Christmas In The Hood

Like a lot of folks my age I have grown in girth instead of height. The girth became a problem not long ago with a warning from the doc about weight, diabetes and all manner of ills that come from the excesses of the good life. I've lost the weight, got my blood sugar under control and working on the daily exercise. That's where Sweet Pea comes in.

Our dog, Buster Brown passed away after years of faithful service. Buster was very good at eating, barking, and messing in the house, but his one redeemable act of devotion to Wally was unmatched. His last moment on earth was to crawl to Wally's feet where he laid down and died, quietly and at peace. Buster was not a dog that enjoyed walks, but he was faithful to the end. When we adopted Sweet Pea from the city shelter a few months back he wasn't quite a year old and like all puppies came with a full charge.


Me and Sweet Pea go for our walk in the hood almost every morning. It is Sweet Pea's favorite part of the day, he doesn't whine if I'm too busy for our walk, or if I have to make it a short constitutional. It is when he hears, "Do you want to go for a walk?" And the leash comes out, his tail goes into high gear. Sweet Pea gets so excited it's hard for him to calm down seeing that a walk is better than a steak cutlet. Currently we are reviewing Christmas in the hood.

Now, our neighborhood is where I grew up from the age of ten. It is where all my traumatic memories, outside of the scalding water, happened. It is where I have watched over sixty years of change to the housing tract made for World War Two vets to start a family. Every forth house is the same, yet one of the first things most folks did was make them theirs. Attached garages made into rooms, rooms added, and all manner of additions placed, yet you can still, for most of them, see what they were like back in 1949 when babies popped out around America like a kettle of corn at a carnie.

People have come and go, I don't know who is left here from when I was a kid, they all have passed to the great beyond that I knew, but the hood still holds families starting out. It still has dreams and tragedy, and in all the mix, Christmas comes and so do the lights, the lawn dressing and all manner of things that say, "Merry Christmas."

In the stark reality of daylight, the flashing lights and bobbing Santa Clauses go still and flat yet in my walks with Sweet Pea, we have noticed that it doesn't matter, for when night returns, the magic comes and turns our hood into festival of light.
Happy Holidays Everyone.