Hello Neighbor!

Ever had a “helpful neighbor”; One who has each and every one of your concerns on their mind twenty-four seven? My ninety year old mother has one of these living near her home in Florida. We’ve been doing some work lately on her fifties home and he’s been observing from a distance but curiosity got the best of him the other day when we were putting down some sod. About an hour into the laying of the stuff, here he comes; Big grin, cup of coffee (it was early) and about to burst with suggestions as to the laying of the sod. Now I had never seen him lay a single piece of this stuff, and he mostly observes what we’re doing, but when a guy walks up with a big ol’ cup of coffee and a grin you feel obligated to give him an ear. I had laid sod before, front and back yard, so I considered myself somewhat of an expert in getting the stuff laid, but one can always get better at what they do and I could tell that if he didn’t get this thing off his chest his health was at risk.

I will admit the back yard is once again a litter box but I blame this on my mother’s lack of watering skills, and the wild cats someone insists on feeding… not sod placement.  So here comes “Mr. Home and Gardens” with the first words out of his mouth being, not, “good morning” but, “You know you’re going to have to put a lot of water on that.”  I wanted so much to say, “Duh” but I smiled and said, “Really?” This elevated “Mr. GreenJeans “got to help quotient” to the next level and in the next few minutes, and while I keep on hauling the sod he suggests re-designing the front yard. “Your sprinkler will need to go about there.” Right. “You can get a splitter and attach it to a couple of cheap hoses. Put it where the bird bath sits.”

Sure. Sweat, sand and dirt are running down my glasses as I visualize moving the hundred pound block of cement called a birdbath. “It wouldn’t hurt to fertilize, but not too much. It looks like this grass could use some iron.” The price of a palate of sod just went up. “Looks like you’ve got some weeds in that. You’ll need to mow with the blower pointing outward to prevent weed seeds from taking over.” I suppose I could pull up what I’ve laid and request weed-less sod but…naw, we’re going with weeds, at least they’re green. Mulching is obviously out of the question. “They carry all that stuff at Lowes, you know.” Me having all the attention deficit problems of today’s eight year old, I am in no way going to a Lowes to become more confused. Some days I feel as though I just learned how to drive. “You look like you could use some water.” First sensible thing you’ve said all morning my friend. Something, perhaps a moment of divine inspiration, causes him to look up and what does he see?! “That roof’s gonna need replacing soon.” Like I said, Mom’s ninety and our definition of “soon” is a whole lot later than his; probably in the area of not in this lifetime. Then “Mr. Peepers” comes up with the crown jewel of his morning presentation. I suppose it may have been the reason for his visit in the first place.

 I’d been at it several hours by now and was probably dehydrated, causing hallucinations, because I thought I heard him say, “Oh, by the way, I’ve installed a security system with lights that should cover your yard too!” Guess we can get rid of the neighbor watch volunteers but we’ll definitely lock the doors. Thank goodness he finished his coffee about the time he got into his own home improvement plan. The man loves coffee and we don’t so he went home and I sent mom to Lowes for a splitter.

Officer Friendly to the Rescue

Sometimes you see them parked by the roadside, or maybe giving a well-deserved ticket, checking the car-born computer or talking with a pedestrian. They wear different uniforms, some blue, some white, some coat and tie. They are the Panama City Beach Police and they do a terrific job.


I had the good fortune to meet one the other day named Officer Gillman. He’s a big fellow with red hair and a nice demeanor. He answered a call to our house at the beach concerning a missing watercraft. Filling out the report, I asked him how many of those things he had recovered in the past and he said his record was perfect — “none.”

We laughed … or I did. He just looked sort of sad, as if he wished it were not true, but they tend to get away quickly when missing. I figured I’d seen the last of my old friend, the WaveRunner, as it was going on 10 and probably couldn’t find its way home if it had to. Gillman and I parted company after the report and I tried not to think about the rest of the weekend and summer without being able to get out on the water.

A few hours later he called. “Mr. Harmon, I have some good news,” he said. “I’m standing next to your WaveRunner!”

Actually he’d been there for a while, questioning folks, getting necessary information, etc., and it was hot. I said I could be there in a few minutes, not thinking about how long he had already been there, and he said that would be fine. Keep in mind this WaveRunner is an old boy, not much to look at, but still runs pretty darn good.

A good Samaritan walking his dog had phoned in a tip and Officer Gillman had wasted no time in locating my old friend. When I arrived, Gillman could have said, “Well, there it is, take care, good luck, see ya later!” But he didn’t do that. He actually helped me and a friend push that thing from the woods back to the road where we could attach it to a truck. And, like I said, it was hot.

So, just a word of thanks to a great person, a young person who means a lot to the community of Panama City Beach. I hope he stays safe, and if you see a big, red-headed guy in a police car, probably with a smile on his face and a ready wave, wish him well. He’s there for you, too.

Dogs Vs. Cats

Honestly, I was going to write something about our children, and then something popped up that made me think some grow up a lot faster than others. I went on the web to look up a word, probably something simple, and there in the corner of my machine was an invitation from somebody I had never laid eyes on (I swear) to chat. She looked about 20-something, blond, attractive no doubt, just a couple of miles away.Her name was Stephanie. She didn’t give a last name. I figured she was probably too shy, and I guess she was asking for an introduction because she said something like, “want to meet me?”

Well, I looked around the room and saw it was just me, Herkie the dog and Milo the cat. That dog is a mess. He thinks Milo is a furry toy that can jump really high and slap really well but other than that, has no real worth to speak of. Truth is, Milo plays Herkie like a fiddle.Anyway, he had one eye on me and the other on Milo, who was just a few feet away and looking over my shoulder at Steph ... purring, even though he’s been fixed for years. Steph was just a grinning and had two keys below her picture. One said “confirm,” the other said, “run like hell.”I never had Herkie fixed. Figured it would be OK since he seldom goes outside and when he does he’s looking for a ball or somebody to bark at. Sort of like I used to do years ago.

Besides, the last dog I had fixed put on weight and looked at me out of the corner of his eye, as if he knew he was missing something, and it was me who might still have it somewhere in the house. “I know whatever I lost is around here somewhere and you need to find it.”Herkie knows there are those who would love nothing more than to take the lust out of his eyes. He appreciates the fact that dad is simpatico. He looks at me straight on, eye to eye and we see things the same way, if you know what I mean.He eyeballed Milo and knew he needed to be with dad on the couch. A short fight ensued. Milo got two slaps in before the dog knew he’d been slapped and then Milo went to sit somewhere else, lick his fur and stare at two fools buried in a machine.

The look on his face seemed to say, “You two cannot be that stupid. Do you really think her name is Stephanie?”Now I know there are those who would doubt this and it may have been my imagination, which runs a little crazy on the web, but once he got up on the couch and saw her for himself, Herkie looked over at the cat as if to say, “Me thinks this old man is about to make a career decision.”

Well, she looked like that Locklear girl would have looked 30 years ago with bad teeth. Her smile seemed to say, “I know whatever I lost is around here somewhere and if you’ll click “confirm” we can look for them together.”I started to click “confirm” to recommend a good dentist but thought better of it. Herkie gave me a silent nod like John Wayne did to Opie Taylor when he threw that pistol across the floor in “The Shootist.” There’s all sorts of things out there today that can make you shoot yourself in the foot. Sometimes it just takes a good friend to help you not take that last drink, or click “confirm” when you should click “run like hell.” Sometimes all it takes is a good dog. I wonder whose little girl Stephanie used to be anyway.

The American Village

I love that quote from Hillary Clinton, “It takes a village to raise a child” and although it took some hits from conservatives, it deserves another look. So let’s take a look at the raising of children in today’s American village.  Nowadays we’ve got some children being raised by village folks who are good at it (Boys and Girls Clubs, Big Brothers and Sisters come to mind), some children being raised by parents (this occurs rarely but does occur) and some children being raised by village idiots (you know who you are and are probably not reading this). Oh, quite right, the parent can double as a villager and also be the village idiot. As I see it, the problem is twofold, air conditioning and villagers who cannot catch the child in order to raise it. 

Let’s look at the air conditioning problem first. How can we expect the village to raise the child when he/she is inside trying to stay cool and cannot be found to raise? Years ago children to raise could be found almost anywhere, riding a bike, playing Kick the Can, baseball, hopscotch; Now one would have to go inside to find the child in need of raising. In fact I submit that that if the American village is to raise the child it must be done in the fall and spring when a villager can catch a glimpse of a child outside, catch it and begin the raising process.  A child found inside presents all sorts of problems for the villager. Video games depicting aliens annihilating each other on a Blue Ray and Jerry Springer (who may be an alien) are forces the villager must overcome in order to raise the child. Then there’s the other villager in the room. The one who is also watching Springer and making sure the child eats his/her ration of Twizzlers and Gummy Bears, and gets enough Kool-Aide to make it through the night.

This person may not be the one who actually birthed the child but may be older and simply presiding over its wasted afternoon. Seeking a child to raise inside also requires mounds of paperwork signed by whoever is paying the bills for the afternoon “entertainment”, AC and snacks. A villager sometimes referred to as “mother”.  After that the child may indeed be raised. But let us say there was, by some fluke, some cosmic storm, some phenomenon heretofore unexplained, a child who actually wandered outside. Perhaps it had seen enough carnage on the screen, enough screaming, vile language or who knows what.

We might even call this child “gifted” for it had indeed found the gift of fresh air and freedom. The bad news is our current American villager, now in hot pursuit of something to raise, would have a problem running down the child in order to raise it because, sad to say, most of our villagers are… obese. Unless the child can be cornered in a McDonalds or Burger King, it will eventually find its way back to Blue Rayville before you can say, “Debit”. Today’s American villager cannot be asked to catch, and raise that child. But, there may be one other time when the child can be contained and raised. Many are caught by the villagers in blue known as policemen (I know it sounds crazy but it happens) and detained at a facility considered to be safe for the child. This is where a lot of villagers can have access to the child. Here, captured children who dared to venture outside during daylight hours are gathered together and raised by the men in blue until the person who paid for the Twizzlers shows up. Yes, “It takes a village to raise a child” and how unfortunate they seem to do it better in Africa than we do here in America.