On The Street Where You Live

I love our home. It's 70 years old and has terrific charm and a worn-ness that appeals to my love of old things (funny how my love of old things intensifies the older I get). The hardwood floors kind of creak and groan in certain places; no one will ever sneak up (or down) our bedroom stairs because the aged treads faithfully sound the alarm upon the first footfall. Even Zooey is a bit freaked out about them. Instead of bounding up the stairs like most dogs she kind of walks up like a normal person, but it sounds like she's trying to be all quiet about it. To tell the truth, sometimes I can't tell if it's Tyler or Zooey. I can always tell it's Ron - most of the time he's yelling, "Ja-ne-et, where are you?" or singing in his big booming song voice.

Anyway, we love our house and our neighborhood. It's quiet, the trees are big and the fall leaves are beautiful (until they land in our grass and then we wish we lived in one of those new developments that have seedlings). Each house is unique, not like the cookie cutter sprawl to the south. Especially notable is The House Next Door. Totally could be on HGTV's "What's Up With That House." When we moved in, we had a nice big empty lot next to us. We toyed with the idea of buying it, which, in hindsight, would have been totally worth having to sell Tyler on the black market to pay for it. The first thing our new neighbors did was cut down every tree on the place. So, so sad. The day they cut down the big walnut, our house shook. The windows rattled and the floors shuddered. It was a sad day in the neighborhood. We met the sap-thirsty tree killers when the foundation was being laid and they quite proudly told us that their house was going to be made of concrete. All of it. Foundation, walls - everything. I'm thinking, "Is there a big, bad wolf around here that no one told us about? I'm writing a letter." I know it's Kansas with the whole "it's a twister" from Wizard of Oz, but a house of concrete? A house of wax would have been SO much cooler. As it began to go up, you could see little pockets of neighbors huddled together, pointing and shaking their heads. Several of our neighbors received a letter saying that they were going to be holding church services in the house and that they were Branch Davidians. Yep, the Waco bunch. The house certainly looked like a compound or Hitler's bunker. We later found out that the guy responsible for the inflamatory letter was really, really irked because his shed was on their property and he had to move it six feet. He also snuck over one night before they moved in and turned on their outside faucet. A mean trickster, he is. He's the resident "guy you want to stay away from."

So, we now have a big square gray box, aka Motel 6, next door (but they hardly ever keep the light on for you). Plenty of room for all you guys who want to come for an extended visit, although I'm pretty sure there's no cable tv in every room. It's really butt ugly. It's gray with gray trim. Kind of looks like a house drawn on and Etch-A-Sketch. But, lest you get the impression that this is a totally bland house, let me be quick to point out that they do have a vividly violet colored door. And then there's the BRIGHT lime green accent walls in the kitchen (which we can see only when their blinds are open, which is about .03% of the time). They also have a climbing wall in the kitchen and rings in the living room the that guy gymnasts use.

Our only consolation was the promise of a six foot privacy fence they planned to erect. But the money ran out so the eyesore is still oozing for everyone to see. About a week before they moved in, we quick-like-foxes put up an arbor on the patio and planted wisteria in a vain attempt to obscure the view. Wisteria is such a crazy agressive plant that we're hoping it reaches over to their house and completely overtakes it. Shouldn't take more than a couple of decades.

We've had our share of "interesting" neighbors. On our old block we had a guy next door that we're pretty sure tried to kill his (second) wife by leaving the fireplace gas jet on while she was sleeping on the sofa five inches from the gas source. He was conveniently not home at the time. (The cops made several housecalls at that home.) And the woman who did all the man chores and chewed tobacco. There was also a guy who marked the four corners of his property with little statues of angels. And the old man who looked like Santa Claus and was always sweeping and spraying the street in front of his house and had eight million (at least) really odd ornamental features in his yard. And then there was the nudist. Nicest guy in the world. (His wife, too, although she preferred her body to be clothed.) He had a nudist party at his house once. They put up brown paper over all the windows. I wonder if they put plastic over the chairs and sofas. (Did anyone ever have that plastic slipcover stuff on their sofas? It was in the 60's and it had bumps on it, I think to make it not stick to every millimeter of your skin.) Anyway, Ron only saw him naked once. If he'd only looked a little like, um, I don't know, Taye Diggs or one of those Calvin Klein models (not Kate Moss). But no, he looked more like Barney Fife. Or Hal Holbrook.

So, who lives on your street?