Last night, a friend joined me to christen the completion of the new garden. I, ever the good hostess, brought Aunt Clara, my favorite wine, to the event, and surrounded her with peanuts and cheese sticks: do not let it be said that I don’t know how to stick to a high-protein, carb-balanced meal plan!
We sat on a (newly-linseeded) bench and talked about the landscaping, savoring the peaceful serenity of the design, accompanied by a live band playing Mexican music at a party on the block behind me. Had we been at the party, the volume would have been unbearable, but a block away? It was merely too loud. We shared the same bench, so we were able to continue to visit, highlighting recent personal experiences, as well as swapping life stories that seem appropriate half-way through a bottle of Aunt Clara.
About an hour into our little celebration, the new neighbors across the street came home, bringing along several friends. The party was all-male, featured a strobe-light show, a siren, lots of male posturing, and, evidently, alcohol. About an hour into their party, they briefly left for the nearby convenience store, and came back even more ramped up, not waiting to get back inside to continue the festivities.
Their music clashed with the live band’s Mexican renditions, and the stereo combination effectively cut off the conversation I was sharing with my friend. It didn’t take me too long to give up and go inside, where my own stereo was playing the kind of music I like to hear—but could not hear, even with my door open and the volume turned up a bit.
I haven’t seen adults at the house across the street, but maybe the males who live there are old enough to rent a house and live independently. However, I’m not sure about their maturity when it comes to partying, drinking, and driving. And, when young males get liquored up, they often turn to mischief in the name of fun—with my new landscaping a handy target. I’m hoping that they stay put, drink ‘til they pass out, and leave me alone, but somewhere inside, I don’t see that happening. It is just as likely than one of the quick trips to buy more booze will result in a car embedding its front end into my new wall, judging by the speed of the departure last night and the screeching, two-wheel return to the driveway a short time later!
There well may be a season when my neighbors stay inside on the weekends, but I haven’t experienced it yet. My goal, to be able to enjoy my home and use my property for my benefit, may be thwarted by my consideration for others: I would find it almost impossible to infringe on my neighbors’ lifestyles by imposing mine on them vis a vis the live band; loud, alcohol-fueled male bonding; drunk, out-of-control guests; illegal fireworks; and dangerous driving.
Sure, I can go to the house and ask that the music be turned down, but why would I put myself into jeopardy? Sure, I can call the police, but what’s the advantage to that strategy? I don’t want to be any larger as a target than I already am, so I stay inside, shut the door, and wait for the calm, quiet morning, when I can go outside, drink my coffee, and enjoy the serenity of my new garden.
Half a loaf is better than none.
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Party season continues: last night, another live band, this one at the house directly behind mine. My bedroom windows were rattling and the boom-boom-boom of the drums was unbelievable!
The party-goers were into this band as they sang along, shouted, clapped hands, and generally had a great time--until 2 AM.
I wasn't as thrilled with the event as the party people were.
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