Wednesday, July 03, 2013

Neighborly ...

I was outside, doing a few chores that I've put off until now because, hey, I live alone, but tomorrow, hey, friends and family will be by for the 4th. And while I don't care about any opinions of passersby, heavens, I can't risk judgment from those I actually know.

So, I was outside. And I saw my across-the-street neighbor, whom I hadn't seen in quite some time, so I crossed the street to ask if he needed any help with his chore. Or any ensuing chores. It's always more fun to help someone else do something, isn't it? Also, it gave us a chance to chat.

He was working at a task, meticulously, which I admire in the biggest way, so I lent a hand, happily.

"I didn't know I had a perfectionist for a neighbor," I said.

He chuckled. "I don't know if I'm a perfectionist. I just like things done right."

Yup. Me, too.

We finished his chore and chatted a while longer, and then I made my way back to my house. (He offered to help. I have many awesome neighbors that way. They're always happy to pitch in.)

And a few minutes later, I noticed him walking up my driveway with something very green in his hand.

I walked toward him.

"Would you like some lettuce?" He had just picked it out of his garden. "It's the last of it."

He handed it to me like a bouquet.

I marveled at it. "It's perfect!"

"My wife has the green thumb," he said.

I commented that bugs usually do a number on lettuce.

"Or rabbits," he offered.

But the lettuce I was holding was gorgeous. Picture-perfect. Clearly untouched by rabbits.

So picture-perfect, in fact, that I set it on my front stoop and headed inside to fetch my camera.

From across the street, he must have wondered why the hell I was photographing lettuce.

This is why:

I did nothing to the settings on my camera. No color enhancement, no filters. Just the setting for daylight.

I came inside and washed it and spun it in my spinner.

Now it is wrapped in paper towels and in the fridge.

I'll see my mom tomorrow and will offer to share. She's a big fan of lettuce. I get my love of it from her.

And what better lettuce than lettuce hand-delivered from a kind neighbor's garden on the third of July?


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