Wednesday, June 11, 2014

The Neighbor and World War Four

What a lovely day.  Not a sun in the sky, not a chance of sun for days and there's this old dude in the parking lot, loading animals into a big boat.  Don't ask me - I just report stuff.

I got a call at work a few days back from the wife.  This in itself is not odd; my wife only calls when it's important (or when it's twenty minutes past the last time she called).  It turns out this was nearly significant, though.  We got another visit from those nice folks from the township.

For those not following along, the last visit from the township was due to an anonymous complaint about our front yard being a mess.

Now when they say anonymous, they mean The Crazy Lady next door.  Crazy Lady is four-hundred thirty seven years old and steadfastly refuses to die.  Whether it's cancer or repeated replacement body parts, she simply stares it down and will not succumb.  One time she fell off her broom and broke her hip.  It was replaced within three days and she was worse than new.

The Crazy Lady seems to have two hobbies: gardening and calling the township on us.  It must be nice to have that kind of focus.  One time she claimed our bees bit her.

What makes things doubly confusing is that Crazy Lady has two personalities - Ok and Completely F*ing Nuts.  She'll leave fresh tomatoes from her garden on our steps, then call the township because we haven't raked the leaves to her specifications.

So Visit Number One from the township involved the messy front yard.  The nice fellow from the township seemed somewhat confused, as there was no mess in the front yard.  I explained The Crazy Lady to him and he got the picture straight away.  He shared an anectote of his own with me: somebody (guess who?) called the township because another neighbor had too many birdhouses on their property.  I suspect she has a red phone in her cave that dials the township and nowhere else.

Which brings us to Visit Number Two from our friends at the township.  This complaint was from yet another anonymous complainant (guess who?) about standing water in our yard.

Now I don't want y'all to think I just randomly blame people for stuff without any proof or that I think I'm psychic. The small bit of evidence that holds this theory together had something to do with a voicemail my wife received from The Crazy Lady, complaining about standing water.

Donning my Sherlock Holmes hat, Mrs. Watson and I connected the dots.

The fellow from the township and my wife were both a little confused, until she escorted him to the back yard to find the culprit: the standing water was the dog's little plastic pool, which gets refilled every other day so it doesn't turn green.

Everyone (except The Crazy Lady) was in agreement that there was no standing water on the premesis. When we mentioned that we knew who made the complaint, he said the call was anonymous and he couldn't tell us. Uh-huh.

Our grass, however, turned out to be a problem.  Why?  Because it was a little tall.  Not a foot tall, mind you, but tall.

How tall?  Nobody knows.  But the nice man from the township assured her that they had standards, even though he didn't bother to tell her what they were.  I suggested we paint a ruler on the inside of the fence, so we would always know how tall the grass was.  If the township said the grass can't be any taller than six inches, I'd adjust the mower to cut it down to five inches, then wait til it hit six inches again to cut it.  We could have them come out to measure it on a bi-weekly basis.

You may have detected that I have a problem with the township and you'd be right if you said that.  First of all, the weather here has basically two states: rainy and sunny.  It's rainy at least five days per week (in fact, we may be the new rainforest) and sunny rarely.  How anyone can mow with this disgusting display of wet weather is beyond me.  And did I mention that mowing ranks slightly above dental work on my preferred list of things to do?

The guy from the township claimed to understand all about priorities (my working three jobs and my wife physically unable to push the mower).  I get the impression he didn't understand priorities at all, as he said he'd be back to check.

I wonder if he'll bring a ruler or if his retina is calibrated in inches.


  1. Might I suggest the Clint Eastwood approach when next he returns?

  2. Great idea, except my township, like others, have gotten those military vehicles.