A DAY IN MY LIFE GARBAGE CANS My Bridgeport Connecticut Ruth Street residence was quite the melting pot of diverse families, especially our next door neighbors the Lewis’. Like our house, the octogenarian quartet (two brothers and two sisters) lived in a similar white stucco 1 story home with a garage in the back. And like us, they parked their two shiny aluminum garbage cans at the side of the garage. One day my mom’s sister comes for a short visit from Plattsburg, New York. Aunt Rita and Uncle Irving were on their way to see her dad, my grandfather, in Maine and dropped off their baby daughter my cousin Patricia, to stay with us. Because our driveway could accommodate only one vehicle, Uncle Irv parked his car in our back yard, which had a slight pitch angling toward the Lewis’ garage. While engaged in a lively living room conversation, Old man Lewis (not the one who was wielding a shotgun at Halloween, the other one) comes knocking at our kitchen door. Dad goes to see what he wants only to be the recipient of a raucous confusing tirade replete with wild gesticulations. Screaming in a high tenor voice he motions dad to follow him to our backyard. By this time, the family is hot on dad’s heels wondering what’s all the commotion about. Then it becomes obvious. Uncle Irv’s car rolled down the incline smack dab into the Lewis’ trash cans rendering them incapacitated and destined for the dump. To appease the ranting incensed neighbor, dad climbed into his 48 Olds en route to Shoppers Fair to purchase two new shiny aluminum garbage cans. As for the Lewis family, mom reminded us to remain cordial to them but avoid their testy presence. Like dynamite with a short fuse, any slight irritation will set them off.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Nov 2014 12:23:55 +0000
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