Mossy Cottage Knits

More About My Neighbors Than You Ever Wanted to Know

Before anyone thinks that the comment question left by Beth—“Was it the morning sex neighbors?”—was just gratuitously odd, I assure you it’s not. Beth’s question is a legit one, from, apparently, a long-time reader with a remarkable memory. So funny, so unexpected, Beth; you made me shriek out loud.

What Beth is referring to is the lead-in anecdote for this long-ago entry. And the answer is, no, Beth; it’s not, ahem, "those" neighbors. In the noise department, the two caballeros who live there have been rather more well-behaved lately—the latest hoochie mama must have moved on—although they were the ones who chopped down my cherry tree. (Sounds very George Washingtonian, doesn’t it, although it doesn’t have the same uplifting, epigrammatic, Aesop-esque ending. There were no lessons to be learned; the tree is just gone, I am none the wiser, and I will never be President of the United States. Thank God.)

The house that disappeared—poof!—in one afternoon belonged to my other neighbors to the north. And it seems to be one of those economically inscrutable real-estate transactions where the new owners paid almost $400k...simply for the privilege of tearing the house down. Nothing of what they bought for their $400k remains standing. But, then again, another house which is going to be sold for $1.3 million is being built across the street from my extremely modest cottage, so all bets are off. The neighborhood has gone completely wacko.

Which reminds me of a story having to do with the previous owners of The House That is Now Gone. It took us a long time to meet them and, thereafter, I probably spoke to them only three or four times during the 14 years we were neighbors. One year, however, roundabout some holiday—Christmas, New Year’s, I don’t rightly remember—the wife suddenly brought over a basket of goodies: tea breads, crackers, jams, spreads. Which seemed quite lovely and neighborly...until we discovered that everything in the basket had already been opened and used, was stale, and/or was months—even a year, in one case—past its pull date. What the...? This mystery was never solved since there’s no polite way to ask to your neighbor, “So, why exactly did you bring us a basket full of crap?”

Speaking of food, here’s the difference between the fate of food at TMK’s house and the fate of food at mine.

My house: I bring home four peaches, eat one, the other three fill the kitchen with fruit flies and are summarily tossed into the garbage can.

TMK’s house:

Yep, peach crumble. And for breakfast the next morning? Peach pancakes.

The peach crumble was our offering at this month’s knitting get-together at Naomi’s. Which was followed by another knitting get-together on the other side of Lake Washington, at Ellen’s, with the same rabble-rousers. Which is how TMK has already managed to spin fully half of her new bamboo/merino roving (which is turning out much lighter, almost with a pastel watercolor look, and much prettier than my woefully inadequate photo shows)...

...and how I managed to knit half of my Transylvania hat:

And tonight there’s Ferals, so we be just churnin’ up the fiber, y’all!

Posted by Ryan at July 30, 2007 10:49 AM