Garbage. And Lots of It.

Last night, as I sat curled up on the couch reading, I was disrupted at intervals by a banging and a clattering. Even a few rumblings shook the house. At first I just assumed it was Ada throwing her 5 pounds around the house like a gorilla. (She's proven the theory of momentum over and over and over again.) But, just as I settled back into my book, I caught sight of the little furball laying on the floor, innocently licking her paws. No, it wasn't Ada rattling my house this time - it was the damn neighbors. The weird ones to the north. Five children. Five LARGE children. Pale and beady-eyed. Five children and two adults crammed into a tiny home. I've lived beside them for over a year and not one of them has spoken a word to me. I try to look friendly. I smile. I wave. I say hello. I even let them skateboard in my driveway (not that they've asked for my permission.) Still, nothing. No acknowledgement beyond blank stares and slow lumbering to escape my car as I pull into the drive.

This morning, I rolled my trash can to the curb. As I turned to head back to the house, I noticed the trash my neighbors had left for the garbageman. Heaps of dark green Glad bags stuffed full of God knows what tossed onto the lawn at random. Mixed in with the bags were other odd items - pieces of bright plastic, an old tennis ball, what appeared to be a metal pipe. This was the chaos that shook my house last night - the collection of garbage. I glanced down the quiet street, which was by this time lined with tidy green trash cans and red recycling bins. I shook my head. Thankfully, what I can only assume to be the bedlam next door is contained within that house each night. Each night but trash night, I guess.