Facts & Arguments is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
These dark winter evenings have enabled me to learn a lot about my neighbours. The early arrival of nighttime lets me kind of snoop in windows (from the sidewalk, of course) during my walks.
For instance, the love of cats has a whole new meaning at house number 146: I can see three cat towers in one of the front bedrooms. I wonder if the whole room is for the cats.
Oh, and look at that: flowers on the kitchen table at house number 287. Is it her birthday? Did they have a fight and they're "let's make up" flowers? Maybe she bought them for herself, and that's okay, too.
Is that feature wall painted professionally, recommended by a decorator or did they pick out SW6987 Jitterbug Jade themselves? Who would pick a colour like that? Maybe it goes with the couch that I can't see, and probably never will because I doubt they would ever invite me in.
I've determined that most of my neighbours watch the news, that is except the ones who have children. In those homes, cartoon characters prance across screens with mesmerized children sitting on floors, couches and laps.
In the corner house, Granny knits, crochets or does needlepoint (I can't get close enough to figure it out), and I am not sure if Gramps is around or if she lives alone.
I haven't seen any family dinners taking place, but then again my walks tend to be in the latter part of the evening. I hope that everyone has in fact had the Leave it to Beaver dinner, cleared the dishes and is now relaxing.
Oh, that guy in the brown-garage-door house really should quit smoking. He's coughing up a lung between sips of what looks like a cup of coffee. He waves to me from his porch, and I acknowledge him and say it's such a nice evening for a walk.
There are two man-cave garages in the neighbourhood, too. Obviously the checkerboard floor, big-screen TV and fluorescent lights in that one make the guy pretty popular. The four-wheeler parked at the side of the driveway and pick-up truck tells me he's a jock who likes to have a good time both on- and off-road. I've guessed that his name is Marcus – Marc for short – and he works in media relations.
The other man cave makes me want to stop and have a beer at the little bar that’s been set up in there. A TV blares out the hockey game and the guy’s buddies are relaxing on an off-kilter La-Z-Boy and bar stools. Did they bring their own beer, or are they sponging off … Frank, yeah, he looks like a Frank, and I bet he owns a commercial garage, based on the advertising posters for cars, oil and other auto-related products that decorate his abode. He doesn’t invite me to come in, so I keep walking.
Wow, look at all the cars at that house. Oh, what are their names again? I remember meeting them when we first moved in, but now only really wave when we see each other outside. Hmmm, it’s a Tuesday night, and it seems odd that there are so many cars at that house. Could it be a Tupperware party? A birthday party? Who would have a party on a Tuesday night?
I hear a phone ringing. It’s coming from Robin’s house. She’s a part-time travel agent, so I wonder if she is booking a trip for someone. Or is it her husband’s doctor calling with good news? They’ve had a rough summer, and I hope the chemo has been successful and her husband is in remission. I see her laughing and it makes me smile. I am sure she will tell me all about it when I see her tomorrow. I must also thank her for leaving the note on my door about the guy who pulled into our driveway (including a description of the truck and license number) and loaded up our snow blower. Yes, Robin, we did arrange for some service, but we really appreciate you being the neighbourhood watchdog.
Garbage night is coming up. Yup, I’ll find out even more about my neighbours when I glance at their recycling bins. I wonder which pizza conglomerate wins in our neighbourhood? I know I will definitely see the party-size boxes in the bins, as well as chicken-finger boxes, pop cans and bottles. Don’t they know that water is the recommended beverage by the so-called experts?
It certainly is a sign of the times when you see so many takeout and frozen-food boxes literally tossed to the curb. Then again, when both parents have to work, it really does make dinnertime so much easier. I know – tonight I will take a poll and see which neighbour has the most takeout boxes in their bin, and then knock on their door and offer to make and deliver a homemade dinner next week. Will they think I’ve gone mad?
Okay, I’m rounding the bend to my house. The lights are on and my husband is home. I see him dancing. What the heck? He barely dances with me. Has he just found out he won the lottery? Has he finally set his retirement date? Has he just got the phone call from the doctor that he’s been waiting for?
I open the door and he tells me the good news. I start dancing, too! I wonder if the neighbours are watching.
Terri Head lives in Oshawa, Ont.