Good fences

Okay, people: settle down now. We are back up and running on Blogger, or so it tentatively seems. Methinks the problem started with a hitch in Blogger's giddy-up, which caught almost everyone, including Mrs. NaBloPoMo, with their knickers around their knees.

In our case, things rapidly moved from bad to worse when our anti-virus software expired and we found ourselves locked out of any site that contained questionable content. (Oh, silly computer: always watching out for our best interests.)

Technical issues were exacerbated by bouts of Laziness and Procrastination, finally culminating in the Zone of Apathy.

Today Trey spent the better part of the afternoon smacking down error messages, persnickety servers and the like. (I was able to provide no assistance, as I'd been banished to the spa. Love. This. Man.) So hopefully these scintillating words will at last find their way to the blogosphere, and eventually I'll release the other entries I've been hoarding and back-dating. (It's not cheating if I openly admit that I'm cheating, is it?)

Anyway...

Lots to catch up on, but I'll stick to one snippet and then call it a night.

Mr. Rogers would be disappointed to know that ours is not the most neighborly block in town. Some people we've gotten to know well, but really like anyway. (Only kidding. Hey, wait! Please don't leave!) Many more folks we know only by a partial name and a drive-by wave, and a handful, we're sorry to say, we have never met and may never still.

But a surprisingly large percentage of said folks gathered this afternoon to fete our darling neighbor Felice. She's an original resident of the 'hood: moved in when her 54-year-old daughter was just six months old. After a few years of relying on friends and family for transportation and necessities, she's making the move to a nearby apartment.

Well, Felice is the queen of our block. She knows all and sees all, but never meddles. She tells uproarious stories and charms the children with small gifts that she keeps stashed away. She's just the most fun neighbor you could ever hope for, and while I know she'll be thrilled to have a new captive audience in addition to throngs of existing friends, a dedicated driver and three squares a day, I'm selfishly crushed that she's leaving us.

I just adore that she grew up across the river from the Mississippi town where my father was born, that she knew his next-door neighbors and that she surely must have crossed paths with my grandmother on some high holiday.

I will forever be indebted to her for watching the muppers once when poor old Muddy had wandered off in the direction of a busy intersection. Felice was on her daily walk when I realized what had happened, and she was willingly drafted as temporary babysitter. (Her daughter told me that she and her sister had been aghast when they heard the story afterward, but Felice was so proud of herself that it's now family legend.)

And I love that one fall afternoon while my sister Mary and I were chatting with her, Mary pointed out that a leaf had lodged itself in her hair. "Oh, honey," Felice said with a laugh, "it's not my hair!" And then tugged her wig so it was slightly askew.

So today was our last official hurrah with Felice. She promises to come back for visits, and I dearly hope she does. How else will we know what's going on around here?