ETA TBD

It's Wednesday morning where you are. It's Monday morning where I am. And it's Palm Springs, where I am standing firm against the searing 105 degree heat. 

Standing could be a misnomer, as I am often laying down in the chaise chair by the pool, attempting to stem the heat with cold libations in anticipation of my gardener showing up to discuss the leaky irrigation system which seems to have my neighbors in a bit of a tiff.

Oh my, a hazard. From a broken sprinkler head. And a precious waste of water. Mind you some of these neighbors sport sprawling lawns of grass that consume more water than a lying politician giving a deposition.

To be fair, it's more than one sprinkler head, it's the corroded irrigation lines that were jerry-rigged by my crazy uncle when he owned this place and fancied himself some kind of Bob the Builder.

But I digress. 

Let's talk about neighbors who are infinitely more charming. And less hyperbolic.

Several months ago, the house next door to me was sold. This was after the previous owners had been there for more than 30 years. All of them unpleasant. I don't need to go into detail about their bloodthirsty pit bulls. The monster trucks. And the commandeering of parking spots anywhere within a 50 foot radius of their house, which I had never been inside prior the young couple with kids moved in next door and invited me in for a tour.

What a breath of fresh air. 

But it gets better. 

When they moved in I left a basket with cheese bread and salt. My late wife Deb had schooled me on this Jewish welcoming tradition. And I finally had an opportunity to participate. So I did. A week later, while cleaning the never-ending accumulation of stuff on the driveway, I found a paper airplane.

I hadn't seen a paper airplane in ages. And have always been a fan of them ever since we used to launch them from our 22nd floor apartment in Flushing, Queens. I looked at the raggedly paper plane and noticed there was a hand-scrawled message...

"Thank you for the cheese bread. It was delishes (misspelling intentional.)"

It had been written by their 5 year son R. 

Wow, I thought, that is so cool. And so I did what any still-a-boy-at-heart grown ass old man would do and got out a sheet a paper and sent him a return plane...

"I hope you shared it with your sister."

Days later I got another plane. This one with kid stickers on it. So I returned the favor in kind with stickers I have had since my Chiat/Day days.

I shared the tale of the burgeoning Carlson Park Airport with my daughters, who suggested I save all the planes in hopes of having enough for a Children's Book.

I like that idea.

I look forward to driving home today (Wednesday) and finding a new plane from R. in my driveway.