I engaged in an afternoon chat with our neighbor; a retired marine; a bit of a character. ‘Hi. Your lawn looks great!’ ‘Thanks’ he says. ‘It burns off every year and I keep working with it. I have to keep busy’. I respond, ‘I talked to your wife the other night. We talked about doing a book swap. We’re both readers’. He chuckled. ‘Yes, she’s got her PhD in psychology. She married me to analyze me!’ He grins. His marine edge is up and bantering, swaggering and a touch cocky in the sunshine.
I say, ‘Yes. We’re all borderline, you know!’ ‘Yup. I act like a ten year old’ he responds. I laugh and answer, ‘Yes, I think like a five year old many times’. Good. There is common ground between us.
He pauses, bends over the grass and then says, ‘The military is good for a lot of people’. ‘Yup’. I agree and consider this. I hear his voice. ‘You could have made it in the marines’. He’s actually talking to me; about me. I look down at my freshly pedicured feet. Nope. Incorrect. I answer, ‘I’m more the reflective type, I think’. He looks away. ‘Awww…you could have done it!’
I feel the heat beating down on my face. There’s the beginning of a slight sweat trickle down my back. He explains further, ‘I mean, you can’t complain in the marines. Unless you break a leg or you’re bleeding profusely, you don’t complain!’ I picture myself not complaining. Nope. This man does NOT know me. I begin moving slowly, with my freshly pedicure toes and matching sandals. Candy apple red. ‘Well’ I begin. ‘Um, I guess I’m going to keep walking. I’ll see you on my second loop around’. ‘Okay!’. He gives me a quick wave and goes back to unloading heavy bags of soil. I wonder what new plans he will proffer when I come back around again…
690 Saint Paul 