Kabouterville

On Sunday, the neighbor’s garbage can was already on the street, over one day early.

One day early?

That usually means that the house’s inhabitants are not in town and needed to put out the garbage before departure.

It looks as if it was wishful thinking, because I just spied the ‘neighbor’ basking on his patio. Antithesis of a neighbor is what he is. His wife is so put upon that she is unable to do anything to support us for fear of reprisals.

It makes me wonder what was going on to provoke early garbage can placement. This is unusual because usually the can goes out with just enough time, the night before. The minute the garbage comes, it is rolled back, not having any time to stand empty.

We are talking quite the interesting inhabitants of Deerfield. The other day, the day of the sign posting telling us that we were breaking Deerfield’s code by having a supposedly barking dog, I saw that he was out in the street with his shop vac, cleaning the street where it abuts the curb.

We are talking a Parma, Ohio lawn from my youth where the grass is green, mowed to the perfect height, and not really begging being walked on. The new ‘decorated’ yard appearance makes me think of the chrome balls and pink flamingos of my youth in that Cleveland suburb.

Lately, the yard next door has become a ‘Kabouterville,’ if I can borrow that from our friend Rose; the gnomes abound and are all over the yard. The unpainted cherubs are in the back with a myriad of colorful and kitschy hangings on the fence. The painted wood sculptures are everywhere, even one in the front with an ironic ‘Welcome.’ This is not the way it has always been.

Screw Loose would perhaps explain it best. It makes me sad that we who are good neighbors have to be put out in such a way. I know that we are nothing but scapegoats for a set of lives that has been filled with personal tragedy. It is annoying, nonetheless, to think that people that we have truly been more than neighborly to over the years have to take their time to harass us.

We just have to wait for the police to be called…

About Richard Koerner

Sixty something, father, papi, educator, organizer, Francophile, traveler, amateur photographer, gardener, cyclist, kayaker, calligrapher, cinephile, reader, and overall renaissance type human being.
This entry was posted in Life in general, Neighbors, Neighbors from Hell, Thoughts and philosophy. Bookmark the permalink.

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