Best Friends

I’ve been raiding my granddaughters Facebook pages and found some items I like.  Good thing, because given my schedule this past couple of weeks, I am meeting myself coming and going and have taken few snaps.

First of all, my physical therapy is going well.  I confess, I break many of the rules, but apparently was physically fit before the surgery so despite my shortcomings, I am walking without a cane, except when I walk Johnny, and then I use the cane to counter his tugging.

I’m doing a better job of getting to know my neighbors, which vastly improves my outlook on life.  In other words, interacting with people is good for my psyche. I am an introvert, but lately, I have managed to carry on at least one conversation each day as I walk around my neighborhood. This has helped Johnny to become a friendlier dog too.

Today I spoke with Pat, who works at our local library and looks to be about 100 years old.  We talked about a half hour about a holly tree in her yard which has more berries than any holly I have ever seen. I mentioned we live on the Eastern flyway, and Pat says each year a flock of birds descends on the tree and strips it bare. As it has many berries at present, the birds must visit on their northward migration in spring.  Meanwhile, a catbird lives in the top of the tree and warns other birds to keep  away. Pat says he’s been there forever.

I asked Pat what kind of holly it was, and she said she didn’t know. About 40 years ago, her boyfriend got it at the dime store, a gift for her and her dog Holly. The little holly was very tiny and today it is as tall as her two-story house, and a good 15 feet across the bottom.

Pat says her next-door neighbor is moving out into the Virginia countryside.  She says, it has dawned on her that even if you live somewhere for 50 years everything changes.  I told her that was a shock for me too.  After years of moving around, we finally settled in the neighborhood where we have lived for 30 years, but it is constantly undergoing change. I lived in this neighborhood in the 1960s before I moved further south for a couple of years, and I can barely recognize it today.

The hardest thing for me is that my grandkids all moved away.  But I can still see them on Facebook.

Joy and her boyfriend Joshua on Skyline Drive

Joy and her boyfriend Joshua on Skyline Drive – fall colors on display

Then and now…Rita and Joy

Then and now…Rita and Joy

Hannah's dog Ezekiel and Rita's cat

Hannah’s dog Ezekiel and Rita’s cat

7 thoughts on “Best Friends

  1. I’m really grateful for our neighbors, especially when we have to be out of town. They took such wonderful care of my mother. I think it’s great that you’re getting to know yours. It really makes a neighborhood an even more pleasant place to live in. I confess I “borrow” photos from my daughter’s Facebook too.


  2. Just to pick up on an earlier comment, and watching from afar … while the Va. Republican contender seemed like a fringe candidate, who would want a governor whose main qualifications are: political operative, professional money raiser, and Clinton sycophant?


    • McAuliffe has NO experience governing, and is a carpetbagger. He won’t do well with the Virgina Assembly which is 3/4 red Republican.

      I voted for nobody. I don’t like either man, although Cuccinelli actually has some experience with state government.


  3. Glad you are convalescing well. Apparently your feet are healing well also. It’s good that you’re getting out with the neighbors. Not just for your sake, but for theirs. You have many interesting stories to share.

    I have missed commenting on some of your recent posts but I have been reading them all.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s