Directly across the street from us, in a painted, white house with two turqoise chairs on the front stoop, lived a man named Sydney. Sydney was born in 1904 in Sioux City, SD, and was a deliveryman for most of his life there.

Sydney moved into this house at 5709 Craner in 1950, the same year it was built, and he raised a small family in the San Fernado Valley in this neighborhood. Needless to say, Sydney outlived just about everyone he knew, and when the time came, his daughter, Iona, moved in with him as his caretaker. Whenever Dara and I would visit them, the old-timer would instantly recognize our voices outside the door, pull open the screen, and invite us in.

He kept up on news and loved to hear what people on the block were up to. He despised the present administration, one can only assume because he knew that history repeated itself first-hand. Sydney, up until about 6 months ago, could be seen on Tuesday mornings wheeling the trash cans up his drive back from the street.

Yesterday morning, 3 days before his 102nd birthday, Sydney didn't wake up. And at the moment, I'm looking at those empty trash cans, sitting curbside. I hope they stay out there awhile, at least until late today, so I can sit and sip a toast to Syd.

RIP, ol' man.