Dear Miss Manners

I my neighbor needs to know how late in the morning I she may wear my her nightgown to walk to the end of the driveway in order to retrieve the paper.

Thank-you for your quick response.

Curiosity WILL Get the Better of Me

Two week-ends, two moving vans, one furniture store delivery, one appliance store delivery and just like that, the foreclosed house across the street has new residents.  And that means that I have new neighbors.

Knowing me like you do, friendly - gracious - kind, you probably believe I've been over there with house-warming gifts and full meals.  I'm sure you think I must be the greatest neighbor ever to lend a hand like that...

...wait.  Who are we talking about here? Me??  I'm all confused!

Of course I've haven't been over.  Haven't delivered one cookie or one good wish. WHY??

It's all the old neighbors' fault.  You see, for the last decade that house has been occupied by an entire Eastern European nation.  Countless generations have moved through that house at all hours of the day and night.  Dozens and dozens and dozens of them have arrived in their late model European import cars and greeted each other very loudly.  They've said good-bye at 2 A.M. each MONDAY morning and hugged and yelled and beeped horns and yelled some more.  They've refused to acknowledge that I've smiled and said hello as we cross paths on the sidewalk.  On multiple occasions, they've begun  building projects complete with whining saws beginning at midnight - outside on the front lawn.  They've driven far over the speed limit through our sub.  Cut the corners way too closely and quickly as I attempted to get through the intersections. Repeatedly parked in front of other houses so that those residents had no where for their own guests to park. AND failed to fix their brakes causing them to frequently use their other cars as stopping blocks.

I'll admit, it doesn't sound so bad now, but it is going to take me a minute or two to see just who these new neighbors are.  The police have been over there once already, so we'll see.  In the meantime, I'll be figuring out which cookies to make as a house-warming gift - because that's just who I am. Kind of.

Of Jobs and Snow

My children have joined the working class. At 13, 11, and 9, they are more than capable of partially earning their keep, so when our neighbor hired them to shovel snow this winter, Checkered and I shouted, "YES!!" even as our children said, "We'll think about it."  The 6 year old didn't even get to the thinking about it part.

Our neighbors are truly wonderful.  They are kind, thoughtful, compassionate, generous, and tolerant.  They also are having some physical troubles which preclude heavy exercise.  Enter the Flag children complete with snow gear, snow shovels, and a snow blower.

The deal was that the neighbors would pay $20 per storm. And then it started to snow.  And snow.  And snow. And snow. One day we had two different storms in one day.  We've become so acclimated to the snow that we didn't even know we had a blizzard last Saturday until we read about it in the paper.  It was just more snow for us. 

Now my father always likes to remind us that in his Kentucky town, every street is plowed after every storm.  In my Michigan town, the main streets get cleared, but my subdivision must wait about a week after a storm.  When there's a snowstorm every other day, well, you get the picture of the mess my road is right now.

But my sidewalk, driveway, and the neighbor's sidewalk and driveway?  Smooth.

Now, back to my point.  When it snows for 6 or 8 hours, and the wind is gusting up to 50 mph, more than one shoveling is required.  Sometimes it's 3 or 4 times out there clearing the snow.  And my kids and Checkered and I are loving getting out there and working.

But my wonderful neighbor insists on paying my kids for every shoveling. Any paying more than the agreed-upon price.

And to compound the issue, my neighbors' snowblower was stolen last week when they moved it just outside of their garage, and spent 15 minutes taking their dog around the block.  This IS metro Detroit, afterall.

Sorry for all this meandering.  But here is what I am trying to say.  I appreciate that my neighbor is enjoying giving my kids a bit of financial freedom.  I appreciate that my kids are improving their work ethic.  I appreciate that my neighbor does not want to feel indebted to us (even though we would absolutely clear their driveway for free every winter.)  But what I've learned is that being overpaid is just about as awkward for us as being indebted would be for my neighbors.

Whew!  I hoped if I just kept typing, I would finally say something!

Where's Nancy Drew When I Need Her?

We've had a mysterious couple walking through our neighborhood for the past few months. They walk every evening just after dark and every morning just at sun-up. He always wears the same white shorts and no shirt and she always wears the same clothing, too.

They walk slowly and affectionately. And if a car's headlights illuminate them, they immediately move into a tight embrace with his back to the road. They remain in that embrace until the lights are no longer on them. Yet when their activity activates my motion sensing front porch light, they linger in that spotlight - again in the embrace.

When there are no headlights or front porch lights to find them, they have specific stopping points where they always pause for a lengthy embrace and kiss. One is on our corner and another is behind a van across the street.

And if that isn't enough, my neighbor came across them one early morning. The man stood on the sidewalk watching while the woman frolicked in someone's lawn sprinklers.

So we are left wondering are they exhibitionists? Are they casing houses? Are they homeless?

The only thing I really know for certain is that it's pretty good entertainment. I'm pathetic, I know.

This Grass Really IS Greener on the Neighbor's Side

A long time ago, a lovely housewife thoughtfully mowed the yard.  Up and down and back and forth the mower went powered by the housewife's sheer muscle.  She was taking great pride in the fact that the yard would be done before her husband returned from his toil at the office and before her four children completely destroyed each other or the house.

Then, without warning, the quiet of the day was shattered by a loud, "CRUUUUUNCHHHHH!"

The housewife jumped right out of her skin.  Shaken, she looked for the source of the noise.  Just some little plastic thingie.  It was with relief that the housewife continued her mowing.

What the housewife didn't know was that the little plastic thingie was a sprinkler head.

What she didn't know was that that sprinkler head could not be replaced because of its age.  What she didn't know was that she had just killed the entire sprinkler system.

So now the housewife and her man don't water their lawn.  When the grass turns the inevitable dull shade of brown to which they've become accustomed, they brag to each other that they are helping the grass by letting it go into a natural dormant state.  What they don't say is that they have become too cheap  fiscally responsible to install a new system.

But their neighbor waters his lawn.  He waters it twice and sometimes three times a day.  He waters enough for the housewife's sump-pump to turn on every day.  And this makes the housewife's lawn look even more pitiful.