Andrea’s “Trailer Trash with a Touch of Class” summer beverage
pick two leaves of mint (this is the classy part)
squash in the bottom of a tall glass with slightly chipped rim
add three ice cubes
cover with vodka (no need to measure… just eyeball it)
top with raspberry lemonade, the kind that costs $1.00/carton at Loblaws
Drink. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Perhaps it was a direct result of my fancy drinks from the night before, but I was cross today. I just wanted to be left alone with my coffee and newspaper. I found myself wishing, that along with our newborn babies we could have received an instructional manual, a babysitter, and a handful of pocket-sized cards – each one worth one completely child-free day. Then, when I felt like I wasn’t doing anyone any good, I could just drop of one of these cards on the kitchen table and excuse myself from parental obligation.
So I found myself under a cloud today. It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s my own problem to deal with, but the unfortunate reality is that there are times when my family bears the brunt of my lousy mood. But other times, it’s the people on the periphery of my life who get blasted.
Take for example, our neighbor, M. She lives directly behind us. She is a single mom with two teenage kids and a small yappy dog. Up until now conversations with her have been casual, the “over the fence” kind of conversations about nothing that you usually have with your neighbors.
One regular topic between us is about the trees in our yard. She likes to complain about the foliage. We have two very large trees (I’m guessing they must be 80-100 years old) growing in the far back corner. They are gorgeous. They are growing together in a V-shape. They provide a home for a variety of wildlife and a give us a canopy of shade that money can't buy. When we first moved in she asked us if we would consider removing them. Uh, no, we like them, but thanks for asking!
Mark has (rightly) wondered: if she hated those trees so much, why did she build a house right next to them? She probably prays for a lightning strike. But if that ever happened the trees would probably crush her home, not to mention those tacky garden gnomes who stand silent sentry outside her front door.
According to local bylaw, vegetation on your property is your responsibility, but if it spreads to your neighbours property, it becomes their responsibility. This goes for live or dead growth. So if leaves fall from our trees onto her lawn, they’re hers to deal with. She has cut branches from our trees that went across to her side (which is legal, as long as she cuts on her side of the property line) but she has also reached into our yard to cut them on our side (which is illegal). There have also been times when she’s chopped stuff and then left it for us to bring it to the curb.
A few weeks ago Mark saw her picking up leaves from her lawn and dropping them over the fence into our yard. The thought of this annoyed me. This one corner of our yard has been rather wild, but this doesn't mean that she can just add to it.
Yesterday Mark and I cleaned up the leafy debris in this far corner. Now the ground just looks foresty with random bits of leaf matter. I like the natural look. I’m not a fussy person in this regard.
We were all eating lunch on the veranda today (remember, I was still in my bad mood) when I actually saw her do it. She picked stuff up from her side and dropped it over the fence to our side. So la di dah. Well she damn picked the damn wrong damn day to damn trifle with me. Dammit.
With one swoooooop I grabbed our compost bucket and rushed outside with it, under the pretext was that I was taking it out to the compost bin which is located in the far corner of the yard. I was partially obscured by the shadows, the trees, and the bin itself, which is about 4 ft. tall. Her back was turned, and for a second I thought I missed my opportunity to say something.
She was back to picking up more stuff. As she puttered around her yard I noticed she was also talking on the phone. But now she was holding a small shovel in her hands. On it, there was something small, dry, brown, and cylindrical. She didn’t see me as she tossed it over the fence. Her tossing motion was probably what annoyed me the most. The toss was sprightly, casual and light. It was a completely breezy and carefree kind of toss that normally occurs when you’re throwing a little toy to a baby, or a biscuit to a pet dog. It was a HEY, THIS IS FUN with a soupçon of HEY, I DON’T CARE brand of toss.
I felt a surge of blood rush to my head. If I had a pre-existing heart condition I would have keeled over from the resulting hemorrhage, the compost bin breaking my fall.
I am fairly sure that my conversation went something like this.
“Excuse me. What did you just toss into our yard?”
The expression on her face is sealed in my mind forever. I had caught her with her phone to her ear, and hunched over in an arm-outstreched post-toss pose. My first thought: she is wearing MUCH too much eyeliner.
She looked up into the trees. “Oh, dead stuff from the trees. Leaves and branches…”
“That looked like dog dirt to me.”
(Hindsight moment #1. Funny, I never use the term “dog dirt." What faraway quadrant of my brain was at work here? I also wonder if I should I have come right out and used the more natural angry term "dog sh!t" instead. It probably would have made more of an impact. AND there would have been the added bonus of making me appear violent and unstable, and this would have worked to my advantage. Thankfully, I didn’t call it “poo” or “doo.” This would have had the opposite effect, and just made me look like a dork.
Anyway, it was clear that she was lying. She said she tossed leaves into the yard? Ya right. Although I can’t prove it, (I am NOT going out there to seek out the evidence among the forest decay) but I am SURE she wouldn’t use a shovel to pick up small, surprisingly turd-like branches. She’d use her hand, right?
(Hindsight moment #2, under the I wish I had said category: "Just leaves you say? If that’s true your shovel must be pretty freakin' clean. Why don’t you lick it, and SHOW ME HOW CLEAN IT IS.")
My brain operates at a different pace than my mouth does. When I am angry or upset I am rarely able to find sufficient means to express myself in a witty and succinct manner.
I actually said something to the effect that the leaves on her property are hers to deal with, and not mine, and that I didn’t appreciate her dumping WHATEVER IT WAS on our side.
And then I think I marched back to the house, loudly explaining to no one in particular that "she was dumping her dogs' remains in our yard." (Hindsight moment #3: that actually sounded like she had chopped up her dog and had discarded the leftovers in our yard. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.)
As I was leaving the scene I heard her explain to the person who was on the phone that it was “just the neighbor.” I wonder what else she said.
I was shaking with anger when I explained it all to Mark. And even as I type I can feel an artery throbbing in my head. I wonder if she'll do it again. I wonder how I'll react if I catch her in the act.
As I was leaving the scene I heard her explain to the person who was on the phone that it was “just the neighbor.” I wonder what else she said. 
