I once had a retired Italian barber as a neighbour. Tony was active, rode his bike, planted his garden, and kept his property immaculate… as retired Italian barbers often do.

Tony had a lot to say. If I touched the curb between our driveways, and it left even a faint tire mark (on my side)… Tony would offer some parking advice. The list of neighbourly happenings subject to Tony’s hawk-like attention was endless. But he wasn’t really a bad guy. He tried to say things in a nice way. He just had an unstoppable urge to control every aspect of his home life. I could sympathize, even though I tended toward the other extreme.

Feuding with neighbours was something I wanted to avoid, so I would usually nod my head and tell him I understood the problem. Tony’s wife Anna was an absolute charm… just a lovely lady… and she would tell us, when Tony wasn’t around, to ignore his constant complaints.

One day Tony caught me getting out of my car, and he shared his latest lament. My driveway sloped down from the house to the road. Apparently, when I pulled into my driveway later in the evening, after 11pm, my headlight would temporarily shine on one of his upstairs windows.

It turns out Tony was trying to sleep in that bedroom—and he didn’t appreciate headlights shining in his window for the 2 seconds it took me to park.

But Tony, to nobody’s surprise, had a ready solution. He told me if I came home late, I should just park on the road, and not in my driveway, and the problem would be solved. Now I was an old hand at fielding Tony’s complaints, but this one seemed extreme, so it gave me pause. But there was something about Tony that made it hard to get too mad. He had a real Don Quixote vibe… as he struggled dealing with people like me who frustrated his desire for 100% orderly perfection in his home life.

I suppressed a smile, and told him I would try not to disturb his sleep in the future. I went into the house, went about my business, and forgot about Tony. But 30 minutes later I heard a knock on the door, and when I answered, there stood Tony.

I wondered what the new complaint might be… but when I opened the door Tony was squirming big time… like a 10-year-old kid being forced to apologize. He was mumbling, and his accent was pretty thick to begin with, but I instantly figured out what was going on.

Tony had told Anna the headlight problem was solved, and I would henceforth park on the road when getting home late. Anna, like the peach she was, instantly demanded that Tony knock on our door, and let us know, in no uncertain terms, that we were free to drive up our driveway any time we felt like it… morning, noon, or night. And then Tony, with a mighty effort, apologized and said he **might** have been a little out of line.

I was giggling inside. I looked across the driveway and there was Anna, arms crossed, making sure Tony did exactly what she had directed him to do. We only lived a year longer in that house and, of course, Tony could not entirely curb his propensity for offering helpful little suggestions. But for some reason I just couldn’t take offence. It must have been a frustrating ordeal for a guy like Tony to be neighbours with a guy like me.

We didn’t move far, and would often see Anna around the neighbourhood. She was such a beautiful soul. Then we didn’t see her anymore, and discovered she passed away from cancer. I was devastated for Tony. Anna was the sun that Tony orbited, brightening up his days, and keeping him in the good graces of all. I think about Anna quite often, and marvel at what a warm, caring woman she was… and how lucky we were to have such a neighbour. And Tony, at the end of the day, was memorable too; I still smile all these years later at the thought of Tony mumbling his apology outside our door.