00/12/06

The anchor arrived a couple of days ago, and lemme tell you, its a thing of beauty.

Back in May I told you about my neighbour.

He still lurks across the street, watching and muttering to himself about the state of my lawn, and the general scruffiness of my yard. When I went away for a week last Spring he decided that my mailbox wasn't quite up to neighbourhood standards and took it upon himself to paint it. I had a real problem with this. Firstly, I didn't like the colour he chose, and secondly it takes one hell of a lot of gall to just up and paint something of your neighbour's because you don't like its appearance.

If you read the first installment about our ongoing relationship, you will recall just how proud Randy is of his lawn and how I helped him out by fertilizing it while he was on vacation. Well, this spring I helped him out again,  this time only one half of his lawn looked like it needed my loving care so I snapped a chalk line diagonally across it. I thoroughly fertilized one half. He never said anything directly to me, but he was out there mowing his lawn every other day for most of the summer casting dark looks toward my house all the time.

I'm afraid I can't pretend to be the innocent anymore. I can't pretend that I'm not just as petty, childish and antagonistic as Randy. Not after the anchor arrived anyway.

My father-in-law originally acquired the anchor. It came from a Liberty Ship of WWII vintage. Many years ago, through roundabout means it found its way to the Northern coast of BC. He brought it to his home, painted it bright yellow and used it as a lawn ornament. From the day I first set eyes on it I was in love, I coveted that anchor and made no secret of it. Recently he decided to move, he offered it to me and I pounced.

After negotiation, planning , scheming and much gleeful hand-rubbing, late one night a big flatdeck truck backed into my yard and its Hiab crane hoisted this yellow behemoth into its new place of honour. God, but it's glorious.

I'm not greedy, I don't believe in hogging the beauty of something like this and so I made certain to find a place that would be easily visible from Randy's living room window.

The day after it was installed it I sauntered out to get my mail. As soon as I opened my mailbox a voice hissed in my ear, a voice as warm and friendly as an arctic wind on a naked back.

"What.. the.. hell.. is THAT!"

"Oh, hi Randy, what the hell is what?" I replied smiling with as innocent a face as I could muster.

"THAT!" he shouted raising a shaking, indignant finger and pointing it at the gleaming yellow beauty that now graced the centre of my lawn.

"OH!.. that! Well Randy, that's my anchor, like it?"

He looked at me, his jaw and neck muscles working like a dog that had a mouthful of toffee. His eyes bulged like a stepped-on toad.

Before he could explode I explained my new theory.

"Well Randy, I figger I've just done a huge favour to the whole neighbourhood."

His expression changed from undiluted fury to horrified confusion.

"A... favour..??" He strangled out

"Sure, you see Randy, a nautical fellow might call it an "aid to navigation". From now on anyone on this street can direct their visitors to their house simply by saying "I'm the third house west of the huge yellow anchor" or, "When you see the giant yellow anchor you've gone too far" or something like that. You folks will have it easiest of all, you will be able to say "I'm right across the street from the big yellow anchor"

At that I beamed benevolently at him, knowing that instantly he would see the selfless gesture I had made for the benefit of all my neighbours. Before he could force his spasming lips and tongue to form words, as if on cue, another neighbour came out to the end of his driveway and waved to me, he called cheerfully "Hey Bryant, nice anchor!"

"Thanks!" I replied and beamed at Randy again. He looked bewildered, stricken, the realization that this glorious sight would greet him every morning for as long as he lived there. He turned on his heel and walked unsteadily toward his house. I got my mail, closing the mailbox that my helpful neighbour had painted.

Y'know, the colour doesn't bother me as much anymore.

Me and 3 1/2 tons of lawn ornamnet. Pink Flamingos are for twinkys
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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