Basket Lane (Part 6)


It looks idyllic at 7 Basket Lane.  The birch tree limbs gracefully bend in the wind, the leaves rustling gently.  Fragrant roses climb the trellis by the front door seeming to welcome visitors in to experience the comforts of home.  The scent of  freshly  mown grass reminds one of the pleasures of suburbia.  Tiger lilies and purple irises rise out of the carefully thought out garden landscape.

But the people who live there are nuts.

Their children call this Basket Case Lane.  A very apt description of the residents.

There is Josie — the mom;  Frank — the dad and Barb and Sandy — the daughters.

Frank is a mild-mannered shoe salesman who takes pride in being a white-collar worker.  Josie is a stay-at-home with a bit of an edge.  If she finds out it is your dog that has been pooping in her carefully manicured yard you will find said poop in the front seat of your car.  Barb is  a very social teenager who tortures herself wearing  hair curlers.  Sandy is in grade school and has a best friend with the same first name and same birthday.  They hide messages and small toys or gifts for each other in the roots of a bush in the second Sandy’s yard.

I am Sandy. I like to talk about myself in both the first person and third person and sometimes using a plural pronoun.

The family goes to a Catholic Church every week, sometimes Sunday and sometimes Saturday night.  The girls go to religious instruction during the week.  Their parents have an unread Bible in the house, though they do enjoy reading about the lives of Saints. And they  watch  the movie, King of Kings, every Easter season.

As a matter of fact, every holiday is thoroughly celebrated – from Valentine’s Day to Halloween. Vinyl  window clings adorn the windows for each  and sometimes Josie even paints decorations upon the windows.  The decorating is not a family affair though (with the children helping) because everything must be perfect. The Christmas tree is decorated only by Josie who rants and raves and curses like a sailor  throughout the festooning of said tree.  Woe to anyone who moves too quickly by the Christmas tree and causes the tinsel to lie crooked; there will be a weeping and gnashing of teeth by mom and perhaps a quick, sharp kick to the offender’s behind.

So far, you think, only Mom’s sanity  is starting to look a bit questionable or she at least has anger and control issues. Ah,  but  we are just getting started.


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