Lately the itch to move has been stronger and stronger. And not just a move from Blogger to WordPress or Typepad either. No the desire to move stems from my once idyllic neighborhood to much greener and quieter pastures.
Erase images of farms and my nearest neighbor being a bear, but a neighborhood where neighbors don’t find refuse in burrowing in the house but sit on the steps to chat. A neighborhood that feels inviting and open, not paranoid and suspicious. A neighborhood where empty beer bottles don’t litter the street and the city employees take pride in their work. Maybe that last one is a bit of a stretch.
I have tried my best to make my house a home. I speak to almost everyone, sweep my front and demand my children act like they weren’t raised in the wild. Unfortunately, this is an uncommon thing these days. The heads of my tulips have been plucked off by passing kids, and when I chastise them I’m met with a blank stare.
One evening, I observed a young man trying the locks on every car door. He didn’t bother to run or even walk away quickly. He looked at me with glassy eyes and continued his attempt to enter another vehicle. A call to 911 yielded a tired officer who could only advise me the obvious: keep all possessions out of the car and lock the doors.
Then there’s the disappointment I feel when I peruse the daily paper online. The vicious comments and venomous opinions make me fear for the safety of the Teen and the Boy as they pull away from me and begin to carve put their own life.
Moving isn’t something to do lightly. There’s The Mister’s job to consider. School for the Teen and the Boy. Distance to Queenie (not that much of an obstacle – I kid!), distance to Sleeping Beauty and Bubbles!, traveling to church and the most important of all how far is the nearest Wawa?
Like any neighborhood, things have changed since we moved to our house. For one thing, the neighbors were elderly aka quiet, but as they died off, their children either sold the houses or rented. Nothing against renters, but they don’t have the same investment as a homeowner. Then there’s the issue of the kids who have morphed into sullen teens, with this entitlement feeling and lack of parental involvement which creates a chaotic atmosphere when their voices are too loud and activities are unsupervised. There’s a stop and go where a bagel store once stood and the characters of that joint have taken their shenanigans to my block.
One of my mottos is don’t talk about it, be about it. But talk is all that happens in the civic association meetings I attend. The same seven people show up and kvetch about the good old days and what the township doesn’t do.
Double le sigh!
Right now, I’m in the middle of remodeling the inside of the house. Maybe it’s the mess I’ve created inside of my house that has breed this ill-will feeling. Or it could really be that I’m sick of what I see when I open the doors daily.
Urban Blight sucks.
*Sister Christian by Night Ranger
Created on the fly by Mrsrkfj