Now, if you keep on driving for a few more miles, you'll eventually come to a neighborhood where the houses are more box-like; the trees virtually non-existant; and the lawns less manicured (and perhaps filled with decor of questionable taste).* Instead of a cute little cafe, you get a Starbucks. Instead of a boutique store, you get Target.
Welcome to my neighborhood.
*The house just up the street from ours has a white gravel lawn filled, I kid you not, with fake flowers.
Don't get me wrong. I feel darned lucky, especially in this crummy economy, to have a roof over my head. And even though it's not the most chic neighborhood in the area, ours is clean, safe, and it'll do just fine. But....
....well, I'd sure as hell love to have just one laid-back, non-conservative Christian, 30-something couple with young kids on our street. Because at the moment, we are an island of relative youth in a sea of retirees. And while there are many good things to be said about having older folks as neighbors....
1) They're home all day long and therefore, help keep an eye on the overall well-being of the 'hood
2) They remember what it means to be neighborly and are happy to feed the dogs, water the lawn, take out the trash, and check your mail when you are traveling
3) They don't stay up late and blast loud music into the wee hours prompting a 2:00am call to the police
....I would kill for some potential pals for M and Z to show up on the scene.
So you can imagine the feelings of nervousness and excitement I felt on Saturday morning when I glanced out our kitchen window to see this on the front lawn of the house across the street:
Actually, it wasn't a completely surprise. In fact I'd have to have been deaf, dumb, and blind not to realize something was up.
Three or four weeks ago, I walked outside to see the neighbor had dumped the contents of her house into huge piles in the front yard. The following day a giant trash container arrived on the scene. And slowly but surely, over the next few weeks, the items on the lawn disappeared until there was nothing left.
As it turns out, one of the two women who lived there had died. She was elderly and clearly suffered from advanced dementia. At least once a week I would hear her calling for help from her wheelchair on the porch. After her death, her daughter--and primary caretaker--decided it was time to move on. So she enlisted the help of her kids and grandkids to tackle the monumental task of cleaning out and packing up the house. I say monumental because this gal has a bad case of OCD....to the extent that her entire backyard was filled to the brim with crap because there was no longer any room for it in the house.
So now they're gone, the sign is up, and the entire street is waiting breathlessly to see who bites. I confess to being a bit concerned about the state of the house. It's in desperate need of a paint job, the lawn is covered in brown spots, and the property is, overall, a bit run down and dreary. With the housing market being what it is, I suspect most young-ish families are snatching up homes in more upscale neighborhoods. Which makes me a tad worried about just who might end up living across the street from us:
Wish us luck...
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