Neighbors of the Wee House
I live in a wee house just across the garden from a big brick house that houses six other people. It’s an odd mix of personalities there: some working folks, a couple of mature students.
And they are from Macedonia, Boston, Brazil, London and one from Ireland. I have a great relationship with one of them, a passing acknowledgement with another and the rest seriously act as if they don’t know who I am.
When I see them near the house, in the neighborhood, even at the little store down the way, I say, "Hi," and it’s obvious they really don’t want to acknowledge me.
I think I’m friendly. I once offered to make a pie from the apples in the garden and they said, “No thank you,” and closed the door on me. ???
I’m known for doing things my own way, after all, since I live alone I don’t really confer with anyone else. They did mention the Christmas lights I put up this year. but not in a complimentary way, more in a, “What’s with the lights?” kind of way.
When I put out milk for the cat that sometimes comes over the rock wall by my kitchen door, they were quick to point out that there are no pets allowed here. That cat now hangs out on my roof when the sun is out and often chases a sassy seagull that seems to love to play chase. It sounds like leprechauns on the roof if I’m inside. But my neighbors don’t see the fun in any of it. And when I put battery operated firefly lights in the tree this spring, one asked me if I planned to leave them there all summer. ???
Then as I as gazing across the yard this past week I realized it’s not just the lights and the animals and the odd hours I tend to keep that bugs them. Maybe it’s just that I use the backyard way more than they do.
Too much? Yeah. maybe this is.