Wilton Manors is a very different place. There are things that happen here that we smile at and say “isn’t that cute” that if they were to happen in a different place of approximately the same social stratus you would have your house egged or worse.
I’ve found that since I have moved here, of the “locals” there’s really only one that I find what I would call reprehensible. I’ve heard many others say the same of this person, so I’m not being too harsh.
On the other hand, we tend to be a very tolerant bunch. I have a wonderful family down the block who I think lives a great life. They’ve got an air boat, the kids go fishing, ride a golf cart and Dad and Mom join in. After all you don’t often see a roughly 40 year old man stand on a skateboard and roll down the street ahead of his kids with a fishing pole in one hand waving the other arm wildly for balance while the sons are yelling “Dad slow down you’re too fast for us!”.
That just would NOT do in Plantation, Florida, Maple Shade, NJ, or Irvine California. No way! It’s just not done in Suburbia!
I’m glad I don’t live there.
Standing on a soap box aside, I had a chance to witness yet another thing that just would not happen in the Burbs.
I was waiting for my coffee to finish brewing, and since I roast my own I am thinking that is another one of Those Things, and walked to the front door of my house. Looking out the door across the street there is an open lot. Back in the housing boom there were two rather nondescript duplexes there and they were knocked down for “future development”. Now there is a lot of sand and a single weatherbeaten tree.
It ends up being a semi-official parking lot on Bar Nights, and a place for the kids to run their motorized toys and for Dad to bring the quad bike. This lot also has the unfortunate designation of being an unofficial pet park. Many of the neighbors take their pets there so they can avoid cleaning up after their cherished friend, and I’ve warned my neighbors down the block to be careful of that sort of thing.
While looking out the window I saw someone else walking their pet there. It was another neighbor who I don’t know well. He runs a glass business and drives the van quite a bit faster than I’d prefer since there really ARE kids on the block like the sign on the corner says. Looking at the pet closer I saw it wasn’t a dog.
This man with all his tattoos, shaved head, and biker looks was walking a cat.
On the end of a long red leash there was a cat on a harness. I should say Trying To Walk A Cat instead, since the cat really wasn’t interested in covering any distance. Sitting in the Florida Desert Sands like the Sphinx, this tricolored cat was just going about being a cat. That is to say it was indifferent toward doing anything other than what a cat will do when presented with a big box of sand, and it sat there doing it looking like the king of the cat hill.
Apparently Mr Biker Dude wanted to get moving because he was gently flipping and vibrating the leash to provide incentive. Just as the timer sounded in the kitchen he slipped his toe under the cat and tickled it just enough to get it to move forward another 3 feet.
I guess that is why you don’t see many people Cat Walking other than people in dresses that you would expect to slip between the floor boards of an old building.
One more nudge and they moved on to their apartment after rolling in the dust just a bit more. I walked back to have my second mug of coffee and was amused enough to check again to see if Biker and Cat were still out in the sand playing around. They had moved on leaving me with another illustration of why living in Wilton Manors can be a gift.