Our House's Brush With Greatness

Last night, we had our neighbor over for dinner. He's in his late sixties and has lived in the house next door all of his life. He grew up there as a child and after time in the army, came back to live with his parents. They've both passed on and now he lives there alone. I was anxious to ask him questions about the neighborhood and what he remembered of our house and the people that have lived here. Boy, he didn't disappoint.

My first question was, "What do you think was the craziest thing that has ever happened on our street?" Well, he sat and thought for a moment and just when I thought he wasn't going to come up with anything, his eyes lit up and he said, "Oh! I have one!"

I stopped him with, "Okay, first off...nobody got murdered in our house, right?"

He laughed and said, " No...No...Well, not yet at least!" then went on to tell us about a teenager who was a real trouble maker around the neighborhood in the sixties.

The kid and his family lived across the street and a few houses down. At the same house as the lady who came beating on my back door one day trying to make me give her the Jack-o-lanterns off of my front porch. I guess that house has had quite a few characters in it!

Anyway, this kid was always breaking into the neighbors' houses and robbing them when they weren't home. A real delinquent from the way it sounded (or "rabble rouser" as they used to say back in the day). So, this kid also had a penchant for making explosives. He liked to blow things up in the back yard. Comforting, no? Well, one day, the guy just blew his hand completely off! Horrible, yes...but I'm sure that all of the neighbors who'd had their houses broken into may have just considered it justice for the now one-handed burglar.

Our neighbor couldn't remember when the family moved away but he did recall that shortly after the accident, the kid was sent to live with family. As they did back in the day.

A while later, we were telling our neighbor that there was a house on our old street where Porter Wagoner and Minnie Pearl used to go to parties and dance right on the living room rug. Then out of the blue, he says very casually, "Patsy Cline used to come to your house." The Mister and I stopped dead in our tracks to make sure that we heard him right. And we did. Patsy Cline! He said that she'd come to visit one of her friends who lived right here in our little ranch! He said she was over all the time. Whee!

So, of course after our neighbor left last night, Mister Kitsch and I were doing dishes and going on about, "I bet she stood right here in THIS kitchen!" and "She used the pink bathroom. You KNOW she did!!" "She touched our front door knob!"

I asked our neighbor if she ever wore her gold cigarette pants when over but he couldn't remember. I told him, "Oh, if she'd worn them, you would remember!" That said, as any folklore allows for wiggle room, I've been picturing her sitting in our living room next to the faux fireplace, wearing those gold pants and having iced tea.

I woke up this morning and remembering our house's brush with greatness, loved it just a little bit more. Love and Patsy Cline - the perfect kind of ranch dressing. And I think that calls for a double dose of Patsy! What do you say, kids?








Until next time,
x's and o's,
Eartha