garage envy

We are experiencing that late winter thaw, a teasing week of warm temps and the men in my complex will be coming out of their houses checking driveways for chunks of cement lost to snow plows.  As the snow recedes a great deal of dog residue will be visible to all of us walking the city streets.  Good citizens become lazy old things during cold months and  their pets' deposits remain unscooped.  I have had the misfortune all my life to be surrounded by neighbors who own small yippy dogs with incredible digestive tracks and the mutts  prefer my yard for their necessary activities. Yes, the grass is greener on my side, but I  pay a price.

I walk the neighborhood surrounding my grandson's school, waiting for the bell to ring.  I find a fledgling pussy willow bush blossoming and a small iris pushing its way through  redwood chips. An Iowa spring is a cruel, fickle season, a combat zone for young green things and perhaps the small iris will make it and then again not.  Although our hearts are light as we walk through these melted pools we know that next week it all could and most likely will come crashing down  as the polar snows reclaim our countryside.

I live in a row of townhouses and all the garages face front and everyone can see the junk we have deemed valuable enough to save.   I have dubbed my neighbor two doors down the "Nazi," as he has a strong Aryan appearance, pale skin, receding blond-grey hairline, watery blue eyes and a scary secretive persona.  It strikes me as odd  when I find him crouched over a crevice in the parking lot digging out weeds with a  soup spoon.  There is nothing in his garage, no rake, no snow shovel, no stack of empty ice cream tubs. And he has painted the walls a bright tangerine. And here I am taking a picture of those walls and  I clearly need  to find a new adventure.



Anybody need a meat grinder?

 The point of all this, and it is a weak one, I want that tangerine garage. The cowboy is a hoarder and I am the oldest daughter of an ex-Marine who can bounce a quarter off his freshly made bed.  I crave organization and control in my environment and if it were up to me everything we own would be in cardboard boxes with their contents clearly noted in black magic marker. I just need to find a box large enough for Dave.