When working in my yard, I see a lot of people drive up and down the street. Many look at me at they pass. Brittany noticed this when we were moving mulch -- it bothered her that people seemed so interested in what we were doing. But after nearly 30 years of living on this busy street, I guess I'm used to it. But I've become curious about all those people. Some of them wave, though I don't think I even know them. Some of them look away when they see me noticing them looking at me. And every once in a great while, one will stop and say something to me.
Sunday a man stopped and told me my garden was looking nice and when I finished, I could come work on his. We both laughed. I have no idea who he was. Another man stopped, a young guy in a big pickup truck, clearly pissed off. "How do you get to the golf course?" He almost demanded. I pointed up the street and told him a few simple turns to make that would take him right there. "Thanks." He drove off. In just a moment I remembered I had told him to turn at David Way rather than Gary Way. Big difference. Oh, dear, I can usually be counted on to give very good directions. I'm sure that didn't improve his mood.
I sometimes wish more people would stop and talk.
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