Walking in My Neighborhood

Story 2 of 52

By M. Snarky

I live in a subdivision of the San Fernando Valley that was built in 1952 by a contractor named Ponticopoulos, Inc. The homes here are mostly modest post-war houses ranging from 1,100 to 1,400 square feet and are typically 3-bedroom, 1-¾ bathroom, with a fireplace and an attached or a detached 2-car garage. Some have swimming pools. They were built without central heating or air conditioning. There are only about four original floor plans and as is typical of a subdivision, the floor plans are reversed (or “flipped”) to add some variety to what were ostensibly cookie-cutter tract homes. Compared to new subdivisions, the lots here are generous in size. Our 1,246 square foot house sits on a 9,298 square foot lot. We purchased the house in 1999 from the original owners who hadn’t done any improvements, but it was in great overall condition.

On Amestoy Avenue near Stagg Street, there’s an old original Carter Fence Co. sign on a neighbors old chain link fence with the even older seven-digit phone numbers on it:

Carter Fence Co.

There are concrete stamps in the sidewalks with the contractor’s names and the year the concrete was poured. I’ve identified the following stamps around the neighborhood:

1950 – PRCE & Graham Contractors. This is the earliest stamp I have found. The hand etched 1950 numbers are a little hard to see in this image.
1951 – Malcolm Paving Co.
1952 – Kirst Construction Co.
1952 – PRCE & Graham Contractors. Again, the hand etched 1952 is not easy to see.
1953 – Kirst Construction Co.
1954 – Kirst Construction Co.

Judging by the quantity of the stamps, Kirst Construction Co. built the most sidewalks, curbs, and gutters here implying that they had close ties to the general contractor / builder Ponticopoulos, Inc. I think the stamps are cool looking and a semi-permanent memoir to the contractors that poured the mid-century cement. I’m planning on finding out more about these contractors at a later date for an exercise in Los Angeles urban development history. The 1952 stamps in the sidewalk around the corner indicate that our house was built during the third of five phases.

Only about 50% of the sidewalks in the neighborhood are still flat-ish. Between the mature trees and their roots pulling everything up and the many earthquakes over the decades, there are countless parts of the sidewalks that are buckled, tilted, cracked, or totally shattered.

Over the years, many of the homes in the neighborhood have been remodeled or built an addition, for example, a fourth bedroom. The trend now is building mostly 2-story ADU’s (accessory dwelling units). Some ADU designs are definitely better than others as far as style goes; some look like basic boxy utilitarian housing, while others were given far more architectural thought and are more pleasing to the eye. Many of the garage conversions look like they were done by a DIY-er and a maybe a couple of friends on a 12-pack Saturday and most likely without a permit. There are also other perpetual construction projects at various stages throughout the neighborhood.

I regularly walk around my neighborhood 4-5 days per week to get my (mostly) daily 10,000 steps. I have set 3 and 4-mile routes that I know like the back of my hand, and so I pass the same houses along those routes all of the time. Some houses are just more noticeable than others for various reasons. My observation is that the houses generally fall into the following categories:

Bright

Faded

50/50

Derelict

Hoarder

Squatter

Cat Lady

Bright

These are the homes that are well maintained and visually appealing. They are in tip-top shape and don’t need any improvements. The roofs are in excellent condition. The paint looks fresh. The front landscaping is well manicured. There is a late model car or two in the driveway. They often have seasonal greeting flags and some big box DIY store yard decorations that came all the way from China. There is pride of ownership at work here and it shows. You would not be afraid to ask this neighbor for a cup of sugar and they would probably ask you what kind of sugar you needed; white, brown, coconut, jaggery, or piloncillo.

Faded

These are the homes that need some love. The roofs are showing signs that they are approaching their 25-year lifespan. The paint is peeling and chipping all around the exterior of the house especially on the areas with southern exposure. There is a lack of landscaping. Untrimmed trees, bushy shrubs, and overgrown hedges take up the sidewalk. Tall weeds, and mostly dead grass occupy much of the front yard because the sprinklers don’t work anymore. There are older cars in the driveway. These are either rental homes that the landlord doesn’t care to maintain, or the homeowners gambled their retirement money away playing the lotto or playing the slots at the local tribal casino or in Las Vegas. You normally would not ask this neighbor for a cup of sugar, but you would do so in a pinch.

50/50

These homes fall in between the bright and the faded. It wouldn’t take much to get them into the bright category, but if they continue to let it go it will definitely fall into the faded category. A little paint here, some trimming there, a working sprinkler system and some fertilizer would work wonders while increasing the curb appeal – and the value – of the home. This is really DIY stuff here, so they don’t necessarily need to hire an expensive contractor to do the work. There is always the option of picking up some questionable day laborers at the local DIY big box store too. Questionable, meaning that if you go up to a group of these men and ask for someone who knows plumbing, they will all raise their hands. Same goes for electrical, carpentry, drywall, and even dentist – these guys miraculously seem to know everything. This is what they do.

It is difficult to tell whether these homes are slowly ascending to bright status or slowly descending into faded status. Only time will tell.

Derelict

You know these homes. They look like something from a slasher movie. They also look like they need to be condemned. There might even be a dead body somewhere on the premises. There are old cars or boats or trailers or RV’s (or a combination thereof) at various levels of decay that haven’t run or moved in years that are parked in the driveway, or on the front yard, and in front of the house. There might be one beater car that actually runs. You almost never see any of the occupants. The heavily weathered formerly white picket fence is falling over onto the sidewalk. Trick-or-Treaters don’t even dare to ring the doorbell or knock on the door for some free candy. You would definitely never ask this neighbor for a cup of sugar because you might get a cup of rat poison instead. Or maybe some crystal meth.

Hoarder

 A hoarder house looks a lot like a derelict house but with additional, apparently important “stuff” that takes up most of the outside space of the property. It’s difficult to differentiate between hoarder and collector, but you’ll see places like these on American Pickers on a regular basis. The stuff is generally anything; old signage, broken coolers, wheelbarrows, car parts, strollers, rusty bicycles, long dead appliances, stockpiles of bricks and plumbing parts and scrap lumber that might come in handy one day. The cars on the front yard look like they’ve been abandoned. God only knows what the inside of the house looks like, but if the yard is any indication, there is probably barely enough room to walk in. But if you needed, say, an intake valve for a 1932 Ford V-8 flathead engine, they probably have it AND know exactly where it is in their, um, vast filing system kept between their ears. I would on no occasion ask them for a cup of sugar in fear of finding it infested with dead insects.

Squatter

You’ve seen these houses scattered around the city. They are a mash up of the derelict and hoarder house but with a dozen or more people living in them. The residents are mostly drug using and/or drug dealing bachelors. People come and go all hours of the day and night. Their collective of barely running (likely stolen) cars are parked in the driveway and on the front lawn and spill out onto the surrounding street along with their trash that they never bother to pick up. These men simply find a vacant house, break into it, and move in. If there’s no electricity, they will tap an extension cord onto the unfused live overhead utility wires and bring it into the house through a window. Talk about the real danger of a fire…or possible electrocution! But hey; it’s free rent and they need a place to charge their electronics.

My understanding is that it is a hellish process to get squatters evicted and it can take a year or more and cost tens of thousands of dollars. There’s actually one of these houses a few blocks down the street from our house. One day I counted 13-cars on the property, all of which were at various levels of drivability – or not. A cup of sugar from that house would probably include a free sample of whatever highly addictive drug they’re selling so you’ll come back for more later on. No thanks. I’ll just go to 7-11 on the corner instead and pay the exorbitant amount of $10 for a pound of sugar.

Cat Lady

We have one in the neighborhood. She lives a couple of cul-de-sacs over. The godawful smell from that house is overwhelming and it assaults you 3-doors down as you walk by. There used to be this wooden multi-level cat condo structure in the driveway that housed dozens of feral cats. The city finally made her take it down after the neighbors complained about it for months. We still see the feral cats all over the neighborhood. The front yard and the curb in front of this house are everchanging. There’s an ongoing furniture thing that’s happening on the unkempt front yard. One day, you’ll walk by and see a coffee table. On another day, it’s a dresser. Sometimes it’s an old, clawed up couch or loveseat. Sometimes it is several pieces of furniture at once, as if someone is moving in or out. But it is always changing. I have no idea where the furniture comes from or where it goes. Maybe she’s just airing them out to freshen them up. Maybe she’s a furniture afficionado who knows the value of secondhand furniture and makes a living buying and selling on the Internet.

At the curb, the trash bins are always full of smelly, empty cans of cat food and empty dry cat food bags and empty cat litter bags. They always wreak of dead fish and ammonia-tinged cat litter. There are also various and sundry cat related items at the curb like partially deconstructed catnip filled toys, and heavily shredded scratching posts and perches.

Every now and then I’ll see her SUV parked in the driveway with the liftgate open. The cargo area is always full of bags of cat litter, dry cat food, and cases of canned cat food that she picked up from Costco. Seems to me that she likely let all of the feral cats move into the house when the city condemned the cat condo.

The upside of our neighborhood is that most of the neighbors take care of their houses and are friendly and reasonably quiet, and they dutifully pick up the dog poop that their favorite pooch deposits on the front lawn.

The feral cats, however, deposit their poop in my front planter on a regular basis leaving the telltale signs of little piles of dirt and mulch in the center of their scratch marks.

The cat lady owes me an apology and a regular weekly clean up.

© 2024 All Rights Reserved.

Personal Time Blocks

The demands of modern day life will consume all of your time if you allow it to do so. To counter this, it is important to carve out a block of personal time on a daily basis, even if only for 30-minutes. I block out 1-hour in the afternoon when I put my phone on do-not-disturb and use that time to read or write or even take a snooze with my cat if I want because it’s my time and I’ll do what I want with it.

Daily writing prompt
What daily habit do you do that improves your quality of life?

Owen DeVito Freeman 2005-2022: A Memoir

Story 1 of 52

By M. Snarky

Owen

In my prime, I was a savage, relentless hunter. Nothing was safe that entered my yard – nothing. Rats, mice, possums, squirrels, lizards, grasshoppers – I bagged them all. I also cornered a ferret once, but my parents locked me in the house and set the ferret free. I’m still mad about it.

I was so cocky that I used to howl back at the coyotes at night.

I LOVED food. ALL kinds of food. I could finish my breakfast kibble in under a minute. If anything – and I mean anything – hit the kitchen floor, it was MINE! The only things I didn’t like much were broccoli, cauliflower, and chilies. I would help mom clean out the cat box too. Cat poop is like a Tootsie Roll with crunchy bits! I also did enjoy a few licks of beer and whiskey from my dad here and there so that was a nice change of pace.

My nose was so good that I could sniff out a single molecule of food. Once, my mom had a small bag of chocolate chip cookies in her purse upstairs in the bedroom that she was saving for the kids. Well, I just couldn’t help myself, so I ran upstairs, pulled her purse off of the nightstand, and helped myself to every bit. I even ate most of the wrapper when my mom came into the bedroom and busted me. She was so mad she scolded me and put me outside!

Another time, someone left an unattended grocery bag with a bag of chocolate chips in it. Yeah, I know chocolate isn’t good for me but dang, it’s so tasty! Well, that was super easy for me to help myself to the chocolate chips, so I ate the entire 12-oz bag! When I got caught, my parents were afraid that I had poisoned myself, so my dad Googled something and began to administer small amounts of hydrogen peroxide to induce vomiting. It was nasty. I tried so hard to keep it down, but by the third dose I had ballooned up to the point that I had to toss my chocolate chips all over the pool deck. I tried to clean it up myself, you know, by eating it again, but I was put back in the house and sadly watched my dad through the French door window scrape it up and hose it off.

Once, I also got hold of grandma’s favorite candy; chocolate covered cherries! My human left them in a bag in the office for a Christmas gift – lucky me! I ate through the cellophane shrink wrap. I ate through the cardboard box. I even ate the little paper cups that the candy sits in. My parents got so mad at me they put me outside for hours even despite my howls of discontent.

One day, my dad was cooking some pork strips on the barbecue grill. He was flipping them around while drinking a beer and one of them fell on the ground right in front of me! So, I tried to gobble it down quickly, but it was so damn hot it burned my mouth, so I spat it out and then tried eating it again and again until it was cool enough to swallow. I must have been making some funny grunting noises because my dad was looking at me and laughing pretty hard. I never had hot food before, and it was delicious!

I was also guilty of nosing through the trash whenever the opportunity presented itself. There was always something delicious in the trash and I never understood why my family didn’t eat it. It was a worthwhile endeavor and getting yelled at and put outside for a time out wasn’t so bad.

My parents had an RV, and we went to the beach and the mountains often. I liked to ride under the front seats. I didn’t like my first trip to the snow in Mammoth much. I mean, I’m only eight-inches tall, and that snow was so deep that I couldn’t see anything but snow, so I wouldn’t go to the bathroom, I just stood there in the snow freezing with my tail between my legs and shivering in my cute little snow jacket and harness. My mom said, “Owen, knock it off. There’s barely a foot of snow here!” By the second night I couldn’t hold it anymore and stood at the door of the RV crying…at around three o’clock in the morning! My mom put on her parka and snow boots, put the cute little snow jacket and harness back on me, and opened the RV door. With purpose I dove out into the cold snow and hopped over a few times until I found the perfect spot to relieve myself. It wasn’t so bad after that.

On an RV trip to Shaver Lake, my dad was driving the RV solo with only me and Charity, my yellow lab BFF from Guide Dogs of America. The rest of the family was driving up to the lake later on. We were somewhere along Highway 168 when one of the rear tires on the RV blew out and made such a loud noise that I leapt out from under the passenger seat and into my dad’s lap in one motion! Charity was there too! There we were, pulling over to the shoulder of Highway 168, my dad with us two dogs in his lap, him trying to keep his cool under pressure. When we finally got to the shoulder and parked the RV, my dad got out to assess the situation which was apparently pretty bad based on the loud new words I hadn’t heard before. He made a few phone calls, and then we waited for hours for the tow truck to arrive.

Well, I’m a small dog with a small bladder, although you wouldn’t know it if you took me for a walk because I have this crazy ability to pee on everything along the way, so I signaled to my dad that I had to go potty by walking over to the RV door and waiting there. So, my dad noticed me and started looking for my leash and couldn’t find it. He looked everywhere, and judging by more loud new words, he wasn’t happy about it. Good thing my dad has mad MacGyver type skills and improvised braided leashes for me and Charity with some cooking string. Later that night, my mom laughed about them and went over to the closet where our real leashes were hanging.

We lived in this nice house in Porter Ranch with a sloped, fenced yard. Well, the fence was good enough to keep Charity in the yard, but I was able to squeeze through the bars of the fence with no problem and go roaming in my neighbors’ backyards. I would come home with half-eaten lemons, and green, unripe stone fruits like apricots and peaches that the squirrels would drop on the ground. They were yummy! Sometimes the neighbors would find me in their yard and shoo me away. Sometimes they caught me and took me back home.

My wandering got pretty bad, so my dad put up some chicken wire to keep me from getting through the fences. This put an end to my wanderings. I was sad.

We had the same kind of fencing at a house in Simi Valley, so my dad put up some chicken wire there too, but my mom made the mistake of putting the cat food just outside the fence on the front patio. I wanted to eat that cat food so bad. After a few days, I just couldn’t take it any longer, so I chewed through the chicken wire and squeezed through the fence bars and ate all of the cat food. Every last morsel went down the hatch. The problem was that I had already put on a few inches since Porter Ranch and could barely get through the fence in Simi Valley, but by the time I gulped down that cat food, I couldn’t squeeze back through the fence into the yard. You should have seen the look on my parents faces when they opened the front door and found me standing there. It was priceless.

When Charity got sick and crossed over the rainbow bridge, I was sad that my BFF was gone and I went into a funk and started living like a fat, lazy housecat. I ate. I slept. I pooped. Repeat day-in and day-out.

The Family

We first met Owen at Petland inside the Northridge Fashion Center mall in December 2005. Petland was one of those old school pet stores where you could find rabbits, hamsters, gerbils, kittens, puppies, and live tropical fish to bring home. Pet stores in malls have fallen out of favor since then.

Owen was one of several mini-Dachshunds available and most likely came from some godawful puppy mill somewhere in flyover country, but damn, he was so cute we didn’t care where he came from! He was only 8-weeks old at the time, so he was born sometime in early October 2005. He was so small that he could fit in the palms of our hands. It was love at first sight.

We already had another dog named Charity, a sweet, beautiful yellow Labrador Retriever who we raised for Guide Dogs of America and adopted after she couldn’t advance in the training program. The folks at GDA call this “a career change.” We called it lucky because she was a great family pet. We wanted to find Charity a companion but wanted a smaller dog and Owen was a perfect fit.

He was named Owen DeVito by our son Travis after Danny DeVito’s character Owen in Throw Momma from the Train.

Owen loved to cuddle underneath the covers. He was also a great watchdog and hunter…and a mostly indiscriminate eater. Inside the house, he was always sniffing around for a morsel of anything. The kitchen floor was kept very clean due to his efforts. Anything that he caught in the yard was consumed. One morning after being let out to go potty, he came back to the door to be let in…with the back end of a half-eaten rat hanging out of his mouth. Hearing screaming at 06:30 is not the best way to start a day. He was a great family pet and always made the kids feel better with his cuddles if they were feeling under the weather. He was also a great traveling companion and loved going on road trips in the RV.

Owen and Charity loved chasing each other around the yard and Owen was almost always the instigator. Being as little as he was, Owen could easily take cover under the patio furniture which blocked Charity from getting to him. He was so clever and quick, that he could lunge out from under the patio furniture and nip at Charity’s back leg and be back under the protection of the patio furniture in a flash. In the open, however, Charity had the advantage and could easily outrun Owen, trip him, and have him on his back with her mouth around his neck and him trying to squirm out of it. It was always in play, and they never hurt each other. It was fun to watch them interact.

Unfortunately, in 2016 Charity got really sick and had to be put down. Everyone was heartbroken, especially Owen. He went into a deep funk and started living mostly like our housecat Bagheera; eating, sleeping, pooping, repeat, ad infinitum. It was sad to see him so upset.

In 2018, we got a new Aussie-Doodle dog and named her Sydney. Although she came from a questionable online source that required a cash payment and a rendezvous in a public park in another county, she’s been a great pet – and breathed new life into Owen that took him out of his cat-like funk and back into his normal self. It was awesome to see him snap back like that. They bonded quickly and Owen was back to his usual outdoor playtime antics.

Sadly, in 2022 Owen got really sick and passed away in his sleep at home and walked over the rainbow bridge at the ripe old age of 17 human years (119 dog years). He left an indelible mark on the family and his canine cohorts. We miss our beloved Owen. His loss had clearly left a hole in Sydney’s life too, but it has recently been filled with a rambunctious orange tabby rescue cat from Palm Springs named Cheeto, but that is a whole other story for another time.

Owen was a little dog with a bit impact.

©2024 All rights reserved.

Being Alive

Never take a day for granted; it could be your last one. Regardless of the demands the day ahead may have for you, the fact that you woke up and are breathing and living is pretty damn great. Make the best of whatever situation you are in. Strive to improve yourself on a daily basis. My mantra is CHHUPPERR: Confident, Happy, Humorous, Upbeat, Positive, Persistent, Enthusiastic, Resourceful, Resilient.

Also remember to be kind to people you interact with with the exception of the crappy drivers in your city or town that are always speeding, running stop signs, and cutting people off. They deserve all of the expletives.

Daily writing prompt
What motivates you?

Channeling Ray Bradbury: 52 Stories in 52 Weeks

I’m not a man that shies away from a challenge. I’m an Ironman finisher. I wrote a 300-page Kindle e-book titled How to Build a Wood-Fired Pizza Oven: Using Dry-Stack Masonry Methods ASIN: B0BXFQYVCD. I’m married with children.

I have some stories to tell. Lots of them, actually. Maybe too many but once you get to be a man of a certain age the stories accumulate. To tell these stories, they must be written sooner or later but I do not yet consider myself an excellent writer. To get to that level of writing I’ll need to apply the 10,000-hour rule as articulated by Malcolm Gladwell in his bestselling book Outliers: The Story of Success.

I just recently re-read Fahrenheit 451 (60th anniversary edition), by Ray Bradbury and thoroughly enjoyed it – many passages are still chillingly relevant. Ray Bradbury was a fellow Angelino and reading about him renting the typewriters in the UCLA library for 10-cents for 30-minutes at-a-time to write the novel was inspiring in his resolve plus I’ve been at that very library! Digging deeper into Bradbury’s life, I visited his website at https://raybradbury.com and discovered his thoughts on writing here, and this struck me:

From this comes the self-imposed 52 Stories in 52 Weeks challenge.

I will try my best.

If you like, you can also follow me on my writing journey on Instagram @m.snarky.