Crazy Crap Item #61: The part where I see the first robin of spring, Norwood Street style

Norwood Street is a nice place to live. We have traditions. Block parties. Neighborhood get-togethers. An honest-to-goodness Easter Egg hunt. Seriously.

But to my mind, no neighborhood tradition is as treasured as the yearly appearance of that harbinger of spring, Delores McDermott.

Delores lives across the street from us. She's 80-something, and has lived here for something like 125 years. Of her activities, I'm aware mainly of two: (1.) Delores sitting in her front window, watching the world go by; (2.) Delores sitting in her folding chair in her driveway, watching the world go by.

Eamon and I delight in Delores' neighborhood vigil, as we like to call it. She sits there, awash in a sense of serene benignity, making sure everything is alright on Norwood Street. As a result of her vigilence, we're kept abreast of all the important doings of our bustling street. For example, it was Delores who solved the mystery of the missing pumpkins.

Rumor has it, in years gone by, her folding chair vigil was shared with the former occupant of our home, Mrs. O'Malley, familiarly known as "Babe." In fine weather, she and Babe would meet for a vigil-a-deux; one day in Delores' driveway; the next on Babe's front lawn. Between them: a bucket of beers.

Those days are gone, but Delores keeps up her vigil solo. Which is why I was so pleased today to look out my office window and see Delores standing in her driveway, inspecting an army of nursery school students as the tottered up our cross street from the park to St. Gert's, our local Catholic church. Hands on hips, unsmilingly attentive. It's still too cold to set out the lawnchair, but I see this initial foray to the driveway as a harbinger of warmer days when Delores will sit in state once again.