The Mama had the best view of the outside world from her seat at the kitchen table.
She could watch the cars drive by, as well as people walk by, from the north or the south. She could see the butterflies kiss across the pink roses. She could gaze at the tiny brown birds take turns eating at the four-perched bird feeder. And, she could spy on the goings on of the neighbors.
"What is that man's name?" the Mama asked, waiting for lunch to be served.
"What man?" I asked, frantically getting lunch together, late as usual.
"The man in the grey house." (The house which is now blue.)
"He's cutting his lawn," she said.
"He's not wearing any shirt."
I never knew whether the Mama thought that was a good thing or not.