So Our Neighbor Bought A Bulldozer

Things have been busy around here lately. Spring is definitely in the air, and new evidence is popping up every day. The crocuses have been blooming, the daffodils ready to burst forth, and the tulips are lining up for a show.

And next door? Our neighbor bought a bulldozer.
Yes, a bulldozer.

The new 'dozer.
In our driveway.

When I saw it being dropped off Sunday afternoon, I assumed he was renting it for a while to clear out the back of his property. Because who owns a bulldozer in the city?
Our neighbor, apparently.
The one we share a driveway with.
He lovingly covered it with a tarp after parking it at the end of the driveway.

The dozer wrapped snug as a... bug?

BestestHusband reports that our neighbor plans to clear out some stumps behind our properties before trailoring it up to Maine, where he owns a lot of land. Ok, that makes more sense. Rural Maine needs bulldozers. Residential Boston? Not so much.

The view of the bulldozer from the bottom of the hill, where it needs to somehow get to. 

So I'm curious to see him in action. Because at the end of the driveway is that crazy steep sledding hill from earlier in the winter. The one with an unstable surface made mostly of decomposing wood chips. I'm sure gravity will make sure it gets down the hill. I'm not so sure this well-used bulldozer can make it up again.
I promise to take pictures if I catch him in action...

Hyacinths in the front yard. A more rational springtime development.

Pretty purple star flowers. I have no idea what they're called...

Dutch tulips that BestestHusband brought back from Keukenhof. When they actually bloom, you'll have to look at more pictures.

Hurricane Preparedness Tips

So we're currently experiencing the beginning of Frankenstorm. I'm underwhelmed so far, but am willing to see if the storm lives up to its hype. As a native Gulf-coaster who grew up with hurricanes, I thought I'd help out a bit by posting some hurricane preparedness tips.

Months Before:

• Amass a collection of camping gear, candles, and food to supply any potential apocalypse. Not out of fear, but because of occasional camping and sale-bingeing habits. 
• Wonder about how to get a fireplace put in to increase self-sufficiency should a society-altering event actually occur, especially with all of the trees out back. 

Week Before:

• Watch reports of impending storm. 
• Note increasing tone of hysteria and hype in media. 
• Laugh at silliness of New Englanders. 
• It's a hurricane, not the apocalypse.

Few Days Before:

• Inventory grocery staples, such as milk and fresh produce. 
• Wish that the storm was scheduled for after the usual grocery-shopping day.
• Resign self to joining panicked masses at the grocery stores.
• Join throngs at the grocery store. 
• Sigh at the hysteria. 
• Get in line at the gas station and gas up. The tank is low, regardless of impending doom. 
• Sigh at the hysteria.

Night Before:

• Find out that BestestHusband's company is closed due to impending doom.
• Find out that daycare is closed due to impending doom, so there's no Music Time to lead.
• Resign self to day spent indoors with kids.
• Mentally prepare self with list of fun activities to keep kids entertained.

Day Of Doom:

• Give thanks for wise neighbor who invites you over for outside fun before storm gets too bad and you're stuck inside.
• Bundle kids up and drag them outdoors for forced fun.
• Chuckle with native Floridian neighbor about the silliness of New Englanders and storms. 
• Traipse over to another neighbor's house with a swing set. Milk that outside time a little longer. 
• Make tentative plans with second neighbor for indoor activities in case the girls' stir-craziness is worse than the weather outside.
• Keep kids outside playing with friends until they're practically begging to go inside. Give small thanks that they won't ask to go outside for quite some time.
• Go home and serve them hot chocolate. Yes, hurricanes in New England can actually be cold.
• Feed them lunch with an extra little treat. All of the crankiness about the forced fun dissipates.
• Let them argue over who gets which flashlight if the power goes out.
• Send them to take a hot shower with BestestHusband. Showering is easier with working electricity, and who knows how long you'll have power. 
• Decide which bath tub to fill with water. It is a hurricane, and it pays to take a few proactive steps to ensure you can flush your toilets, even in the midst of doom.
• Attempt to leak-proof the leaky bathtub drain. 
• Pray for the best.
• Fill the bath tub with water. Just in case the storm really is as bad as the weathermen predict.
• Follow friends' Facebook feeds around New England to find out who has power and who doesn't.
• Give thanks for power.
• Give thanks that you had the big trees trimmed away from the house last year.
• Get a call from friends. Make dinner plans. Make contingency plans based on availability of electricity.
• Marvel at your dependency on electricity.
• Enjoy a day without crazy errand-running and attempted productivity, and pray it doesn't get too bad for everyone else. 

The Taproot is Established

Today was the yearly group yard sale of my local mommy network. It's an established tradition with around 40 families participating, held in the basement of a local church. It's a great place to get ANYTHING kid-related at really good prices. So it's a mob scene, of course.

This was the first year I was able to go. Typically, I manage to sign up to work the weekend of the yard sale, and Anne becomes my personal shopper and finds things for me. She volunteers for the event so that she can get in early and scoop up the best stuff. This is a good strategy. Stuff goes fast. But Anne was out of town this weekend, and I was not working, so I got to go and be Anne's personal shopper instead. 

I got there early to help out. I knew the organizer because she helped me with the enormous yard sale I did last year. I ran into my neighbor and her friend who shared a table. I met a lot of new people. Then the sale opened, and the crowds arrived. I saw friends that I know from BestestHusband's work. I saw friends I know from church. I saw friends I know from daycare. I saw friends I know from our old babysitting co-op. I saw friends I know from the playground. I saw so many people I know. I didn't know I knew so many people around here. I know I've said it before, but occasionally I realize how rooted I've become here. And today I realized that I have a taproot in this community. I'm firmly dug in.

I didn't find much stuff for HeyMama, unfortunately. But I did find some great stuff for Anne's daughter, Rockstar. (she's earned this nickname for the place she holds in my daughters' lives. MeToo idolizes her.) Part of me wants to post pictures of the loot, as I'm proud of the finds. But I also want Anne to be surprised when she sees them. So I'll hold back. But I will say this: a pristine Hanna Andersen dress for $5. Of course, Anne told me which tables to beeline to first, so I can't claim too much credit...

I hope your weekend's full of fun surprises!

Helen's Legacy. And a Demolition Crew.

We've lived in our condo for about 5 years. It was an old home that was gutted, and with a large addition in the back, turned into 2 large condos. We each have 2 levels of renovated space that doesn't feel like the typical Boston housing stock. In other words, it's updated and not grimy. We have a front and back yard. We have the Arboretum across the street and wetlands behind us. We thought we'd hit the jackpot. We were thrilled to find the place, and put down an offer on the spot. It was accepted about 12 hours later. 


We found ourselves to be neighbors with families that had lived in the area for generations. On one side of the house was Helen, the octogenarian matriarch of a family that included 9 children and countless grandchildren. She lived in a large house with 2 of her adult sons. The house was typical Boston housing stock, slightly grimy, with multiple family projects added to the house and yard over the decades. Helen was still wiry, spry and strong-willed, a force to be reckoned with. She had been a nurse, in addition to raising 9 kids. There was no doubt about who was in control next door.


But the projects that they had added to the house were a bit interesting. Decades before, Helen wanted a pool for her children. They couldn't afford to pay someone to put one in for them. So they did it themselves. They raised the level of their yard, from a steeply sloped hill to a large level expanse adequate for a pool with a diving board and a slide. They built a large... well... I'm not sure what to call the structure. It has a roof and screened in sides. It overhangs the city's wetlands behind it. I'm pretty sure it's not legal. It's also ugly. But it provided shade and a place to store pool toys. 


When we first moved in, Helen was still living in the house, and loved to see the family gathered for swimming and grilling. There were plenty of patio tables, chairs, and a large awning coming off the back of the house. But Helen was starting to become forgetful, and over the next few years we witnessed her rapid decline. Helen was moved into a nursing home, and the pool parties stopped. 


The property was "adorned" by quite a collection of stuff. Ok, so it was like having the Beverly Hillbillies next door. The yard was built up with construction fill. They built the wall out of old sidewalk remnants, and filled in with the contents of dump trucks that had been rumbling by. There were plenty of teen-aged sons at home, so they were put to work creating the back yard. They were good at repurposing things. Helen didn't like to throw stuff away. This is useful when you're raising 9 children. This is not attractive when your property overlooks the collection. As Helen started to lose her memory, a few of her daughters would secretly come in and throw stuff out. The stuff that made it to the curb was amazing. Not attractive, but amazing. 


We planted ivy to try to cover the wall. We planted a tall yew hedge to separate our kitchen windows from their "woodpile". We prayed with every windstorm that the large building in the back would miraculously get blown down. We've been praying a long time.


We were shocked this morning when a dumpster container arrived next door. A demolition crew arrived with it. They went back to the structure. Then they started taking it down. Quite rapidly, actually. The girls were amazed, and watched, entranced, from the back deck. It really was amazing to see them disassemble the monstrosity. 


Alice, the 7th of the 9 children, came over to tell us what was going on. We knew that Helen had died a year or 2 ago. Chris, one of the sons, had started doing some work on the property, and it was slowly (very slowly) starting to lose some of its Beverly Hillbillies appearance. We approved. I took out lemonade in the summer to show our appreciation. Alice explained this morning that everyone in the family who could afford a house already had one, and this one was going to be sold. (I didn't ask about the 2 random grown sons and a grandson and his girlfriend who lived there...) They would spend the summer getting the house cleaned out and in sellable condition. They would open the pool one last season to get the family together on the weekends. 


This is amazing news. I know that Helen would be spitting mad. As Alice explained, the "wetlands" behind the house used to be a city dump. The additions to the yard were "improvements", especially in Helen's eyes. She didn't see that the structure was illegal and constructed out of random building remnants. She only saw that, despite working 50-60 hours a week and raising 9 children, they had managed to build a yard, a pool, and a cabana on a shoestring. It was a testament to their hard work and ingenuity. Alice told me that under the floor of the structure, they found an old porcelain bath tub. With a dead raccoon in it. Somehow, it seems appropriate. 

The structure, as the demo begins...

Men at work.

Our view of the work.

HeyMama supervising.

HeyMama and MeToo supervising.

The roof is coming off.

The roof is gone.

The frame is gone.

It's all gone.

Our view of their patio from our deck.

Our view of their patio from our patio. Thank you yew bushes.

Our view of the structure from our patio. Thank you demo crew.

Our attempts to cover the sidewalk wall. 

The giant expanse of wall that the ivy can't seem to conquer. That's a lot of sidewalk chunks!

Our view of the wall from our patio.

The woodpile. With random tires and crap. This is actually a cleaned-up version...

Our new garden and new grass that BestestHusband is working on. We prefer to look at this.  

Alice watched the work through the back windows. She said she liked watching the view of the trees reappear as the structure was dismantled. "It's like it's come full circle", she said. Alice salvaged a few plants from a planter that was part of the structure, and gave them to us: "Autumn Joy Sedum". I want to keep them. Alice said that Helen loved them, and they were one of the few plants that she could actually grow. I have few but fond memories of the spunky old lady next door. She fretted that I would slip on the ice when I walked to work, pregnant with MeToo. Her ability to remember new things was quickly leaving her, so the memory of losing one of her pregnancies was strong whenever she saw me. But even in her frailness, she exuded energy. And joy. I'm be honored to have her "Autumn Joy". I promise to think of her when they bloom.