Hey Angie,
It’s been a minute! I hope you’re all set up in the new state, town, and home. Your Christmas letter had photos of horses. How cool and who knew—apart from you obviously––that it was going to be your retirement thing. I’m officially off the clock since last May. I miss it not, but I do think I’ll need something more to do beyond Wordle and bingeing Bad Bunny on YouTube. I remember that you’re into country music and line dancing. How are we still friends?
The other thing I’ve taken up is going to the grocery store more often—sometimes three days a week but only weekdays. After a lifetime working, I’m still a slave to schedule. I go around 10 am and have noticed that it's prime time for senior citizens. We take up the aisles, reading labels and asking the people stacking the shelves questions about sale prices and stuff. We are the bane of the professional Instacart shoppers who just want to get on with it. BUT WE ARE NOT IN A HURRY, so no force on earth can make us move faster.
Enough about that. I need to gossip nay vent about my new neighbors—kind of related because I don’t think I’d have noticed the intrigue were I not retired and a bit bored. So, you remember my neighborhood? Streets upon streets of ramblers and mid-century split foyers. Tiny compared to the McMansions that have sprung up nearby over the past 35 years, but having a moment because they are more or less affordable and have good sized yards for kids and dogs.
Anyway, about a year ago, right after I retired if I remember correctly, I looked out my front window and saw a truck in my neighbor’s yard. Something was happening. I looked out the blinds (pretty good cover for the nosey patrol) and could tell that stuff was being moved out. I had noticed an uptick in the pile of weekly trash over the previous couple of months but had no idea they were planning to move.
So a bit of background about them. They started out oblivious to suburban protocols. One evening maybe 20 years ago, I came home kind of late after a concert. When I opened the door, my daughters gleefully greeted me because they couldn’t wait to tell me that when their dad—you remember FOY (Father of the Year)—dropped them off, the neighbors had parked their car in MY driveway. For once having been formerly married to a mad man was useful. I don’t know what he said, but the neighbors never did that again. In fact, they didn’t make eye contact with me for many years, which was a shame because they had two really lovely kids who were friendly and kind. The family were also very religious and held baptisms in their backyard for a while. It was weird.
Well as you might imagine as soon as I could, I had a pow wow with another long-term neighbor. We were crossing our fingers that the house would be sold and not rented. We’d had BIG trouble with another neighbor’s rental turned boarding house that hosted rent parties and included a tenant on the sex offender register. I was delighted when over the next couple of months workers were in the house doing house flip stuff. As soon as the for sale sign was up, I hit Zillow like it stole something (my Dad used to say stuff like that). Anyway, there were lots of pictures taken at wide angles of lightly furnished rooms. You know, typical Zillow. Since my house has the same footprint, I could tell where things were exaggerated in the photos, but it was still interesting to see that somehow our houses were very different. But who knows how it was when they actually lived there? In the ready-to-sell version, it was hardwood floors and pearl grey paint.
It sold over asking in one day! Huzzah for the neighbors! Or so we thought.
The first indication that we neighbors should have been more careful about what we wished for was the new repair trucks that came everyday including weekends for a full 3 months. It was summer so my view of the front door was mostly blocked by my tree, but I did see they got a very cool black glass refrigerator! Anyway, eventually there was an actual moving truck. Finally new neighbors. It appeared to be a couple, but for a long time I only saw the man. The second indication they might not be the dream neighbors is that they parked a large-vehicle tow truck in front of their house. Sometimes two of them. Ugh. There was a logo, so it didn’t take long to figure out that they ran a towing business from their home. Okay, not the industrial chic look I might have found interesting, but it could be worse. And then it was.
The construction picked up again when they had a mini house built in the yard, then a porch with concrete random steps up a very slight incline. So many big trucks every day taking over all available parking and some that strictly speaking were not. Things got tense. Then they added a motorcycle va-rooming for attention generally at night, the Tesla, the solar panels to charge said Tesla, a new sidewalk that ran down the side year and disconcertingly over the easement area. God forbid they disturb our underground power lines or cables. I kept my cool sort of. Until the man parked partially blocking my driveway.
Before then, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. But that crossed a line that meant words would need to be said. He was clearly affronted that I addressed him and had the nerve to imply that I was out of line asking him to move his car. Then he went on a rant about how all the construction he was doing was great. We’d not had a conversation before, so I understood then that he’d probably gotten some pushback from the mysterious neighbor (not me!) who always calls code enforcement. (Unrelated but also there was that time the trash men consolidated the six empty trash receptacles from two houses into his driveway thus blocking his Tesla. Coincidence?)
We’re in a bit of a detente at the moment. I no longer wave. So that’s the long and long of it. Well, almost. This morning I looked out the window.
Good Lord! He’s bought a boat! Mercy.
More to come on that I’m sure. Take care, let me know how you’re doing, and text some photos of the horses if you feel like it. Please tell me one of them is named Mr. Ed!
Peace out.
Dinah
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