no, really

I think I have… once or twice.  I can’t remember the situations, partly because of my current lack of sleep.

Unfortunately, I am a little afraid for my life right now.

Across the street, one house is owned by a kid.  His father died a few years back and left it to him.  Until he’s 18, his former-drug-addict mother has to move back in with him to be guardian.  A year ago, a former boyfriend came to live with her (in her son’s house).  The boyfriend brought with him a massive RV, which he parks on the front lawn.

For a year, the neighbors have been nicely trying to get him to move it.  Attempting to find other places to store it, offering suggestions of how to park it so it isn’t obscene.  Oh yeah, it’s black with red flames around the entire bottom half.  So far, he hasn’t done anything.

Over the summer, he and the kid’s mother had a big fight in the front yard.  The cops eventually came and found not only a brick of pot… but a pot farm in the basement… and all kinds of weapons and munition memorabilia around the house.  That court date is pending.

Now the kid (who is a generally terrific kid) has had two parties in a row on the past two Saturday nights.  At the last one (that I missed while being away) kids were urinating on neighbors’ lawns and fornicating in driveways on other neighbors’ cars.  The cops were called.  The cops called the school.  The kid was suspended for a game.

Now it’s not clear who did call the cops.  But it’s clear who did not: neither myself nor the neighbors next door to me were home.  However, this lunatic seems to think that my neighbors called the police.  So now he’s retaliating.

Since Monday, he’s set off his car alarm in front of their house.  Continuously.  All night.  Last night, he set up lawn chairs on the front lawn with a spotlight and had a bonfire while mooning their house and giving them the finger.  And the car alarm.  All night.  And now there’s a sign on their lawn that reads “Freakshow: Fat man and bearded lady.”

I just got a phone call.  Just now, while I was attempting to sleep, an SUV with Maine plates parked in front of my house.  The man driving it removed a hunting rifle in a soft case from the back, under a camo tarp.  They went into the house.  Shortly thereafter, they came out – the psychotic neighbor making hand gestures and giving the finger to the house next door.  The man from Maine had the empty rifle case under his arm.

I’m afraid for my safety, but I don’t know what to do.  If he starts up again tonight, I’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep.  I just sent the roomie a warning so he can figure something out for tonight if he can.  This is insane.  And the cops can’t do anything until what… he murders someone?

Any ideas?

While we were on the way home, I took us on a little detour off the Pennsylvania Turnpike. We stopped at the Flight 93 memorial, which was a very odd experience.

The location is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. It’s really breathtaking. It’s very quiet, and you can feel the sorrow of the families who have visited. You can’t get very near the spot, but you can see it at a distance of about 100 yards. You can even see the mound of dirt at the actual spot.

I’m not exactly sure why I went. I’m kind of glad I did, but I still don’t understand why.

I’m back home from a family trip to the old homestead in very rural Indiana. I’ve been there once before, in the winter. In the warmer sunlight of early October, it’s even more beautiful.

I love seeing the parts of the family that you have to go there to see. The whole area is breathtakingly beautiful – the rolling hills and trees and fields and farms. It has the best of the catskills and farm country all in one place, next to a huge man-made reservoir.

My grandfather is there, recovering from surgery, so every day we’d drive the (almost) hour into Ohio to spend a few hours with him. It’s something we enjoyed as much as he did, even though we’d all prefer hanging out at home instead of a hospital room.

I also learned some interesting lessons about spending lots of time with immediate family members who you haven’t lived with for many years.  No matter how old you are, you’ll still be treated like their little boy.  Sometimes it makes you feel nice, sometimes it makes you want to scream.   I experienced both.

Now I’m back to work, which has now presented some challenges of its own.  I’ve now got lots of work to catch up on, and some challenges I’ll elaborate on another time.  Sigh.  When is it going to get even a *little* bit easier?