by Jude Coyle

Created on: August 08, 2010

There's an old saying about how you can pick your seat, your nose, your friends, but not your relatives. Neighbors kind of fall into the same territory. You can move into a neighborhood you know, with people you know, and at the time you can pretty much guarantee you won't have problems, but sooner or later, someone questionable will move in. That's when one runs into trouble.

I should say that initially our neighbors were wonderful, and we truly enjoyed spending time with Otto and his wife, Gerta. They were a gentle, older couple who enjoyed their garden second only to holding garden parties during harvest. We spent at least two or three Sunday afternoons at their home enjoying the fruits of their labors. They grew the most scrumptious tomatoes. They were huge, beefsteak tomatoes that shimmered when you sliced them. We carried home tons after every party. "I love tomatoes," my husband assured me every time I served them.

Of course eating so many caused canker sores in and around the mouth. Gerta had a remedy for that, but then again, she had a remedy for everything. She harvested the herbs from her garden and combined them in petroleum jelly. One only needed to complain about any ailment, and she was right there, with a salve or poultice in hand, or a recommendation of an over the counter medication.

I remember telling her of how one of the children complained of a stomach ache and how I had an appointment with my pediatrician. She listened to the list of symptoms and recommended a handy, dandy juice she made that would knock the flu right in the keister. I can still hear her thick, German accent in my head as she said it. Rather than hurt her feelings, I put it in the fridge right next to the apple juice and the baby formula.

Then I took my three year old to see his doctor. Doctor G. drew blood as he thought that this might be some kind of infection. He'd have the results in a couple of days. In the mean time, he told me, feed the patient soup, juice and anything easy on the stomach. I agreed and took my son home. Well, I won't go any further, because you know I mistook Gerta's concoction for juice. He not only liked the taste, but he improved instantly. Better yet, it improved my second son's colic. 

Sadly Otto and Gerta were involved in one hell of a car wreck and both passed. Their nephew, Heinrick, whom we had met at the garden parties, inherited their home. He seemed nice enough, although a bit standoffish.

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