Thursday, May 15, 2008

Wednesdays, we mow

I haven’t lived in a “neighborhood” for a very long time. For the past 27 years I’ve been zoned “agriculture.” So, while I’ve read about and have seen movies of neighborhood behavior, this is the first time in a long time I’ve had to deal with it myself.

For instance, I don’t know what brought it on, but yesterday everyone rushed out to mow their lawn. I didn’t notice that the lawns were becoming excessively shaggy.

Is it because Dirtman started to mow? Or because it was Wednesday? What happens if I let it go until Thursday? I mean sometimes the Heirs have something to do on Wednesday and it might be put off until Thursday or even Friday. What will become of us?

Oh, and did I mention the warm welcome we, as “renters,” received from the neighborhood? Like – none. I mean, other than from our landlords, who live next door. Even when Salt slipped under the fence and I chased him across the street where he went to greet the big black Lab whose name, as it turns out, is Pepper, and I apologized and introduced myself and the couple looked at me like, “Why on earth would we give a renter our real names?”

Though another couple across the street did offer us a place to park our cars while we had moving trucks and stuff in our driveway, so that was thoughtful.

I’m very conscious about keeping the dogs quiet, to the point of obsession. All it takes is one neighborhood dog to set mine off and there is a big difference between one dog barking and six dogs barking. Salt has, therefore, invented a form of communication that cannot, technically, be called barking. It’s sort of like he’s talking a strange language: rau, rau, raurauraurau…” Topper mutters expletives under his breath and, I swear, Abby rolls her eyes.

Then there are the Heirs’ rules of conduct: No loud music; no “peeling out” of the driveway; no driving up with the bass thumping; wave politely back to a neighbor if, in fact, anyone bothers to wave to A Renter; and no screaming profanities back and forth outside like we’re on Cops or something.

Oh – and no getting arrested in your underwear. I’m really strict about that.


Gwynne said...

"What happens if I let it go until Thursday?"

What happens is, the grass police show up at your door and threaten to call the city codes people...this happened to us when we moved from California (no grass) to Kansas City (lots of grass...and no lawnmower)...we were told that our grass could be no more than 6 inches tall. That is how we were welcomed into the "neighborhood," as Renters.

We fled to the country as soon as possible after that. Now we're free to peel out of the driveway and shout profanities at will. In our underwear.

Salt and Pepper...awwww. Were the neighbors appropriately impressed by this serendipitous union?

Sisiggy said...

The neighbors were more concerned with making sure I wasn't casing their property so I could send my gang of thieves to rip them off. I'm going to try to plant zinnias in the front to assure everyone I'm not running a crack house.

Gwynne said...

Heh. Sounds like the perfect cover. ;-)

But now look, you've given all the crack dealers who read your blog an idea. *tsk*