Gregor Samsa? Is that you in my kitchen light?
While we are not exactly clinical about our neatness, we're not that bad. In fact, since my mother sort of leans in that direction, I tend to be hyper vigilant about letting things pile up. I've had to let go of some of that now that we have Silas-- there are, in fact, piles all over the house-- but I'm constantly working to put them away. It's just that new piles get created every day, so I'm never going to reach a state of stasis.
Anyway. It occurs to me, bringing up Hoarders, that I've never told you guys about our neighbors. A word about the neighborhood: we wanted a house that would be completely within our means on one income, which somewhat limited our options when it came to neighborhoods in our area. Basically, we had two options-- living about 40 minutes away in the county (in a place I'll call MidNowhere), or living here (which I'll call Lakeview).
We had to prioritize what was important to us, and we decided that proximity to the city proper/ Mr. Milkweed's job /things to do was much more important to us than square footage or a newer house or living in a popular area. We went with "good" schools, rather than "fabulous" schools. We have a smaller, older house. And we're in a neighborhood of mostly elderly people and blue-collar families, which makes for a lot of lawn ducks and a lot of Confederate flags.
Now, let it be stated: living with rednecks does not bother me. In fact, considering where I grew up, I find them extremely familiar and oddly comforting. The little stickers of Calvin peeing on things, the Oakley sunglasses, the Dale Earhhardt window clings and the Nascar beer cozies-- all of these provoke in me a kind of warm feeling, like "Oh...there that is again!" For the most part, the people in my neighborhood do not vote the way I vote, do not eat the things I eat (although even I'm not eating those things right now), do not do the things I like to do, and we smile and wave and get along like gangbusters.
There are strata, however, even within the redneck community, and we seem to have landed smack in the middle of two families that list a little heavily towards the technical definition of...um...well, this. I know, I know-- it's distasteful and insulting. Bear with me, though, as I flesh things out a little bit.
Family One lives to the right of us. Family One consists of L and D and their two daughters, one who is about nine and one who is in her twenties and has a two-year-old son of her own. Their front yard sports such things as abandoned appliances, old car seats, faded plastic toys, a broken generator-type thing, and what looks like a clothing rack from a department store. Their back yard contains several broken down vehicles, a full dining room suite, and an unappetizing slurry of stuffed animals slowly rejoining the earth.
Since we have moved in:
--the police have come at least six times
--the older daughter was assaulted by her boyfriend
--L kicked D out for infidelity (he's since come back)
--there has been at least one cat fight between the older daughter and another girl
--CPS has been called because the two-year-old often runs alone in the street
Family Two, on the surface, seems much more tranquil. It consists of an 80 year old man, his middle-aged daughter, two roosters, a few chickens, and a passel of pigeons. The front yard is spotless, and the back yard is an avian paradise-- the cages and coops are clean, in good repair, and never smell. However, the daughter is clearly battling some substance abuse or mental illness, as about once a week she gets in screaming fights with her father, her boyfriend, or various visiting family members. The violence and volume that she puts into these arguments are so intense that they're frightening. I can hear them in our house with all the doors and windows closed. I have to put music on so the kids can't hear them. And two days ago, in the midst of her screaming and throwing things, she began to sob so heart-wrenchingly that I found myself saying a prayer for her right on the spot, and I'm not exactly that kind of person. She was later taken away in an ambulance.
So, there you have it. Jerry Springer on one side, and something dark and awful on the other, and us in between-- loving our house, REALLY loving the tall privacy fence in our backyard, and hoping the negativity continues to bounce over the roof.
I have to say that I'm much more bothered by Family Two. The domestic violence and CPS issues with Family One are certainly serious, but something about those fights just makes my hair stand on end. Still...if either family decided to move, I have to say that I wouldn't be too terribly upset about it.
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