"We're Gonna Go Fer a Walk in the Neighborhood...."

I do, anyway. Most days, with the dog, unless we have someplace speshul to go. Kin yew say speshul? Sure.I knew yew could.

The other day, describing the Mrs. Maisel finale, I made a passing reference to "No Mo Mei." That would've made more sense if I'd posted this shot from one of our walkies last week:



There are definitely two mindsets in this neighborhood when it comes to their lawns. Some of our neighbors have been out with their John Deeres since mid-April, mowing down to the earthen crust five times a week; and then we have this, where the grass is as high as an elephant’s eye.

Somebody told me there is a bee friendly movement called “No Mow May.” I was confused, because when she first said it I thought she was talking about Joel’s baby mama on Mrs. Maisel.

Anyway, it's June now, so let's move, or possibly mow, on.

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One of our other neighbors, until recently, had a beautiful and sweet pair of collie mixes. A third rescue arrived, but for awhile I only saw the one collie mix. Eventually, I learned she’d lost him to cancer:(

Then, coming home Monday night, I saw her other original collie rescue wasn’t out, but this new arrival was:




 Pam had to make one more trip to Rainbow Bridge for the other collie mix Shiloh, but this new one’s named Ladybug. She lived her first five years in an Amish puppy mill, and until her final arrival at her forever home, she had never been inside a house.

She’s still very skittish around humans, but don’t worry, sweet girl. It gets better ❤️

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Then yesterday morning, I headed back around the end of our street: it forms an extended circle with two others, bisected by a fourth road.  We're a quiet area off the main traffic grid, so we often get student drivers back here practicing their parallel parking.  When we moved here going on 30 years ago, the homes were roughly half original owners from the 1960ish development and half relative n00bs. (Ours had been in the first category until just a year or so before, when a n00b couple bought it from OG Eddie and then almost immediately got transferred to Rochester, which is how we wound up buying this house through Kodak's relocation department.)  Now, the older-than-us-timers are down to a trickle, older-school n00bs like us make up maybe a third, and newer arrivals make up the rest, varying  from the 2010s to a few fairly recent.  A few, including the two to one side of us, are rentals, but most are owner-occupied.

And then there's the Barrett place.  They arrived here around the same time we did, fitting at least four kids, two of them twins, into a house not much bigger than ours though on two stories. One of them was a girl Emily's age and they rode the bus together for a few years but never got close.  Then, gone. Out of curiosity (okay, creepy stalking), I'd check on the name in the clerk's office, and the untold story got told. The Barrett v. Barrett divorce. The TooBigToFailBank as Trustee for HedgeFund48585959XXV v. Barrett et al foreclosure.  Then, for years, no signs of life. The grass got cut (sorry, Mei), the siding stayed up, but in over 20 years of walking dogs back there, I don't think I ever saw a human being on that lot.  Our only other encounter with it was last April, when Bronzini decided to go on his two-week walkabout. The houses on that side of the street back up to a gully that separates the back yards from an unmaintained path, a former railbed, itself separated by (ineffective) sound barriers from the busy 290. Eleanor went exploring back there looking for the little guy, and noticed that the Barretts, in their departure, had left a skeevy looking 110-line in place along where a fence had once surrounded their long-gone backyard pool.  I remember her commenting on it at the time, but again, in all that time there was nobody to tell.

Until yesterday.

Dog in tow, I saw a van in the driveway, garden tools along the walk and signs of life.  After dropping Pepper back home, I detoured back there on my way to work and a 50-ish couple were at the street and van, respectively.  And then came a tale about as sad as that of the Amish puppy mill:

They'd bought the house for their son, to move into when he finished school and was ready to start his adulting life. That never happened, since his car got t-boned in a horrid accident. He survived it, but has had numerous back surgeries and will not be able to handle a house with an upstairs. So after years of mothballing it, they are finally giving up and putting it on the market.  I left them my card- not to handle their closing since I Don't Do Real Estate Dammit, but in case they ever get a call about a flooded pipe on the lawn or whatever.  I told them about the 110 line; they know about it, the power's off and it'll be removed before it goes back on. They were appreciative of the interest, and they liked my little car.

So if you've ever had a burning desire to see all this excitement for yourself, leave a comment and I'll get you in touch with Peter and Barbara. Would you be mine, could you be mine, won't you be my neighbor?