I never got a message from a Florida neighbor like the one Rhonda Bolton sent me here on Kingsway Drive:
“You have a dead armadillo in your drive. Lol was not there when I left at 9ish this morning.”
Yep, the prime example of road kill on the half shell was right where she described.
Brother Mark and his buddies would decorate animal carcasses with party hats and ballons.
I had neither, so I reached for my root-cutting shovel. When it barely scratched the concrete-hard clay, I turned to a grubbing hoe. After it met similar results, I loaded Mr. Amadillo onto a snow shovel and carried him down the hill. (I know it was a He because he expired in an obvious happy state.)
The Bolton neighbors
Bill and Rhonda moved into the tiny house across the street on Memorial Day, 1994, long enough ago that we no longer refer to the property as the Tinkers. They are the perfect neighbors. They kept a close eye on Mother, and are the kind of folks you feel comfortable asking to borrow a cup of sugar.
Bill’s a great craftsman
We gave Bill permission to harvest old lumber from one of Dad’s sheds in Dutchtown. He turned many of the old boards and signs into wonderful primative furniture.
He gave me this bench, followed by a table mounted on a sewing machine base. He would donate pieces to charity raffles, and I was lucky enough to win another table and bench over the years.
Rhonda and Mother were friends
They enjoyed cutting up in a photo booth at Rhonda’s 50th birthday party.
I’m more comfortable BEHIND the camera
I was persuaded to join Mother in the photo booth. Dad was someone who could wear a hat. The hat gene skipped Brother Mark and me.