People, including a dear reader or 12, think my husband and I are crazy living here.
What can I say ? It works for us.
Or he did.
Until she moves in.
The new neighbor.
This story is related to our first loss, our Dear Neighbor that I wrote about a few weeks ago. Her husband passed away at the end of 2020 and she has now moved to the next bigger city.
We miss her so much.
How could we replace it? Who could replace her? We were scared thinking of how the wrong neighbor could ruin our view of this little piece of heaven.
My husband and I decided there was only one thing to do.
We should buy his place.
We calculated the financial figures. If we fix it and give it the majority of the year as an Airbnb, we might be able to make it work.
That’s why we wandered around the property this weekend, checking things out.
It was then that we saw her.
Before we could even make an offer on the property, she moved in.
Call me critical.
But she looks mean.
The look she gave him made it clear that we weren’t to approach and try to talk to her.
Without insulting the new neighbors, but this lady is an alligator.
No, really, it’s an alligator.
Of at least the seven foot long variety. There, she took the sun on the bank in front of the house.
Oh, my dear reader, I hear you shouting, “You see! I told you! You are crazy. Course! Ask someone to come and take it out.
I can’t say we didn’t have similar thoughts.
But above all, the new neighbor makes me think of those next to whom we live.
Dear reader, have you ever wondered, “Who owns this neighborhood anyway?”
Interestingly, I was just asking this question about the neighborhood of our big townhouse, the place where I lived for 23 years. Unbeknownst to most of us, some new neighbors have decided that ours should become a historic district. It’s a strange thought until you hear the prohibitive provisions he would put in place. Basically, we couldn’t plant even one tulip in our front yard without getting approval from three city committees.
“Who do these new arrivals think they are?” I’ve been fuming for the past few weeks.
Which brings me back to the alligator.
And that look.
I imagine she thinks the same thing.
Forget my 23 years in my last neighborhood. Mrs. Gator and her ancestors have lived in these swampy waters since the beginning of time.
Who do we think we are?
I think we’re all going to have to learn to get along.
I wonder what Mrs. Gator thinks of tulips?
Daryn Kagan is the author of the book “Hope Is Possible: A Network Presenter’s Reflections on Losing Her Job, Finding Love, a New Career, and My Dog, Always My Dog.” Email him at [email protected].