A good deed

[IrishAyes]

No secret, my less than sterling success in adapting to an alien culture where I retired. But one good thing is that it sharpened my appreciation of people who can still be good, even if they might think I'm as strange as I've found a lot of them.

The last year or so has been rather encouraging, I must admit. And today something especially nice happened. I noticed a close neighbor, a plumber, had gotten a small dumpster to clean out his garage. The loud regular bang! of heavy objects caught my attention, so I watched from across the street as he carried out more huge heavy things I couldn't quite see clearly at that distance w/o my glasses.

When I called out to ask if he was throwing away anything that might prove handy for me to make a doghouse with, he didn't just ignore me or brush me off. He walked across the street to my place and said sorry, it was all too junky to make a good doghouse BUT I was welcome to an insulated doghouse he'd made himself years ago for a dog that chose to stay strictly indoors. Molly Maguire and Bridgid are indoor/outdoor dogs, and I just want something as a backup in case I accidentally leave them out longer than I should for a winter potty walk. They both refuse indoor facilities even in a storm.

So I feel very blessed in many ways. That couple really love dogs, too. The one they have now was a rescue from a local situation of extreme neglect. The lady walks a lot and would pass a house where this poor animal was chained outdoors and half starved all the time. He was just a possession, not a pet and would've died long ago if various neighbors hadn't fed him.

Anyway, last Christmas my neighbor lady took the dog some turkey on a plate and set it down before him. He looked at her, reached down for the first big chunk of meat, and put it in her hand before he started to eat the rest. Thank God she finally convinced his 'owners' to let her take him home with her. Now he's her very shadow, and he won't go in the doghouse either; maybe partly because he spent the first 4 years of his life chained to one.

But my girls are close as 2 peas in a pod, and the doghouse is just the right size for both of them to curl up in if they get tired of waiting for me to let them back in the house. I wish they'd scratch on the door or bark, but they don't. I tried putting sweaters on Brigid but Molly just rips them right off. She doesn't believe in artificial anything. She even chewed 2 collars right off Brigid's neck and would chew her own off if she could reach it.

Some days I can hardly believe how blessed I am. While it's true that I can take care of belligerent neighbors, I love the good kind. To me the doghouse is not the main point. It was the man's neighborliness. I appreciated that by far the most and will try to remember the occasion next time I start to mutter that old camp song to myself. It goes, "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I'm gonna eat some worms..."

[Curmudgeoness]

1. How wonderful all the way around.

Your dogs got a great dog house, and you found a nice neighbor. If you think about it, you met the neighbor because you spoke first, and were friendly to him. That goes a long way in meeting people. Your dogs already know this, and you can see the advantages too.

[IrishAyes]

5. Kindly see my reply #4

[Helen Reddy]

2. Very sweet! n/t

[IrishAyes]

6. Kindly see my reply #4

Yes, the plumber neighbor and his wife are very nice. Unfortunately they're in the minority, but I keep working on the others.

[sinkingfeeling]

3. Nice neighbors. Where did you retire? Overseas?

[IrishAyes]

4. HA!

As much as I appreciate the uplifting replies, it sounds as if you might live closer to me than those other fine people do.

No, sad fact is I retired for financial reasons only to the MidWest, aka 'Bible Belt', tagged by me as RedNeckLand, generally a teabagger hellhole if ever there was one. The vast majority of my fellow townsmen are xenophobic as geese and just about as friendly. The only thing they hate worse than outsiders is damnYankee libruls here to bring them the gospel of shared stewardship and responsibility. I've had empty beer bottles thrown at me from passing vehicles and sometimes people start screaming at me for no discernible reason.

Well, I must admit they're probably reacting to one of my frequent and sometimes testy letters to the editor of our local weekly newsrag, which does happen to have an amazingly wide circulation. Three times I've received written compliments, but those were unsigned to protect the identity of the endangered for even speaking to me. A couple of people in town have actually approached me with a compliment for airing local dirty laundry, but only after they look around carefully first to make sure no one will see or overhear.

The local so-called 'patriot' paramilitaries who play soldier in the woods on weekends have tried open intimidation efforts, unsuccessfully I might add. One of their members moved next door to me and raised hell for all 4 years he was there, and he was doubly furious because I outbid him for this house. But he's the one who eventually moved, not I.

Last but certainly not least, for about 4 years I rode the federally subsidized OATS mini-bus, otherwise known as the Redneck Express, and that bunch of largely senile old coots screamed and yelled their heads off at me most of the time. They stopped short of hating me enough to refuse my offers of help with their packages, though. And there was one 35-year-old paranoid schizophrenic with a prison background for violence and drugs, whom the equally wiggy bus driver kept trying to provoke into a murderous rage against me. That plan would've succeeded eventually, but somewhere they got the idea that I'd retired from the FBI and that I learned voodoo in New Orleans, so it became something of a balance of terror. The bus office management not only ignored my weekly written complaints but finally announced they were blocking my emails in the future.

At last the crazy mean bus driver - who used to yell that he would literally KILL anyone who crossed him and tried to sue me twice except I jumped down both lawyers' throat and put a stop to it - hit upon the idea of filing a false police report with the local officials claiming I carried a gun on board and threatened the other riders, who were all terrified of me. Well, it could've been worse; the police chief knew all of us quite well and took the report so seriously that he waited almost 48 hours before paying me a visit to tell me about it. Of course I filed a hot denial and so that little plot bit the dust. Best of all, I wrote a furious letter to the paper again, and since half the people here are at war with the other half, it got printed as always. If not for me they'd all still be reading about each other's lumbago and shopping trips to the nearest metropolis 60 miles away, a place with over 10 thousand souls! And it even has a Walmart - no kidding.

Well, actually the last best story stems from my thwarted efforts to attend church at the congregation of my own denomination. Crazy woman there verbally assaulted me (in private because she's just as bad a coward as the rest) on my first visit, and when that didn't drive me away, she stood up during Mass on a Tuesday night when she and I were the only parishioners there, and she vehemently denounced me to the priest for everything under the sun. He smiled indulgently at her and offered no protest or defense of me, not even a limp left-handed "at least she doesn't sweat much for a fat lady". Even so I stayed on until she started accusing me of stealing things - this from the woman who nearly burnt the whole church down when she forgot to extinguish some candles.

The upstart of that situation came when I'd been absent nearly 2 years and she encountered me at another church's soup and sandwich fundraiser. (Don't get me started about the confusion and panic one lady at the counter suffered when I asked for my portion to be partly one soup and partly another, all mixed in the same bowl.) Anyway, I'd just made it safely to my seat when Crazy Woman appeared, leaned over me, and declared in a loud voice how much they missed me at 'our' church! That drove my blood pressure sky high instantly, but then she had to ask at equal volume why I'd been absent: WAS IT SOMETHING SOMEONE SAID?

You probably know the admonition to beware the wrath of a patient person. At that point I jumped up and called her a lying hypocrite at the top of MY lungs, adding that she knew exactly who and what drove me away and since I was on a roll, I repeated the story of her denunciation. Of course she recoiled in great offense and denial, so I ended by yelling, "Don't stand there and lie to me, you old fart! You might fool some people but I was there and so I know what you did, and don't think I'll ever forget either!" After throwing my untouched meal (including million dollar pie!) in the trash, I left and slammed the door behind me as hard as possible. Of course it was all over town before I could stomp the four blocks home.

But actually in that respect, deny it though they did, I fit in here right from the beginning. This town calls itself the real Mayberry, but during the Civil War - which is far from over regardless of what history books say - they had to close the churches because people kept shooting each other in the pews. So there are blood feuds going back generations, almost as bad as the Hatfields and McCoys. Unless born and raised here, most people unfortunate enough to stumble upon this place soon run screaming into the night. The high school kids celebrate graduation by circling the town square in a tight knot trying to settle old scores before they slink away for parts unknown or sink back into the general morass.

Other than that I like it here just fine.

Believe me, I really do appreciate the decent minority who seem to gradually be thawing a bit toward the 'damnYankee invader'. There are even people who don't get up and move when I sit next to them at church dinners, and a precious few I even count as pretty much friends. Every time one seems to have grown accustomed to my face, I rejoice.

Although the pastor at the UMC church around the corner where I pop in now and then nearly had a heart attack when I dropped by to listen to the bell choir practice. He knew he was sinning big time and it made him nervous - he looked ready to pee himself - but he 'helpfully' pointed out that the bell choir would never accept a new member. I didn't point out what he must've already known, that his wife and a prominent member of the congregation had invited me to join. I was only there to listen to see if they were good enough musicians not to be wasting my time. But I made the pastor's day by assuring him I was only there because nothing was on tv that evening. The relief on that terrified man's face was indescribable.

So in my own unique way, yes indeedy I do fit right in. It takes a hard case to survive in this town. When I got tired of people almost demanding to know why I moved here, I started saying things like maybe somebody sent me here to keep an eye on the place. Although my 2 Chows were perfect angels, nobody liked them much. Now that it's only Molly Maguire the mini-beagle/pom mix and Brigid the Jack Russell Terrier (I'm convinced), everyone seems to adore them. I secretly suspect a few have learned to respect my own tenacity at least. Maybe even like me a little bit.

If you want to know the true story, the worst crime I committed was not asking anyone's permission to move here, and as I'll always remain the classic outsider to some extent, they have no discernible means of exerting power over me. I can't be run off apparently, because I get right back in their faces. I don't need them for a job, and there are no family ties at all to twist around my neck. I've even found a few local tradesmen at last who are willing to do business with me. So what's left? Not a damn thing. And they know every election cycle there'll be a big beautiful homemade "VOTE DEMOCRAT" sign in my yard. One fool threatened to destroy it the first time it went up, and I just calmly suggested he'd better check first and make sure neither the Chows nor their mama caught him at it. Nothing happened.

[sinkingfeeling]

7. Well, I've met a lot of strange clans in my journey through life. I was

born a Buckeye and left Ohio as a divorcee, mother of a son ignored by his dad, a member of NOW and a true Democrat. Moved first to South Florida where everybody thought I was Cuban! Then to NC, AZ, MN, TX, and finally here in AR. The whole country is nuts. Thinking of trying Colorado or Vermont next.

[IrishAyes]

8. I know what you mean

I was stranded in AZ for eight years. Would've returned to upper ME for retirement but it's largely gentrified by now and out of my reach unless I would be willing to live in a tiny government subsidized apartment, which I'm not. At least here I was able to buy a big enough place that I don't have to hear the neighbors' quarrels and I can have dogs and do all the gardening I want. So what if the house was almost ready to fall down when I found it? The extensive rehab needed will keep me busy the rest of my life, and it's in a very nice neighborhood. Most of the rottenest neighbors have already moved away, and I continue trying to win over the nicer ones. Give me another 7 1/2 years and at least a few of us will be singing Kumbaya together. Most people already like my present dogs; can I be far behind? They're not all bad here, just more than I ever dreamed existed.

This is also the same gardening zone as lower Maine, so the climate suits me more than some places. Four seasons and green as Ireland when it's warm.

Have you ever considered trying Iowa? I know they run conservative, but I've met a lot of nice people there. When I used to drive my big van on long trips, for some reason people seemed friendliest there. In a way it's just as well that I couldn't afford to relocate from my current area, because I admit there were plenty of times I would've, given the chance. Now it's just up to me to make sure I'm the last one standing. I can state proudly that one town mayor yelled at me during an official meeting that I was the most stubborn damnYankee he ever even heard of! I laughed and said, "Well, get used to it. We're all like that."

Just be sure you go someplace you can have pets. Nothing like a dog to soothe life's wounds. Except a son or daughter, of course. It's nice to know you'll be raising him to be a good citizen and future life partner for someone. My best to you and everyone at NOW, a truly great group.

[IrishAyes]

9. Not that it's any of my business

but I'd vote for Vermont.