We need a neighborhood association

Technically, this pile of dirt isn't in our neighborhood. It's across the street from the entrance of our neighborhood. The people that live behind this dirt have been building up this pile for most of the summer, as they installed a swimming pool.

Maybe they thought the county highway department would sweep up the dirt. Or maybe they thought one of the neighbors would be anxious to scoop up the nutrient-deficient pile of dust.
Either way, it isn't working out and I don't think the new neon-orange paint is going to help move this pile off the road anytime soon.

Cutest Bike in the World

Neighbors Dick and Wendy stopped by for a visit while we were taking a break from the front yard landscaping project.

Wendy's new bike is so cute I had to take a photo. All she needs is a basket and a bell.

I'm Your Ice Cream Man

The ice cream man's first visit to our neighborhood woke us up this morning. It was quite early and he was playing Christmas music.

Later, during the ice cream man's second sweep of the neighborhood, we took a break from moving dirt to stop for a snack. I can't remember the last time I bought ice cream from a truck, but I don't think it cost $3 per treat.

Garage Sale Day

All year long I pile up unwanted odds and ends in a corner of our basement where they sit until the big neighborhood garage sale day.

I'm pretty ruthless when it comes to clearing out clutter and getting rid of it. And, when something has been downgraded to the unwanted pile, it's very unlikely that it will ever make it back into the house.

The only survivors from this year's sale were a VCR with about a dozen VHS tapes, a Hoover Spin Sweep and my first 35mm camera.

Everything else that didn't sell was either thrown in as a freebie to our last-minute shoppers or dropped off at Goodwill.

We made $1,600 from the sale and it went directly in our savings account. Dave Ramsey would be so proud.

There were two highlights of the garage sale.

The first was the little boy from across the street. He kept coming over to buy Bruce's computer games. He'd root through the box of games and carefully select one he wished to purchase. Then, he'd hand me the games and ask if any of them had blood. I wasn't sure why he was asking so I asked if he wanted games with blood or games without blood. He said that his mother wouldn't let him play with games that had blood.

I checked the back of the game boxes and approved the games that were rated "E" for everyone. The games were priced $2 each, but Bruce gave the boy a 50% discount.

The last time he came over, he selected two "E" games and said, "I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to have to pay you with pennies." Then, he reached into the side pocket of his cargo pants and started piling up pennies on my check-out counter. I scooped up the pennies and gave them all back with a smile.

Later a grandmother with her three little grandsons stopped by and I directed the boys to the 5-cent box and told them they could each select one item and it would be free.

One selected a Hawaiian lei, one selected a baseball cap and the smallest boy, who was maybe two years old, selected a little squishy ball (the kind you squeeze when you're stressed). He walked over to me and said, "Thank You."

I was impressed with the boys' parents for teaching them good manners at such a young age. Unlike the parents of the kids that demand candy on Halloween. Most can't even be bothered to say "Trick or Treat", let alone "Thank You."

Curb Your Dog

Several times each week a neighbor's dog comes over to our yard to do his business. If I'm outside when he visits, I chase him off, but I'm not always quick enough to get him moving before he's left his little gift.

During our garage sale last summer, the owner came into our driveway with the dog on a leash and I told her that her dog looked just like the dog that always takes a crap in our yard. I though that would be enough of a hint for her to keep him in her own yard, but it sure wasn't.

I've even taken photos of him making his deposits, but I never got around to printing them out and delivering them to the owner.

This evening when I tried to shoo the dog out of our yard, he ran into the back yard and left a huge pile. I went inside and grabbed a Ziplock bag and then went back and located the pile and packaged it up as a gift for the owner.

I walked it down the block and across the street and knocked on the side door. When the lady opened the door I asked her if this is where the little mop dog lives. I already knew it was the right house, but that was the best opening line I could think of. When she said yes it was, I handed her the fully-loaded Ziplock bag and said, "Here, this is yours."

I went on to tell her that I was tired of her dog pooping in our yard and was there anything she could do to prevent it from happening again. She apologized and asked which house I lived in. I pointed to my house and she said she'd do her best to keep her dog out of my yard.

Now, I'm wondering exactly how she's going to teach the dog to stay out of my yard... when she's still going to let him run the neighborhood in search of a toilet. Did she walk with him down the street and point out my house and tell him that it was off limits, but any other yard in the neighborhood was fair game?

I don't blame the dog for his actions... obviously it hasn't been properly trained to stay in his own yard. But, I'm seriously considering calling the dog pound the next time he's in my yard. If they succeed in capturing him, I will let the owner know so the dog isn't left in the pound. Maybe the cost of getting him out and paying a fine will be enough to motivate her to get an invisible fence.

Keeping up with the Neighbors

I've written before about the differences between living in the country and a subdivision. This is just one more example of the pressure to keep up with the neighbors in suburbia.

Living in the country, there's often so much snow in your driveway that you don't even try to get through it, much less blow it off. Especially if the 100 acres around your house are farm fields... the wind blows the snow to the first obstacle which is usually the farm house. Or, if there are just a few inches of snow, you don't worry about it. We both drive big Fords that can power through a few inches of the fluffy stuff.

The only time I had a real problem was when I got stuck on top of rail road ties (our driveway was lined with them) and none of my van's tires were touching the ground. I was pulling in, off the road, and there was quite a bit of snow in the driveway... at least enough to hide the rr ties. I miscalculated the location of the driveway and, at full-speed, drove right up onto the first tie and didn't stop until I was completely on top of it, van teetering to and fro. The AAA tow truck guy made it out the next day and, after about five minutes of laughing at me, drug my van back off and onto terra firma.

Here in the 'burbs, if you don't plow, you don't get invited to the summer cookouts. Some neighbors are so anal about it, they start blowing as soon as the snow starts coming down.

Our snow blower is a huge industrial model. Much too large for a girl to handle ;-) Bruce always gets the snow blowing duties.