Poppies and A Picnic With Monet

I could be wrong, but I think we have two mentally unstable weirdos living in our neighborhood.  And no, I'm not just saying this because they actually said hello to us yesterday as we were out on a walk.  Well, maybe I am -- that inner New Jersey side can be a hard thing to fight sometimes.  But to tell you the truth, most of the people in our neighborhood are not the 'saying hello' sort.  (Myself included, unless I am out running, then I somehow feel compelled to say hello to everyone.  But that's what runners/bikers/et al do.  You know, Share the Road and all that crap.)

Anyway, there is a house a few blocks over that I absolutely (and inexplicably) love.  It is a small brick house, and I suppose it wouldn't be a stretch to call it a dump, but that might be a bit harsh.  (No, it's not too harsh, but it is rather rude to say it out loud.) 

I believe that a very old person once lived there -- and then maybe died not so long ago -- because after years of  utter neglect, the place was completely spiffied up.  We walked by once and saw a man loading up a huge truck to take things (presumably) to the dump.  Then another day the 8-inch moss and grass growing on the roof were removed, and even the lawn was mowed.  Nearly everything else remained the same though, including the old van parked in the driveway.  It is an absurdly old, green Grandma's Cookies van, and I love it.  Michael always says he wants to take it and turn it into a chipper van like that movie. 

One of the reasons I have liked this house so much is because it reminds me of Harry Potter.  It is completely in the manner Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, or even one of  the Wizarding tents at the Quiddith World Cup Tournament.  You know what I mean, a tiny dump on the outside, but on the inside it has spiral staircases and all that.  Anyway, they have No Trespassing signs hanging up all over, so I've not actually gotten any good looks through the windows or anything.  But one of these days...

And so, back to our walk.  There we were, Emilia, Governor, and I, walking up the street toward this house when I spotted the poppies.  'Emilia!  Look!  Poppies!'  (That's exactly how it went -- I do love me some poppies.) And then we picked up our pace to have a better look.  This house, despite the neglect, has managed to grow some spectacularly beautiful flowers over the years -- and every year their poppies will nearly knock you over.  They are huge and bright, bright orange with big brown middles.  After a few moments standing and staring Emilia says, 'Just like Monet!'  And I nearly began to cry.  You know the painting, right?  It is simply called Poppies.

There is a series of board books out for children called Mini Masters by Julie Merberg and Suzanne Bober, and it is marvelous.  Someone should have come up with the idea ages ago, as I could have used them when I was a kid.  Each little volume tells a story while using the paintings of 'The Greats'.  We've got several of them and they are all very good; although the Picasso one is a little weird.  Emilia's favorites are easily: A Picnic With Monet, Quiet Time With Cassatt, Sharing With Renoir, and sometimes (mostly through my encouragement) A Magical Day With Matisse. 

The girl can recite every one of them and nearly knocked the socks off of Grandma Margaret several months ago by 'reading' them to her.  (Grandma Margaret claims she is a genius -- 'She's got a photographic memory!')  I will happily concur that our little tomato is a genius, although a photographic memory may be a bit of a stretch.  Those books have been read to her countless times.  But really, how many 2-year-olds do you know that think of Monet when they see poppies growing down the street?