Entry FeedWhen I was a kid, there was this woman who lived near my school bus stop. She was old (though probably only in her fifties) and we called her a "vidma" or witch in Ukrainian because she would also come out and shake her broom at us when we were on her property. She had one of those cement and stone ramps, and of course we would try to walk up and down while we waiting for the bus.
We have a few elderly neighbours who don't speak much English. Luckily for me, they speak Ukrainian, so I can still communicate.
A few days ago, the "old lady from across the street" (differentiated from the "old lady next door" only by reference to the location of their homes) was walking up and down the street talking to herself.
Husband, who was playing catch out front with the boys at the time, said, "She has finally gone crazy."
Son One, who never seems to be listening, asked, "Whose gone crazy?"
In response Son Two yelled, "THE OLD LADY FROM ACROSS THE THE STREET!" I swear that his speech issues completely disappear when he says something that you wish people didn't understand.
I was down in the basement reading when Son One came running in and yelled with urgency, "Quick, Mommy! Daddy needs you!"
I was out the front door in 3 seconds flat, ready to catch Husband dangling form the roof or stuck under the car (with the boys, you never know.) Just for the record, if the roles were reversed, it would probably take three calls and 20 minutes before husband made it outside to help me.
Husband was across the street talking to the old-lady-across-the-street. She doesn't speak English, and he doesn't speak anything but; I was called in as the translator.
"She's locked herself out," Husband informed me. "Ask her if there is someone you can call."
I asked. "Sure," she replied, "call someone."
I clarified, asking if anyone had an extra key. "No," she replied.
Do any of the neighbours have a key? "No."
Can I phone a friend of family member who has a key? "No one has a key," she answered.
Do you have a key hidden anywhere, like the garage? "No."
Husband and the boys started walking around her house, looking for a way in. I told her that Husband was going to find a way in. She shrugged, seemingly unconcerned that it was getting darker.
It took my husband less than three minutes and a box cutter to get in (no screens were cut). He lifted Son Two up through the window, and he came and unlocked the front door from the inside.
The woman was amazed and thankful. Husband often does good deeds like this.
I think that the boys will remember this story for a long time. Like my Vidma, the old ladies on our street will always be nameless, but will have a place in their childhood folklore.