for a long, long time. So I dropped off the new bouquet Sunday afternoon and left some coupons, too.

On our cul-de-sac we can watch the neighbors park, visit with others, barbeque, and walk the dogs. Many connections remind me of the Norman Rockwell covers of the Saturday Evening Post, which we all enjoyed each week, growing up in the 1950s.

 After surgery this year, Chris' first walk was
to the neighborhood estate sale, which yielded a
 Bissel floor cleaner.

Mr. Gardener mowed my lawn for me, without being asked, when I only had a push mower during hot, sticky, allergy-friendly weather. I delivered his newspaper to his front door each morning, since the paid service lobbed it under his car or truck each day. Sassy always waits for me to grab it and toss it to the door on our morning walks. Neighbors had an informal meeting and decided to light up his widow's home better at night. Army Ranger Bob and I pooled some twirly lights and added a solar light, so the front is lit like the White House at night.

We have the Town Car for a little longer.
Sassy enjoys trips to Walmart and the Post Office,
but most of all to her friends at Lowe's.

Bob helped the mother of the four girls on the corner to arrange her yard sales. That is one place where we swap superfluous treasures, like a Bissel floor cleaner, a neat brass table, and so forth. We donate in the hopes of removing clutter and not seeing something we want in return.

Bob sold me a Voyager - and repaired it to the point where it was more like a new car than a 2002. For rainy nights, before his camper shell was bought, he borrowed the Voyager back for the big Sunday delivery to stores. I always hand him the keys and tell him, "Don't drive too fast, son."

Sassy and I often see the vet tech and her children walking their dogs. Sassy found their runaway dog hiding in a bush, once. Our neighbor's children give me their surplus pine needles, and I pay them for their labor. A thick layer of needles provided the start for the first Hosta garden in the back.

I also used the needles to provide an acid-soil bed for the Blueberry row, but since I was raising them for the squirrels, I delivered all the plants to our dentist's wife. She laughed with happiness because she had all her plants stolen before her move. She was starting over and thought, "I really need more Blueberries."

Across the street is our Laotian family. We met the son when we first moved in. He kept asking me two or three questions at a time. I said to him, "You sound like a cop." He said, "I am taking criminal justice. Yes, I plan on it. Why do you know my mother's name?"

Next to them is the painter, who donates five-gallon paint pails to me, every so often. They are perfectly clean and so handy for storing and carrying rainwater. Our dentist's mother got one, and so did another friend. The painter's children and extended family children play outside and love to run to Sassy for some petting. She also visits the children next door, who moved in recently. Sassy is neutral about adults, until they welcome her. Then she adds them to her list of flock members. The children are always her immediate interest and she goes to them at once, a bit too loud but always gentle.

On Joye Street lives Pat and her husband John. They assume we will stop and visit when we go by. Once Pat was too tired to get out of bed. She said, "I was in bed. I heard Sassy. I said hello Sassy. Have a nice day Sassy. But I could not get up."

There are other neighbors, too. One stopped us at Cracker Barrel and said, "You own Sassy. We see you walk by every day."