Your prison is walking through this world all alone

Fences are dividers.  They either keep something in or keep something out.  I’m big on fences.  They keep my dogs safe.  The first thing I did when I bought my other house was rebuild all of the fences.  $7k worth of fences.  Both neighbors jacked me on that project.  One guy said he’d pay half of the part that adjoined his property and never did.  The other bartered with me, after saying he would and I ended up taking several hundred less than he owed me just because I was afraid the alternative was nothing.  The relationships with those neighbors was never the same.  There was never an ounce of trust because they’d shown what they were made of.  Now my neighbor to the right has shown what they’re made of.  The fence I’m pissed off about is a divider.  Before they started their little project the two front yards adjoined and were an expanse of light and air.  Now there’s this divider.  I’m not as pissed off about the fence as I am with the spirit that went into it’s creation.  I can work with the fence.  I can’t work with people who behave like that.  As angry as I am about it, I’ve chosen to do nothing.  My theory being at the end of the day, they will always be the assholes that built it.  I will always be the bigger person for not reacting.  Ok, I might have glared at her the other day when I was trying to finish clearing the front yard.  And those who know me know that if I glared at someone in anger, well, she’s lucky she didn’t spontaneously combust.  I was just having a moment, and they’ve been screwing around with the damn thing for ever and it’s not done.  Now I just wish they’d finish the damn thing.  I’ve never seen anyone take so long to build a fence.  They poured the posts probably a month ago.  That sat for a week or so.  They he loose framed it.  He’s got exactly two panels complete.  Now when I built a fence with Professor Cousin, there was the potential between the two of us to over think the project into the third millenium.  We built it in two hours.  So I really don’t understand why it takes this guy a month to build a half fence.

My neighborhood is really an interesting little place.  The more diverse something is, the more characters that are hanging around the better I like it.  That’s one of the reasons I loved living in San Francisco so much, the characters.  I remember going out one night to a party being hosted by Carl English, the firefighter who’s  Firehouse #1 barbeque sauce had just taken off.  We showed up at the party on Muni, road with Carl in his limosine from several locales to anothers and took a cab home at the end of the night.  (Carl was still at the party).  The point is, who shows up to a party on Muni and leaves in a limo?  I love that town.   My neighborhood is a little like that.  I’ve got the bi-polar drunken Irish lady a couple of doors down.  She goes away on a 5150 a couple of times a year.  There’s Gene next to the corner.  He doesn’t seem to work.  He’s my age.  He inherited the house, which he also grew up in with his Grandmother.  The house is immaculate.  The yard is park like.  He owns chickens that he’s trained and they hang out with him in the front yard when he’s working out there.  The Chef from a local country club lives across the street from him.  They took the worst house in the neighborhood and dumped around $100k into it making it very nice now.  It took about 3 months from start to finish.  The two houses at the end of the street are both trainwrecks.  The one on my side is just pure white trash, no question about it.  Broken down cars on the property, a hanging blue tarp, lots of those plastic yard chairs and a general sense of filth.  The house on the other side is my favorite house on the block.  That’s where the bleeding heart liberals live.  That house was built well before the subdivision which was built in 1958.  She hand makes signs and posts them in the front yard.  She accurately creates new signs for each new issue.  And she spells all the words correctly.

morans

She has plenty in favor of Obama.  Then it was No on 8.  Now it’s health care reform.  There are always 5-10 signs in the yard and she takes those pens most people use to write “Go dolphins” or whatever their kids swim team is named and writes messages on all four of their trucks.  (they run a landscape business).  The funny thing is their yard is usually as bad as mine.  A couple of weeks ago someone came along and tacked up signs on their property that said “Take your junk yard and move to Canada”.  I’m sure they were referring to the signs, since sending liberals to Canada seems to be the GOP’s solution to just about everything.  Did she take the signs down?  Nope.  She did weed the yard.  I love her.  Recently she’s posted a couple of Bible verses on one of the trucks and the house.  They were two unusual ones that I had to go look up.

Matthew 25:35 35For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,

Matthew 25:40  40“The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’

She’s applying these to health care reform and that makes sense.  It’s just she’s got these bumperstickers on all the vehicles too.  Stuff like “Straight but not narrow”, “Jesus was a liberal”, “We cannot solve today’s problems using the mindset that created them.”  “Sorry I missed church, I was busy practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian”.  So when she started quoting Bible verses on the front lawn, it just makes me laugh.  It probably really pisses off the two Yes on 8 houses, but those guys piss of the rest of us.

There’s Bruce across the street.  He’s a diabetic and has lost both of his legs.  He’s a gruff guy.  I figured out in Concord he was going to be a hard core W guy.  Nope.  He was the Union steward before he became disabled.  He’ll sit out front when the weather isn’t so scorching and I’ll go chat with him.  He was an electrician and he’s got great stories.  The old guys up the street all know about my Mustang, they’ve seen it in the garage, so they’ll come by to chat about it.  One guy is a retired metal fabricator.  He’s got a couple of old cars himself and has made the parts he’s needed.  Another guy has a Javelin.  Who still owns a Javelin?  Our neighborhood doesn’t come up at all on the Megan’s law website.  We don’t have riff raff passing through because the street is circular.  You have to want to be here.  We chase off the guys who steal the recycling.  It’s that kind of place.  It’s not the sort of place where you build fences like that.  And that’s why I’m so bent out of shape about it.