It’s a Mysterious Day in the Neighborhood
First, to anyone whose life was devastated by the lack of posts here last week, I sincerely apologize. My week was crazy busy and the blog had to be dropped from the to-do list (along with good hygiene and regular meals) for a few days. All that’s behind me, so we now return you to your regularly scheduled program.
Second, I’m over at MovieSmackdown! again, this time with a battle between The Smurfs and The Muppet Movie. Weird? Sure. But the point of the site is to pit two movies against each other to see which one comes out the champion. It’s not as easy as it looks. I embraced the challenge.
Third, why the hell were there two kids on the roof of the partially constructed house across the street? I could hear work being done inside. Were the construction guys oblivious? Uncaring? Was it “bring your kids to work” day and the roof seemed the safest place to stash them? As an adult and a mom, I felt like I was supposed to do something. I don’t know what. Call somebody and report it? Go stand in the street and yell up at them? That could startle them, I suppose, and send them skidding down the tiles into the partially landscaped yard. The construction would halt for the ambulance, cars would be in my way if I needed to leave, roof tiles would have to be replaced, making the inconvenient construction continue even longer than it already has. Fortunately, I thought this through and didn’t say anything. To my knowledge, the kids didn’t fall off, so I guess I made the right decision.
Fourth, my neighbors on the other side of my townhouse moved out. I hope the next tenants don’t have a little yippy dog. Long-haired Chihuahuas shouldn’t be allowed to roam the neighborhood, and they sure as hell shouldn’t be left out all night to bark four feet from my front door. I never did figure out the story over there. Seemed like a lot of adults coming and going, as if there were two couples. Maybe not, though. I used to make up stories to fill in the blanks.
It would have taken one cup of coffee with her to find out who lived there and who didn’t. There were two little girls, too, I think. I didn’t see them often. And a military guy who wasn’t around much, and another woman who had a key and was possibly the military guy’s wife. And I think an ex-husband/daddy who occasionally showed up with presents. Around Easter, I caught him knocking on their door (which is why I know he didn’t live there) with multiple Easter baskets, a crap ton of candy, a rolling desk chair with a ribbon on it, and of all things, a puppy. I watched through the garage window as he made trips back and forth, and I heard the girls squee when presented with the puppy. He was there ten minutes and left.
I never saw the puppy again.
So why didn’t I just ask her? I could have made friends with her. I guarantee she’d have given me her life story within five minutes without my even asking for it. It happens every time I go out — hell, it happens to me when somebody brings me a pizza. It would have taken no effort.
Truthfully, I am a hermit. I like not really knowing my neighbors. I’ve always moved around a lot, and also, my house is usually messy. I don’t like people feeling like they can just drop in. Also, her story is probably boring as hell. I much prefer the mystery of not knowing.
And most of all, I like to make things up. It’s what I do.
Please don’t disappoint me with the truth.
Feel free to make up stories about my neighbor. We do it all the time. 🙂 In addition to my previously mentioned hankering for the alligator and trampoline, I now find myself wishing for a monkey with a really good pitching arm. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the weird neighbor, but then I listen to her yammer at the concrete and think, “Nope, I’m still good.”
My hope is to one day have kids in my neighborhood refer to me with the same awe that Scout used when talking about Boo Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird.