Monday, January 14, 2013


For the privacy of all, I intend to not use real names for my neighbors.  I think it is rude of me to do so, I will assign them nicknames over time.  Dead Mama is obvious.  And Daddy for the elderly man.  My husband, Ed, and I refer to the daughter as Crazy Woman.  I know that sounds harsh, but for years we've watched her outside talking to thin air or being hauled away by the cops for another Baker Act (Involuntary Mental Health Commitment Act), so I can't think of any other name for her.  For the son who drinks, I must tell you a story to explain.

5 years ago, we did a total house remodel.  We replaced nearly every surface inside and out.  This constant stream of activity was enormously interesting for our neighbors, who came over to watch the work on a daily basis.  I'd hear from my sub-contractors about who came over and why.  So when we had finally completed the inside, The oldest son and Dead Mama came over to look around.  I obliged, after all I was sort of proud of the work we'd done,  Right in view of our front windows, we had a large built in made to house sports memorabilia, a giant fish tank and our bar.  We added a wine fridge on one side and shelves full of liquor and bar ware.

About 6 months after we completed work, I looked out the front window and see the Eldest trotting over, shirtless, dirty jeans, etc.  After a vigorous game of "rock, paper, scissors", Ed lost and went to the door.  I did not want to be pulled into it, so I went to the other side of the house.  I could hear the conversation muffled on the front porch, generally we don't invite them in for fear having them stay for hours.  Then Ed came inside, got something and went back outside for a moment.

After the Son left, I asked Ed "What did he want?"


"Rum?" I asked again, confused.  I mean who comes over and asks to borrow a cup of rum?  Pirates?  I looked out the window and could see him walking back to his house with a bottle of Rum.  "You gave him a whole bottle??"  I asked.

"No, it was a nearly empty bottle with about a cup left in it.  I mean he had no cup or container, what was I going to do?"

Valid point, how else to give him rum.  So we watched him walk to the side of the house and place the bottle on a bedroom window sill.  Then he walked 10 feet over to the garage and went in the back door.

Ed and I just looked at each other confused.  I mean who borrows rum, then places it on a window sill before they walk into the house?

While we were still pondering this, the shades and window opened and the Son pulled the bottle off the window sill and put it inside the bedroom.  At that point we realized he was TRULY an alcoholic, I mean we suspected this for years, but hiding booze from your family is a telltale act.  He asked for booze a couple more times and we politely declined.  I didn't want to get into being a liquor store for the guy.

Rum Son, seems like an appropriate nick name.

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