ISO: One Shepherd. Must Have Own Flock.

I sit here this evening with the shades closed, as they have been all day. Not to keep people from looking in, mind you. Not even to keep the bright hot sunshine out. But to keep myself from having to look at the trash-heap which has become of our across-the-street neighbor's front/side yard.

You have to understand: Christopher and I live in a very nice, well-kept, not-quite-suburban urban neighborhood. Most of the houses have been around since about the 1950s, and they have decent-sized lots and big trees and wide sidewalks and nicely-kept yards.

We have a bunch of neighbors who even do what we refer to as "competitive gardening" in their yards and on their boulevards. In fact, we've always felt a bit like we were dropping the ball since we were simply focused on keeping up a few planting areas around the garage, the shrubs around the house, and a few seasonal flowers in planters at the corners of the front walk. After all, across the alley from us (thankfully, our boulevards don't technically touch) a master gardener has turned her entire lot into a showplace--a theme which extends for about 3 houses beyond her (on the other side of the block from us... whew).

And, apparently, our side of the block is taking notice. This summer, our immediate neighbor dug out his boulevard grass and planted assorted small shrubby flowering things. Across the street from them, a whole bunch of landscaping was done to show off the new siding. And, well, our planters are flowering quite nicely, if I do say so, myself.

But... well... then there's the house you're destined to see if you look out the living room's plate glass window. According to what I've been told, the house is a rental property. And, while we all know that some renters take better care of their houses than the actual owners do, I'd have to say I don't think that's happening across the street.

** Sidenote ** Christopher has told stories about the woman who lived there when he first moved in--she used to practice pole vaulting in the front yard, using the front step as her "pole backstop." Feel free to ponder that for a moment. ** End Sidenote **

Currently, there's a single dad who lives there, we believe, with two or three kids. (We've introduced ourselves on occasion, but even so we never really see them.) This summer, the young (5?) son has frequently been outside running through the sprinkler or riding his Big Wheel. The 'tween daughter is often outside sulking. And the yard... well... the yard constantly becomes more and more interesting.

Along with the kiddie pool and the Slip-n-Slide that were out in the yard a few weeks back, a spinning wind-catcher rainbow-bug-thing showed up next to their front walk the weekend my folks were in town. Then, last weekend, the contents of their garage slowly started to creep out onto the yard. I thought, maybe, that he was simply cleaning the garage, but the stuff didn't leave the yard at the end of the day.

On Monday evening, in the middle of the chairs and dressers and who-knows-what, there appeared a lighted floorlamp sans shade. The lamp has been on every night (and day) since, showcasing the disgorged contents of the garage, and backlighting the overgrown lawn to great cinematic effect for anyone who drives past our house.

You'll understand, then, how happy I was to see a sign saying "Garage Sale, Thurs-Sat, 9-5" show up on the yard this morning.

Please come and shop. If they make enough money, maybe they'll buy a mower. Or a sheep.