A Tree Grows Next Door

The deafening roar and the blast of wind surrounded the house. The wooden chimes banged against each other furiously. The tree across the yard stood strongly as the wind pelted it. The branch that could have come crashing down on the house from that distance had been sawed off, the result of a deal made with a previous next door neighbor.
Later on, under new ownership, branches groaned in time for the woman sitting in the yard to pull the Chow dog away and to run about frantically, wondering what to do.
Kevin, the owner in the nearby house, who'd made the previous deal, counseled her to call her husband, Ed.
Soon, the yard was filled with "tree people", saws noisily cutting up the fallen limbs, leaving a mess for the couple to clean up after heaving the lighter branches into their truck.
Ed approached Kevin as he stood on the porch.
"Can't figure out how that limb got sawed off. Do you know?"
"Have no idea," Kevin responded.
"Well," said Ed, "I'd get rid of the rest of it, especially that limb that could fall right over on your porch here. Just can't afford it."
"Oh, I think it would probably fall just short of it, like in your yard and driveway."
"Well, I can't afford to take care of it. Somebody must have seen fit to cut off the other one that was sure to have fallen on your roof. Any idea who?"
Kevin said he had none.
"It looks to me like this one could."
"Maybe," Kevin said unemotionally.
"You know what else I'd like to do?" Ed inquired.
"What?" said Kevin.
"How about I pave the driveway so it reaches your sidewalk? I'm pretty sure my property reaches that far anyway."
"You think so?," queried Kevin, "Feel free to measure it."
So Ed started measuring from the fence to the sidewalk. Each time, the measuring tape never quite measured 40 feet.
"Well," Kevin observed, "my wife says she wants to keep our sidewalk separate from your driveway."
"Oh, she does?" inquired Ed, "Tell her to think it over tonight. Maybe she'll change her mind."
"Don't think so," said Kevin.
"Gonna take my wife to Disney World," said Ed.
"Yeah, we been there."
"Really?" Ed asked, surprised, "Well, I'm going to build another story on our house for my wife."
"That so?" replied Kevin, "Well then, you'd better do something about that tree.
You wouldn't want a storm to come and a limb to fall on your house...once you've built it."

St. Paddy's Potluck Party

We spent St Patrick's Day at one of those superficial, artificial church groups of people. They were people pushed together, who had virtually nothing in common, created to compensate for a large church where anonymity was the general rule.
I felt we were intruding, even though we were guests.
I was put on the spot with questions like, "Since you're teaching in that district, are you part of the corruption the local news is reporting?"
To which, I replied, "No," and "you're taking the word of the new superintendent and her perspective."
A senior lady began to relate excitedly, the story of her recent trip to Hawaii, and the host disdainfully countered her with, "I already been there," cutting her off and walking away in a huff.
The men walked out on the veranda. My husband followed.
"Excuse me," said the host, "this is only for golfers."
"Surely, you don't mean that."
"Yes, I most certainly do."
That explained why my husband came back into the room.
The green beer was accessible to the hostess. Her husband, who had returned, took her into the corner to admonish her for her alcoholic behavior.
As we ate, the strawberries on her cake were, not surprisingly, rancid.
After which, she climbed upstairs, where her teen-age daughter and my ten-year-old one were playing at the computer.
The hostess took out her frustration on the dog.
"Sammi, I told you, over and over again, not to poop on the floor!"
I'd heard St. Paddy chased the snakes out of Ireland. That night, we walked away from them, never to return again to the mega-church.