My feet carried me along Midnight Pass Road this morning as
I marched to the tune of my thoughts, caught up in random, disassociated
things, pondering life as I know it, and as I don’t, or just not yet. What
should I do about this? How should I word that? Where is my life going? Am I on
the right path? And how will I know if I am? I had meant this figuratively, of
course, but suddenly in my literal path, leaf blower in hand, was a character
straight out of my first novel: Mrs. Babcock, my imaginary (though inspired by
real-life ladies I’ve known) older downstairs neighbor. In my book she’s in her
sixties, keeps herself up nicely and has a mad love for gardening, which she
does barefoot, showing off her painted toenails. I couldn’t help but notice
that this lady, after I made the connection to Mrs. B in my mind, was barefoot,
her toenails perfectly manicured and a sassy shade of silver-gray. We got to
talking after I told her she had a lovely home and I also mentioned she
reminded me of a character in a book I’d written. She smiled and asked me, “In
what ways do I remind you of her?” So I told her, and she then said, “Well,
since you’re a writer, I know you’d love to hear the story of how I got my
beautiful home.” Of course, she was right; I did want to know.
Brenda (the real-life Mrs. B) told me she’d had a best
friend for 50 years who had passed on about a year ago, very unexpectedly, from
a brain aneurism. Throughout their years of friendship, they had traveled
together and had many fabulous adventures and through them all they never spoke
of money or material things. So Brenda was very surprised to learn, following
her friend’s passing, that her friend had left her a substantial amount of
money. Still in mourning, and having absolutely no idea what to do with the
funds, she accompanied her son on a trip to Sarasota. Her son happened upon a
house for sale and knew his mother would love it. The house was Mediterranean
in style with a garden in the rear that opened up to a lagoon. He convinced
Brenda to visit the house, and the moment she stepped inside, she knew the home
was meant to be hers. This feeling was intensified when she walked out to the
back patio area and spotted two statues of cranes. In her previous home, two
cranes always visited her back yard. She’d named them Ralphie and Joycie after
her brother and sister-in-law who had since passed away. She purchased the
home, which the previous owners had called “Casa de Las Flores” and re-named it
“Casa de mi Amiga” in honor of her friend.
She took me inside, gave me a Coke and a grand tour of her
house, then told me a funny story about her two brothers. While in St. Thomas,
they knew her husband had planned to buy her an expensive ring, but wanted her
to pick it out for herself from a local jeweler. The brothers went on ahead and
told the jeweler that a Portuguese princess would be stopping by soon. Brenda
had no idea why, when she entered the store wearing sunglasses, dressed in a long
white dress, her lips bright red, and with a large hat upon her head no less,
everyone inside hurried to greet her, then took her to the back of the store
and began pushing trays of jewelry towards her to try on. Once she heard them
calling her “Princess” and saw her brothers doubled over in laughter, she
realized what they’d done. Upon leaving the store, she walked down the street
only to have the owner of the next store run out and greet her, saying, “Princess!
Come in!” Apparently, the word had spread.
Next she asked if I’d noticed the old, red, dilapidated
house down the street that was for sale. I told her I had. She went on to
explain that she had known the owner, who had recently died. (Yes, I did
realize at this point that Brenda had lost a substantial amount of people, but
that’s to be expected at 67, I suppose.) The woman was very eccentric, having
once been married, becoming a mother to six children, then deciding she wanted
her freedom, left her husband and took all six children to live with her in the
tiny red house. Her name was Joi (as she introduced herself, “Joey with an ‘i’”)
and she was an artist. The property, which I prowled around on my way back
(please don’t report me) and will write more about in another blog/poem/I’m not
sure what yet, included not only the little house, but also a studio and tiny
storage shed. She worked in the studio on various pieces of eclectic art,
causing a neighbor’s husband to return to his wife following a visit to the
studio exclaiming, “Remind me to never go over there again!” When his wife
questioned him as to why, he replied, “Because she’s carving giant wooden
penises! They’re everywhere!”
At this point I burst out laughing, as did Brenda as she
told the story, and we leaned upon one another for support. (I love people who
will laugh in a pile with you when they’ve only just met you – they’re quite
special and rare and should be cherished like precious gems). Apparently the
penises sold quite well. When Brenda went to see for herself, all of the pieces
had been sold save one, which Brenda did not happen to purchase, unfortunately.
When Joi passed away, an estate sale was held at her
property. Brenda went, as did the other neighbors, to see what parts of Joi’s
life they might collect for themselves. Not actually planning to buy anything,
Brenda was surprised to find herself drawn to a paint-splattered carved stone
face of a woman. She didn’t realize until she got home that the face was Joi’s.
No one else had even noticed. I got chills and we both began to cry together, after
laughing together just moments before. (The only thing better than a new
acquaintance who will fall upon you in fits of laughter is one who will then
cry with you as cathartically as they have laughed.)
With each story that Brenda told, I began to feel lighter
and more sure of where I’m going. My walk back was filled with inspirational
thoughts, and thoughts of people I’d never even met, and would never have the
chance to, but now felt as though I knew thanks to a woman who happened to be
gardening when I walked by. She said she believed it was for a reason, and so
do I. I won’t always know what’s going to happen, or if I’m making the right
decisions, but I believe there will always be people who show up at the most
appropriate times to shine a brief light for me to follow. Even if my
destination isn’t always clear, I know that wherever it is, I’ll get there
while enjoying the adventure along the way. And in the end, isn’t that the most
important thing?
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