The Lost Art of Window-Watching by Karen Williams - Oviedo Voice - Jan. 22, 2004
My mom loved to watch out the window.
When her daily housework was done and supper was
cooking, she would check out the neighborhood from each
of three windows in our living room. Then she would do the
same from the dining room. If something caught her eye,
such as a bicyclist going by, she would stand at right
angles to the window and gingerly lift the sheer curtain to
get a better view. Life was, uh, slower in those days.
My childhood friends found the scenario amusing.
“That cracks me up, the way your mom peeks out the
window,” one friend laughed.
It had never occurred to me that ALL moms weren’t window-watchers. Or that window-watching might not be an intrinsically valuable pastime.
Of course, my friends didn’t know about the really serious window-watching AND listening that occurred when the wealthy neighbors next door had guests. On summer evenings, when their company was leaving after a card party, Mom and I would race upstairs and crouch beneath the screened bedroom window. On a quiet night, we could hear every word--the talk of future soirees, golfing at the country club, and planned trips to exotic places we only dreamed of, such as Disneyland.
If I’d make a noise, Mom would hush me. If I put my face in the window, she would gesture frantically, warning, “Be careful--they’ll see you!” I was learning the fine art of window-watching.
Decades passed, windows came and went, and Mom, 93, died recently here at the home we shared. Up until almost the end, she was window-watching. She noticed every time the neighbor came out to smoke, and whether he inhaled. She observed every jogger, dog-walker, and stroller-pusher in the neighborhood and tsk-tsked if they forsook their daily rounds. She knew what time the mail was delivered and always yelled, “Mail’s here!” I dutifully retrieved said mail ASAP if I knew what was good for me.
With advancing age, Mom would often complain, “My eyes are so bad, I just can’t see a thing anymore.” Then in the next breath: “Oh, look at what they’re carrying in over at the Johnsons’! Looks like some kind of fancy lamp
with tassels.”
I’ve found neither the time nor inclination to window-watch in adulthood, and I would clench my teeth whenever Mom summoned me, with excitement, to view some mundane sight from her bedroom window.
But just lately, I somehow noticed the Smiths are letting their newspapers pile up, the McCillicuttys’ yard has gone to seed, and, oh my, the Oglethorpes are fighting again--she just stormed out of the house in a holy huff.
Copyright 2004, Karen Williams
