"Help! I've Fallen ..."

There was a little frisson of excitement in the Holler this morning when one fire engine, then another, wailed to a stop out front. They were here for the ancient next-door neighbor*; I never figured out why.

She was an original owner when Parkfairfax went condo, 30 years ago, and God only knows how long she lived here before that. She must love the place, because I can hardly imagine a less accessible home for a nonagenarian whose hips have gone bust at least once. It's a two-story unit reached by several flights of winding steps; the only bathroom is upstairs, and even the foyer has steps. We've lived here eight years, and I've seen her three times at most.

The drama happened fairly early; I was still lounging around in my bra and panties and thus decided not to venture outside to gawk. Instead I peered out the kitchen window like the busybody I am. I think the firefighters had to break in, which is why I never lock the door (criminals take note). They hauled up a curious wheeled chair (not a wheelchair) but didn't end up removing her from the premises.

These visits happen periodically; once or twice they've carted her off, but usually not. Personally, I think she does it for the attention -- and who could blame her? A couple of the firemen were droolicious. I briefly considered staging an episode of my own but decided to save it for another day. I want them when they're fresh.

* Interesting fact: Her late ex-husband was the U.S. poet laureate in 1946-47. Maybe that's when she moved here.