Bloom Where You’re Planted?

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Living for eight years in a town that is well known for its perfection, it has been a difficult adjustment living in our new neighborhood.  I get the whole “bloom where you’re planted” mentality, but folks… my neighbors have silk flowers in their garden.  And there are dogs chained to trees and people parking their cars on their front lawns.  

I’ve gotten to know Frank down the street.  His yard still looks like an episode of Hoarders: Home Depot Edition with unfinished landscaping projects and  boards on his windows, but he’s a nice guy.  He keeps an eye on us and let’s us know which neighbors he “don’t care for none”.  He loaned Coach a whole stack of Tom Selleck movies — I guess he thought he might be a fan?  

But Frank is one of the good guys and it’s good that he’s keeping watch over the South West.  In my last neighborhood, we had two police officers who lived on our street.  Now when I say “the police live on our street”, I mean that in an entirely different way.  Hunting down suspects on our block is becoming way too routine.  BUT, Bloom Where You’re Planted!  

I got to know Margo & her husband Mr. Boombastic a bit more last weekend when they stopped by just to say hello.  Mr. Boombastic aka Chris likes to crank his tunes up even louder now since Frank called the cops on him.  ”Yeah… I sit a little longer at the stop sign just to get on Frank’s last nerve.”  It is working.  Margo wants me to teach her the fine art of Goodwill shopping.  ”Yeah…” her husband said, “She need to.  She want a Coach bag, she go buy a Coach bag, and she call the power comp’ny and tell them she need a payment plan.”  

In that conversation I also learned that the neighbors up on the other side of M & C are none other than Grasshopper & Possum.  ”I don’t think they eat,” Margo said. “Nah, they’re so skinny.  I think they sell their food stamps.  You can get like $200 for them.”  

Bloom Where You’re Planted.  

Oh, and that dog tied to the tree in the neighbor’s front yard?  That’s just Cujo & he’s Possum’s dog.  Margo said not to worry – “I told Possum.  I got five kids.  Your dog touches one of my kids and I will.put.you.six.feet.under.  If that dog gives you any trouble, you come find me.  I will *pop*pop*pop* that dog.  I’m licensed to shoot, girl.”  

Bloom Where You’re Planted.

I don’t spend much time outside in our neighborhood.  It turns out, however, that there’s a lovely little downtown with great shops, a movie theater, and places to eat.  So, I think we’ll just plant ourselves there & see what grows.

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2 Comments

  1. o mercy. This is sadly hysterical. Love your attitude!

    Reply

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