Thursday – Reflections on a Nosey Neighbor, Hand Me Downs, and An Unwanted Apple

[ninanevermore]

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"I have some sad news," my father called me up to tell me this morning, "You know Thelma across the street? She passed away."

I may be pushing 40, but it's still hard for me to think of the woman across the street as "Thelma." She is, or was, Mrs. Wagner to me, and it's impossible for me to shift gears and think of her by anything else. She was the busybody of the street we lived on, and in good weather she was always in her front yard with a garden hose watering her lawn and her azalea bushes. Using a sprinkler would have denied her the opportunity to watch her neighbor's comings and goings, which was one of her greatest pleasure in life.

The younger of her two daughters, Dena, is a few years older than me, and I grew up wearing a lot of her hand-me-down clothes. I didn't mind this in the least, because they were mostly brand new and still had the tags on them. Mrs. Wagner would buy Dena clothes while Dena was at school, and it seems like Dena rejected at least half of what her mother brought home. After enough of these rejected clothes piled up in the closet, Mrs. Wagner would arrive on our front doorstep with a white plastic trash bag – and sometime a large black lawn trash bag – full of clothes, asking my mother to go through them and see if I could use any of them.

"You'd think after the first few times, she'd've stopped buying that girl clothes without taking her along to look at them first," my mother said, observing all the store tags still hanging from the jeans, shirts, shorts, skirts, dresses and sundry accessories.

"I'm glad she doesn't," I said. I was 9 years old, and getting all these teenaged girl things made it feel like Christmas every time our neighbor lumbered across the street with yet another trash bag. I hoped my mother wouldn't pass her hair-brained suggestion along to Mrs. Wagner and ruin what I saw as a pretty good thing.

The Halloween when I was eight years old, Mrs. Wagner accidentally helped my little brother score way more candy than he deserved. It was a week after my diagnoses with diabetes, and I had just been released from the hospital that very day. My parents had decided to let me still go trick-or-treating despite the fact that my existence was now supposed to be sugar-free, in order to make me feel as normal as possible. The Wagner's house being right across the street from us, they were the first place my brother and I hit.

Mrs. Wagner answered the door and admired our costumes. She put a piece of candy in my brother's bag, and started to put a piece in mine before she remembered that I was now "special."

"Oh, honey, you can't have candy any more, can you? Wait here, I'll be right back."

She gave me an apple, instead. I was very put out, but I smiled politely and thanked her. I had not yet gotten my first shot of insulin at home (that would come the following morning, as back in those days they gave you a single shot rather than the multiple shots a day that they do now). I was operating under the assumption that since they'd let me go home, I was all better. I'd been told different, but I had conveniently forgotten until Mrs. Wagner dropped that apple into my trick-or-treat bag. I didn't even like apples very much.

By the time we reached the end of the block, the heavy apple had sunk to the bottom of my bag and was covered by the candy I got from neighbors who had not heard the news about me yet. This made my bag look much fuller than my little brothers. People began giving me a single piece of candy, and then dropping two or three items in my kid brother's bag. It drove me nuts, and I was feeling a little grumpy by the time we made our way back home.

Of course, the first thing my parents did was take away all the candy I'd gathered, much to my shock and amazement. All I got to keep for my night's foraging was a little book of bible-themed games and puzzles, a plastic ring that looked like a spider, a small box of raisins, and Mrs. Wagner's apple.

My brother not only got his usual Halloween's worth of loot, he got to keep all the bonus loot that people gave him so that his apple-less bag would look as full as my apple-burdened bag. I was fast figuring out that not only was life not fair, it could be very blatant and in-your-face with its injustices. I put the apple in the fruit bowl in the kitchen; I didn't want it.

A couple years ago, Mrs. Wagner's kidneys failed and she has been in declining health ever since. When I visited my father, I was always surprised not to see in the front yard, watering her flowers and minding everyone's business. The last time we spoke was this past winter, when my stepmother and I walked over to her house with my son because she had mentioned that the next time I was around she would "like to see the baby." I was shocked at her aged and sickly appearance, but she was happy to see me and took delight in my son, though he mostly hid behind my legs.

"The funeral is at 10 o'clock this Saturday, in The Woodlands," my father said, "Try to see if you can't make it."

I told him I would be there. In retrospect, I know the apple was a kind gesture, even if I didn't appreciate at the time. I should make a showing as a way of saying thanks after all these years, this time with some actual gratitude. Besides that, Mrs. Wagner liked to track of people's comings and goings and where ever she is, she would notice if I failed attend her funeral. No doubt, she'd have a word with my mother to let her know how it hurt her feelings, and upon my own death I would never hear the end of it.


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Comments

[donor4him.livejournal.com]

Wow, you always seem to make your posts sound like stories you'd read in a book. I love reading your LJ.

So sorry to hear about your childhood neighbor. Sounds like she was a nice woman, even if she was a bit nosy. :)

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

She had her good and bad characteristics, like most of us. And, like most of us, she was a little more good than bad. There was definitely a certain sweetness to her. As a young adult, I confess she drove me nuts. I'll miss her, though, and I'm sad to know she's gone.

[simplecity2htwn.livejournal.com]

I think every neighborhood, or at least every one worth living in, has a Mrs. Wagner. For us it was Mrs. Clark. She managed to know everything that went on in a 4 block radius without ever leaving her porch.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

All good neighborhoods do have these women, or at least they should. Now that most women work, I worry the neighborhood busybody may be a dying breed. As crazy as this lady drove me when I was younger and it was my business being watched and whispered about, I think it's a sad thing to have such people around. They add texture to a community. I'll miss her.

[basketcaselady.livejournal.com]

You might want to leave an apple on her coffin :)

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I fear I would have some explaining to do if I did. I think I'll leave one on her grave, tucked in among the flowers, as it will attract a lot less attention. A Red Delicious, like the one she gave me almost 31 years ago. :)

[coupesetique.livejournal.com]

Sorry to hear about your neighbor :-(

My aunt that lived in Tomball died a few weeks ago. First thing I thought - "I wonder if she's at the funeral home that Nina works for?"

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I work in a large building that manages funeral homes, not in one of our so-called "service locations."

Your aunt probably wound up at Klein's Funeral Home, a family-owned business that is not one of ours. They are the sole funeral home in Tomball, though there is another family-owned place up the road in Magnolia that may have gotten the call, as well.

[jenelycam.livejournal.com]

How sweet of her...even if it didn't seem sweet... I'm sure your brother thought so. LOL

I still have a hard time addressing teachers that were teachers when I was a child by their first names. My mom always taught me to respect my elders...and that meant using Mr/Mrs Last Name. NOT EVER first names... :P

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

For someone who watched me grow up, I still call them by the formal "Mr." or "Mrs." most of the time, unless they go out of their way to ask me to call them by their first name. Even then, it feels weird.

[willowwanders.livejournal.com]

This is kind of similar to how I feel too about addressing elders - when I was growing up we used a lot of titles like Uncle/Aunty to friends of the family, and I would never dream of using their first names. Also in terms of addressing my mum or dad, I know that some people find it trendy to be on a first name basis with them ("Hi Roger" etc) I just find that a little weird ... hehe

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

It doens't just feel weird to call your parents by their first name, it is weird. It demotes them to the level of a sibling or a coworker.

I think I tried that with my mom once when I was a kid, because the kids in a new family down the street called their parents by their first names. My mom corrected me pretty fast and told me that she didn't like it, which was the end of the experiment.

My stepmother, however, is another matter. We met as adults, and she was introduced by her first name to me. I can't imagine calling her anything else.

[noblwish.livejournal.com]

How odd that my folks not only allowed me to call their friends by their first names, but they practically encouraged it! I guess 9 years makes quite a difference in how the Harding family raised their kids. :)

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

That's because your parents were hippies of the Jesus Freak variety. Not as fun as the pot smoking kind of hippie parents, but still odd to think it's okay to have the kids call you "Roland" and "Sylvia" instead of "Mom" and "Dad." They are lovely, sweet people, but freaks none the less. Ask anyone in the family, they'll back me up on this.

My son asked my name yesterday, and he accepted it when I told him my name is "Mommy." As far as he is concerned, that's who I am.

[noblwish.livejournal.com]

Rorie introduces us as "my mommy, Aly, and my daddy, Richard." I like that. She recognizes that we have other identities. Now, if only she and Buddy would recognize that I have other RESPONSIBILITIES, too!