Sooner Country

We live in a pretty nice older neighborhood--mainly homes built in the 40's that have been well maintained or recently bought and remodeled. The neighborhood is dear to me because my dad grew up here--he moved into the house we live in in the early 1940s. My grandparents--Ome and Ope--bought this house and proudly moved in with their only child--my then 7 year old father. My Ope was a mailman and my Ome was a homemaker. When I was a kid, we would come to visit and often my little brother and I would sleep over and stay in my dad's old room which was still sort of decorated with his things from high school. Framed pictures of him in his football uniform--leather helmet--and his old girlfriend--the one, my Ome thought, that got away. My dads old dresser was where my Ome kept her spare wigs that lived on white styrofoam heads that someone had lightly crayoned in eyes and lips. An odd place to sleep but we liked it. We played in the elaborate parterre garden and made mud pies. A lot. We were mud chefs actually and pretended to host our own cooking shows. Anyway, this house is full of memories for me. My back yard neighbor, Mrs. Bush, has lived there since I was little and seemed old even then. I can't fathom how she is still alive and kicking and up for a good gossip on the fence. Her next door neighbor Mr. Bueske is quite old as well and remembers my dad as a teen ager. Wow. I guess I should tell you that my dad died three years ago of cancer. So sometimes I get very sad but at the same time happy to be living where my dad grew up. Pretty lucky...so the neighbor hood is nice, but a few streets over begins what is referred to as "the west end" . It is a shabby place by anybodies standards--shabby, but lively I guess. I mean, one house kitty-corner to us has a yard like no other. A hundred pots-- some planted some not, ubiquitous Shrine de la virgin, a large clay St. Francis feeding several plastic pink flamingos...also some real live birds living in cages under the carport. I have lived next to this nutty woman with a canoe in her front yard (planter) for four years and have seen her twice. The family next to her however, I have come to know pretty well through all the crazy little kids that seem to live in their dirt yard and occasionally meander into mine. Their house is notable in the hood b/c it looks like an Appalachian cabin with a swing set in front moved right up to the street, a yard dog, lots of random junk and a large metal sign saying "sooner country" nailed right by the front door. Last March this cute little boy who already had a tan came by and asked if he could do some yard work. Anything, because he told us it was his sisters birthday and he was trying to buy her a present. He said his name was Dougie, but his real name was Jeff--like my husband. Se I call him Jeffrey two. He is like a throw back to my childhood. He is brown and dusty and lives outdoors. He is little for his age, but talkative and sweet and full of bravado. ...