Save Room For Last Minute Miscellaneous

Getting rid of attic junk was much worse than I thought. Bruises on my forearms have healed, from sliding heavy boxes down the folding attic stairs. 

This picture was taken before. Found things not seen since we moved in fifteen years ago.  Some things given away, some recycled, sadly, some discarded.

Shedding excess electronics, gadgets, began shortly after the Holidays.  It will end this coming Tuesday, when the movers are here.  There will be two closings this week–one for the house we are leaving on Tuesday, one for the new house on Friday.

There will be no more postings from this location.  It was kind to me, in that, it was a non-stop source of material.  I’ve learned to appreciate the kindness of neighbors during these difficult times.  See everyone on the other side, from a new location in a different part of the country.  

After the Dust Settled

After some detective work in the neighborhood, I discovered how lowdown and dirty my neighbor’s little charade was.

She claimed, her plumber told her, the evidence was clear. I’d broken water pipes in her yard when I turned the front corner with my riding lawnmower.

When my scheming neighbor talks, in what is for her, normal conversation, you can’t get a word in edgewise. I tried to explain, “If you feel I’ve violated the law, why not call the police?”

Faster than a politician, she sidestepped the issue.  The plumber’s account of the incident was quite different.  She unwisely bragged about getting someone else–my wife and I–to pay for repairs and excessive water usage.

The plumber was livid.  He’d not implicated me in the slightest. Fat chance of him ever working for my scheming neighbor in the future.  The leak was due to previous shoddy workmanship by another plumber, when a sprinkler system was installed. He further stated, there was another neighbor, with the same problem, from the same inept plumber.

You can’t win an argument when someone is hellbent on deviancy.  I’m sure that if I’d called the Sheriff initially, Ms. X from next door, would have placed all blame on the second plumber.  “Well, I don’t know.  It’s not my fault.  That was what my plumber told me.”

I penned a letter to Ms. X, sent it through regular mail.  I expressed disappointment with her behavior–which had slanderous implications.

My wife read the letter and advised me to tone down the rhetoric in some areas.  “Lambast her, but  don’t besmirch her character,”  “What character?”  I answered.

The gist of the letter, we didn’t bother others in the neighborhood, and, in turn, didn’t expect to be bothered.  We paid our own way and expected others to do likewise.

There’d been other issues with Ms. X in the past.  None of them this blatant.  Of course she reiterated all past episodes, chapter and verse.  Even though those issues were thought to have been laid to rest.

Will there ever be an apology–as requested?  I wish I could say I was optimistic, but, I can’t.  My wife and I just want to be left alone.

 

THE DAILY POST: A DOG NAMED BOB

Milt inked the New York Times daily crossword at the breakfast table.  A blue jay sounded an alarm call from the backyard,

Muffy, the Persian cat, suddenly leapt from his lap with a hiss and growl; dashed to the front window, upsetting Milt’s plate of waffles and syrup.  What the heck was up with that cat?

Milt, still in pajamas and slippers, looked out the front window to see Bob–the neighbor’s pointer, hiking his leg; urinating on the mailbox post.  There’s probably a big steaming pile of poop out there somewhere. 

Boy, that really steams my oysters.  I’m gonna’ tell Lee about this–give him a piece of my mind.