It's officially the end of winter. I had my morning coffee and finished The Secret Life of Bees. ON THE FRONT STEPS. It was SUNNY!

I refilled my cup and went out with a bit of hand sewing and Metallica on the Sony Walkman. I wasn't out for fifteen minutes before Michael came up on his two wheel bike, followed by his sister Melissa. I swear, they were there for a good three-four hours; Michael went home for popsicles, and their mother came over when I asked Michael where he picked up some of his new vocabulary (first graders shouldn't be talking about humping) and Melissa thought it was so funny that she called their mom. My stoop is officially open for business!

My left hand is killing me now, probably from holding the fabric steady. I only got about a dozen inches sewn, but it's looking ok. (Yes, Dee, I'll post the finished product.) It seems too small to make it worth pulling out my machine, which isn't set up in a permanent place yet.

Yesterday rocked. My mom and I got our nails filled. I am not sure why Ness finds it so amusing, since I've only had acrylic nails for a few years, but whatever makes my Pam happy... anyway. ahem.

Then it was an Afternoon with Ian and Cindy, going through old photos, gossiping about boys, watching Ian play, having a lovely vegetarian polenta and spinach lunch, and then raiding Cindy's closet for her fat clothes (many of the ones I took are, alas, snug). Ten minutes at Joann's Fabrics waiting for some blue tulle to be cut, and out the door $1.87 later. The only thing that sucked was losing WQUN and, therefore, the Red Sox game!

Sam posted a piercing emergency on Crackbook, so at 9:30pm I was off to the rescue, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen at Walgreens en route. Five seconds in the house turned into an hour and I only left because I was dying without my 10:00pm Lyrica. I didn't see Rich (across the street from Sam)'s car, although there were cars in front of his house, so I just went home and crashed. Being nice to people, even my friends, is EXHAUSTING!

My skin is sticking to itself and freaking me out. Now for a shower, an ice pack for my wrist, and another book.

Yesterday, after I'd taken cookies (not the ones in the lovely basket from my chiropractor) and candy left by one of our Service officers [that's like a sheriff, not like a cleaning lady, which my office doesn't have] to the food bank, I went home and asked my mom for her car keys so that I could bring her car to fill her gas tank.At the pump to my left, I saw Brian Reilly. Once the hot guy in high school (with his bi-level haircut and black leather trench coat, back in the day when he wouldn't be searched for guns), then a patrol officer (he was the one who came to our house the day my dad broke his hip and the kids playing hockey in the middle of the street wouldn't move their nets for the ambulance), he pretty much made his career when he was net-surfing and wound up making, along with similar arrests, the biggest child porn bust in the City. (He also, in theatre camp I believe, dated a lady who would be one of my bosses at Yale.) Brian, it seems, has worked his way up the ranks as a detective in the Special Victims Unit, which tracks, among other things [and I'm using "things" on purpose] the child abusers, the rapists, the child molesters. I, being I, begged - yes begged - for a job doing data entry. It's confidential, he said. I responded that I'd sent my resume to volunteer to do data entry for the Megan's Law list, which isn't confidential but, rather, public.

"That was you!?" He got the email but not the resume. He also doesn't get a secretary. I'm to re-send the resume on the off-chance they get an OK for a volunteer. [There's not much I can do, but I'm a good secretary.] I also, mid-sentence, offered my hand for that child-porn bust, because, not that it's my right to have pride in him, I did, indeed, feel pride - I was proud of him.

We chatted about block watch (I gave the name of our local officer, and mentioned that I've got kids older than these cops) and we went our separate ways. I guess I have cockles, because seeing him warmed the cockles of my heart.

It's snowing. My boss called me at 9:30 and told me to stay home. Good; I'd have to change into grownup clothes after dressing quickly to snake the toilet and, frankly, I was already exhausted.

My dad asked my mom if I was going to work. No? Then I could take him to the barber. After I phoned to make sure that Joe was there, I put chocolates in my car, moved my still-undone holiday cards out of the passenger seat, and loaded in Dad. I showed him that the tacky license plate frame that's on Barack's rear plate is the bejeweled one he got me at Caldor over a decade ago. (Yeah, I only just found it, but there was no way I wasn't going to put it onto my car after he got it for me.)

By the time I'd finished dropping off cookies at my bank and got back to the barber, Dad had shown off pictures of his granddaughter, given Joe his box of chocolates, and had his hair trimmed. It still hadn't started snowing, so I dragged Dad on two more errands.

Chocolates for the lady at the cigarette store, who hides the "deals" so that they're there when I stop in, and who gives me nice-smelling incense. My dad asked me to get him a pack; No, your oxygen will blow up. [le sigh] I did grab all the change out of my ashtray (not going to work, I didn't get a paycheck, yet, either) and bought him a donut in the same plaza. Then to the chiropractor, to bring chocolates for them and to apologize but their thank-you card is on my desk at work. (Oh - Doc sends me a basket for being the legal secretary in an office with which we have mutual clients/patients, not because I'm his patient.) His rockin' office manager Renee gave me a hug, Doc gave me a hug AND said my face looks thinner and that I look great. All in all, a good visit!

My dad likes to go home via the beach, along the same route I ride my tricycle, and to stop at Driftwood, the boat dock. When we were little kids, Dad - pre-Alzheimer's, back when he was my Daddy [he earned my loyalty in those days, which is why I do my best to remember that he's sick], would take us up there to look at the water. We only stopped for a minute; even though I didn't take him out of the car, except at the barber, he was tired.

The rest of the way home was weird. Our street is only three blocks. I turned onto the first block, showed him where a neighbor had put in a small fountain with a lighthouse [he loves lighthouses]... he asked what street we were on. (I turn 39 next week, and we moved into this house on my first birthday. 38 years, shy a week, and he didn't know.) On the second block, he recognized Joe's house, and I had to repeat why I don't talk to that gossiping shit anymore. I pointed out, at the end of the block, Melissa's house, and told him that Meliss' had just had a baby. He doesn't remember Melissa, or the wrong name he called her [Maureen] although we've been friends since the 1970s.

A beige car pulled up in front of our house as we pulled into the driveway. Now, when I was fighting for Workers' Comp to pay the medical bills when I busted my wrists at my last job, they followed me home and watched my office for several days. (When my boss walked out to the office porch, they took off. Not my imagination; the other secretary saw them, too.) I really thought that this might be someone either following me (I mailed my application for assistance with my medical bills, yesterday) OR that it was, again, an insurance agent harassing the lady in the house next door to ours. I walked up to the car, and the aforementioned Meliss' in the back seat was next to her bundle of joy. We yelled at her husband for saying that I can't see the baby because I'm not family. [Her husband isn't really horrid. They're good neighbors and friends. We got into it at the block watch merely because we sat next to each other - much to Officer Moscotto's amusement. He changed my tricycle tire. I made sure that, even though they're not quite on our block, they were at our block party this past summer.] We talked about important stuff for a few minutes until my mom got a hoodie, ready to yell at me for not getting my dad in - Dad was heading to the car to see the baby - and came out to meet Isabella. I was sorry to see them go, but Meliss' looked drawn and we all thought she should go in.

We never made it to get our nails done - I'm sick of the festive hand-painted design I've had for two weeks, and want the pale pink I usually wear - or to Trader Joe's one plaza away. This means that I really don't have any ingredients to make nice dinners for my Mom :( Oh, we'll make do! but she seems to not hate my cooking.

Quiet weekend. I need to finish the heat neck pillow I'm making for Tad (the first project I've nearly finished with Eddie the Sewing Machine), and to activate my new cell phone. (Yay for free-after-rebate!)

I just changed my sheets to my favorite Wamsutta satin weave. I'm going to post, and then I'll curl up with The Visitant. When I'm done with that, I've got a whole bunch of Traveling Pants and DVDs from Monica.

No candles upstairs (oxygen tanks), but Samantha got me one that she put with the mojo bag that she gave me before we went to lunch (!) so I'll sit down and enjoy the gentle flame with Hugh.

Unless I'm lucky enough to get to hang out with the ever-mentally-stimulating Tad, I'm curling up and reading ALL weekend.

Books or Tad will make my brain happy.

the party at the unobtainable crush's mom's house was pretty cool. i saw his nieces, one of whom i haven't seen since before she went to iraq. i hung out with his mom - i had never realized how much she looks like him! i don't know if he showed; i was there to see his nieces and his mom and, since i'd taken the tricycle, i left when it started to rain.

i sat on the front porch monday morning, enjoying listening to the birds start up, one voice followed by another, while i sat on the stoop with my coffee and a book.

nora's boyfriend was in the park with the dog, off the leash. he saw me watching and put the leash on the dog - after the dog ran into the street. (luckily there were no cars moving.) then i noticed the boyfriend stopping to pick up trash, which he dumped into a neighbor's trash can on the curb. i said, "thanks for helping me with the trash."

he bristled and asked what i said. i repeated myself. he walked over. i said that he's walking better (he walks with a cane) and that the cold is murder on joints.

i mentioned that, if he talks to the Hells Angels, he should give my regards to the chapter's president. he looked amazed, like he didn't know that i knew that he threatened to sic the Angels on me. i told him, truthfully, that i used to be the president's wife's secretary and had dinner in their home, but that we'd lost touch recently. (i worked for her back in 1990! and she's still one of my references)

after about a minute, he said, in shock, "you're nice!" seems that nora told him that she and i had been best friends until i turned on her. i explained that she had been one of the Big Girls when i was little (ten years is a HUGE difference between 7 and 17!) and that i don't think she knew my name. we had exactly two conversations.

i told him about the epidurals i get for pain, and he'd heard that they're dangerous. i explained how, if one isn't pregnant, the doctors use an x-ray every millimeter or so, and that it works fine. i told him that i'd be getting one at 3:00 p.m. that day and that i'd be home at 4:00. (i actually got home at 4:30 - traffic)

he told me that the guy whose dog was off the leash last week is a real pain in the ass, and that they'd had words. (i guess nora only was nice to him because he was fighting with me? i so DO NOT miss first grade...)

the conversation ended when one of us had to go to work (!) and he offered to do our yardwork (!). i told him that, when my brother doesn't do it, my neighbor jeff does - because i know that he doesn't like jeff (jeff is actually going to do some indoor work, eventually) and that actually made it easier than saying that i didn't want him touching my parents' property. the conversation ended on a friendly note, and i was shocked.

it's been a quiet week. my boss is out, and my office work is done except for waiting for the copier repair guy. i was supposed to have coffee with rich, since he really and truly made it home from iraq!! but when he hadn't called by 4:00, a time i was supposed to be out of the house (my sister came over) and i was, indeed, home so i was hiding in my room, watching Bachelorette on abc.go.com (and crying - not only because i really like jesse but because i felt so bad for jason) sans cellie, which was in my bag - and i missed rich's call. :( i left him voice mail.

right now, i'm reading about hypermiling since i'm meeting Ness up in mystic on saturday :) and i want to see how much gas i can save, legally (and without being a royal pain in the ass on the road). i wish i could take the trike, but the trip is about 55 miles! my car tach is very cranky, but it worked yesterday. i noticed that it very seldom goes above 3, and drops immediately. i do know that standard rule of "windows below 45mpg, air conditioning above 45mpg." does anyone know if it's better, or worse, to shut off and turn on the air? should i turn it off when i go up a steep hill? i don't ever expect to get 100mpg out of my sedan; i'm not going to drive half-tanks (weight) and fill up more often, i'm not about to remove the back seat, AND the trunk is where we store my dad's wheelchair so that we always have it just in case, but i'd love to get better in-town mileage. i've been doing a lot of the tips they suggest, anyway: i will check my air again before the weekend, and i drive the speed limit, and i don't start or brake suddenly. for the cash value as well as for the Environment, i'd like to see what i can do. (i'm even considering ice packs for the drive up to mystic, in the heat...)

i've gotta say, i'm disappointed in the reaction i got to my last post. i can't believe how many people thought i should mind my business.

"minding out business," and not paying attention to what's going on in our neighborhoods, is part of what's making the US go to hell in a handbasket. i remember my mom telling me, when i was a kid, about the woman who was being attacked and all her neighbors heard, and no one called for help. based on the time it happened, i must have been five or six years old, and i never forgot kitty genovese.

my own neighborhood: my neighbors would, i'm sure, find it easier to send their dogs into the park, unleashed, and to let their dogs shit in the woods surrounding the park. they don't - because the park is full of signs citing the law. how can they expect their kids to abide by the law if they don't?

this is a neighborhood in which we're involved with each other and with keeping an eye on the park: we watch each other's kids, we get our driveways plowed in the winter by the neighbor with the snow plow. we clean up after ourselves. when one of my neighbors needed a ride to work, one of my neighbors, who was babysitting for another neighbor, tossed me the keys to her new Nissan Pathfinder. how many times have i been able to count on my neighbor Dre for a ride to work (like the time my garage door broke and i couldn't get out the car or the trike)? i drove to pick up his keys when his stepdaughter locked herself out of the house. we invite each over for dinners, and the kids know that when they play at my house, fighting isn't allowed on the property so it's a safe haven.

when dogs are loose in the park, the kids aren't there - because they're afraid. what a waste of precious summer vacation time!

an unleashed dog is a far cry from a murderer! but we keep an eye on our neighborhood; that's why we have a block watch. the police lead our block watch meetings, and encourage us to call, no matter how small the problem. the guy who argued with me about his dog (who, after all, told me to call the police) leashed his dog just before the officer arrived; even leashed, the dog lunged at a kid on a skateboard. if i hadn't yelled at the owner, the kid would have had a serious bite. (i've seen nora's dog attack, at krauser's, and that guy suffered a bite.) how about last summer, when we neighbors took turns bleaching the jungle gym after nora's dog peed on it? (urine dries, of course - and the kids don't know until they sit down and smell it.) kids get dirty, but some filth really doesn't have to be there. some kids from another neighborhood saw me cleaning, and asked me if i owned the park. i told them, "no more than anyone else. it belongs to all of us."

i don't like following the law. i hate driving the incredibly slow speed limit within city limits. i miss the days of dumping my cigarette butts out the window. i don't want to clean up my own mess, and i get disgusted cleaning others' garbage in the park - but i had a relatively clean place to play, as a kid, and it's only fair that my neighbors' kids get that.

life was so much easier when i didn't care; sometimes i wonder why my mom educated me. fortunately or unfortunately, i do care, and i want my city to be a nice place for the time i'm living here.

(now if only i could translate that to my bedroom...)

 

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i've got another epidural tomorrow. that means i had to skip my daily excedrin migraine today, and will have to tomorrow. i don't know whether it's this post, or the lack of excedrin, but i'm already a miserable bitch.

the only saving factor is knowing that my pam and i are going to paint mystic red -figuratively - next weekend. how long HAS IT BEEN, pam, fifteen years? i can't tell if it feels like forever, or just yesterday. (i get out of work at 2:00 on friday - let me know if you're driving down friday or saturday. either way, you're going to miss the traffic on the cape.)

 

 

Currently reading:

Urban Shaman (The Walker Papers, Book 1)
By: C.E. Murphy

Cross Bones (Temperance Brennan Novels)
By Kathy Reichs

The Source: A Novel
By James A. Michener

ETA: there's a typo here. sandra zahler was murdered in 1974, when i was 4. overlooking the scene where kitty genovese was murdered. while the stories may have been sensationalized, at least it taught ME to know MY neighbors and my neighborhood. one benefit of a block watch is that petty lawbreakers get tired of having their balls busted and move on elsewhere, or follow the simple rules the rest of us do.

i hope people - my friends at least - are having a wonderful, exciting day celebrating our independence. we're so lucky to have what we have, and the right to complain about what we don't.

people have really been pissing me off. sometimes i think that, as soon as i leave the safety of my home, the world turns into an intestine and i'm surrounded by assholes.

first was a guy at the park. i had wanted to get to the pharmacy before work, and saw a guy walking his dog off the leash. he could have been a stranger visiting, so i said, Excuse me, sir, i don't know if you knew, but West Haven has a leash law. he held up the leash; i said, he wound up swearing at me, and told me to call the cops and he'd take the fucking ticket. you know me; i'm a good helper... 

first he said he'd wait for the cops. then nora the whore came out and cheered him on so he went to her house. then he said he wasn't going to wait all day for the cops... the officer arrived within ten minutes, by the way. the asshole really should have known the law; he lives a block from the park. nora had to direct the cops; after i made the statement, i had to get to work. (with the drive, i was a whopping five minutes late. the police did get there fast... sorry that ten minutes is a loser's whole day!) nora's junkie boyfriend came out to scream at me and i was really confused. i asked him what the problem was; i wasn't complaining about them (for a change). one of his neighbors overheard him threaten to sic the hell's angels on me. sure wish i'd heard the threat so i could have pressed charges; however, even if two addicts on State DID have the money for a hit, the chapter he said he'd call... i was the president's wife's secretary, and she's still one of my references. 

thursday, i met my mom at the bookmobile since it's parked outside nora's house. i got there first and nora was screaming about me to an elderly lady who was also waiting. her boyfriend came out to look threatening. OOOH. i don't think they'd hurt my mom, alone, but i wasn't willing to take a chance. i got bored, though, since the bookmobile was late, and filled a bag (i keep one, and gloves, in the back of the trike) with litter without even walking a third of the park. people really suck.

my boss let me go early, and i went to the bank. i usually don't use the drive through - gas - but i figured, It's early, and either way, i'll turn off my car only once. (i really had to get to the pharmacy - i think i live there) well, i couldn't get past a van who was diagonal in both lanes. he could have pulled into the walkway to let me pass, and then moved back - i would have! - but he didn't. just as well: i saw him throwing ketchup wrappers into the flower bed. i screamed, You're disgusting! Pick it up! but he ignored me. i got my keys, got out of my car, and picked up his trash... i was going to throw it back into his van, but he put out an old washcloth to take them. i said, as sweetly as i could, Excuse me, i think you dropped something. he had no choice but to say thank you; people were watching, smiling at me... and laughing at him.

---

life itself doesn't totally suck. 

as my mom and i sat on the stoop on monday, my sister came over... and in the car behind her was our cousin judy, who we'd never met. after my sister and her husband left, i met her... she's beautiful (duh! - she looks like one of us) and friendly (well, that part has nothing to do with me) and we compared notes and just kept staring at each other. it was amazing...

my neighbor jeff (melissa's husband, not my sister's) fixed our tricycle's tire.

and in an odd twist of fate: i got an invitation to a fourth of july party from the unobtainable crush...'s niece. i doubt i'll see him; he's unobtainable, anyway. i'll be happy to see his niece, though; i haven't seen her since before her stint in iraq, and she's been back for a few years. i'll look forward to seeing his mom too. i don't plan on staying long: i don't want to ride the tricycle home in the dark, and i hate people and don't want to meet strangers. (i got chips with an Identity Crisis from trader joe's; it seemed appropriate.)

i hear the misfits; i forgot to turn off the alarm for my 3:00 p.m. pain meds. gotta go...

Yesterday, I was sitting on the stoop, reading the latest in the early North American books that I'd discovered, and "overseeing the neighborhood." (I'd heard that there's a girl who brings a different boy to the park every day; I wouldn't complain about making out, which they did - but if they start mating there's gonna be a problem. But I digress.)

Our neighbors' oldest (four years old) had gone with his father to Brazil to visit his grandparents, and stayed for an extra week, flying back with them. As I watched from my vantage point, Jonas waved at me and ran into the house. I thought that was odd: he's not afraid of me, and he doesn't miss a chance to scold me for smoking. (I don't smoke around the kids, in general.)

Jonas came running out of the house with his grandfather, and they headed toward my house. No surprise: the kids in that family like to run in this direction (or into the park). I stood up, and the grandfather threw his arms around me and kissed me four times. Neither of us understood the other, but I sure understood the gift of two packages of chocolate, one with a Jewish star, from Brazil.

He and I tried to talk, but my Portuguese dictionary is at the neighbors' house! and he doesn't have very much English. Jonas doesn't know how to translate. Ah well.

He kissed me four times, again, and they walked back home.

With the fibromyalgia, my skin is very sensitive, and I felt the bristles from the old gentleman's face for a few hours.

For an even longer time, though, I feel good. Zilda's parents are happy that she has friends in the neighborhood (including a few Brazilian ladies in the next several blocks). Her mom even told her how pleased they are. I'm a good neighbor, like I am with all of them (except the junkie who rips open our trash), though Zilda and I have a different kind of bond because of our upbringing, because I worked in the hospital where her husband works... because she and I both believe, strongly, in Paying It Forward. (I need my dictionary! because I'm trying to explain Karma.) When she and I spend time together, we don't need to completely understand each other, because we are friends.

My mom pointed out that my sister-in-law [who understands and speaks Portuguese] should spend some time talking with Zilda. Maybe Zilda, a psychologist (working with kids with cancer) in her home country (not yet licensed here), would enjoy speaking to another professional woman.

Her parents obviously wanted to show friendship. (Zilda and I are both chocolate fanatics, although Zilda is nursing and the baby doesn't like it, and I'm trying to only eat Fair Trade.) I felt so damn good, even though I love her for free.

I hope that everyone else's kids called :)

my mom was probably pretty happy... my brother drove down and mowed her lawn, dropped off a new shower head that he'll install next visit (my dad was in the shower when my brother arrived) and then he had to go. but she saw him. i got her the gardening gloves she requested, plus i brought her fair trade white chocolate and a book from the church book sale yesterday. besides that, i also took her to the supermarket - in other words, the stuff i do all year without a hallmark holiday (well, the gloves were a one-shot deal).

my friend amy, with whom i've been friends forever, called this morning to go for breakfast. i love hanging out with her! and wish we'd had more time.

after breakfast, i went over to the park across from my house, to clean the jungle gym with the graffiti remover so recently donated. (my friend donna had offered to replace it if the people whose cars were vandalized had needed it! thank you so much, sweetie! but one of the neighbors has a power wash and cleaned all the cars.)  the jungle gym had, surprisingly, been recently cleaned. i got off the most recent filth. two neighborhood kids came out to keep me company, and walked with me to the trash can, and picked up litter with me. their mom and dad have taught them well :) - who'm i to undermine that!

got an interesting message among the OKCupid messages. alas, a girl younger than three of my kids has a crush on him. creepy.

i phoned liz, the awesome mom who rented to my boys when they were old enough for their own apartments. she saw sid last week and i'd be jealous if i weren't going to see sworn enemy tomorrow night. (that's my kid on bass!!!) had to wish her a happy mother's day; i'd honestly say that she's the best thing that ever happened to the kids, present company included.

close to ready to go tomorrow. with the fibromyalgia, i don't really drive much anymore, between my hands, and my skin hurting if i sit too long. but i've got the gps, i can stop at the rest stop in stamford (which is only 25 miles from the venue). i've got my green velvet Doc Martens, clean black jeans, and a clean WM3 shirt. (i, however, have not gotten my government massage stimulus check, though the IRS says it was to be deposited by last friday...) the only thing left is to get the junk out of my back seat (why leave a target in the parking lot).

now... i'm off to sleep. in my car.  why? you may ask. well, our trash has "mysteriously" been ripped apart every week. only ours, and not the neighbors, so i'm doubting it's turkeys or feral cats. besides, last week, the bag ripped apart was one with papers, not table scraps. i'm thinking that it's someone (ahemjunkieahem) on whom i'd needed to call the police last year... if i catch her, i'm pressing charges.

From WTNH: Random vandalism intrudes on personal property and feelings. This is our block watch captain who was victimized. Nice reward for her, for working to make our neighborhood better. (She's not on my street, but it's only about three minutes by tricycle.)

It's not even the only episode tonight: at about 9:30, as I was having a cigarette and just one more chapter, the police knocked on the garage door. Seems that some jackass hit and ran - a bunch (?) of parked cars. The police followed the fluid pouring from the hit and run, down my street.

Anyway. Just woke up. (Sleeping on my right side hurts my skin - but I've been sleeping on my right side since I was a little girl, and I still wind up rolled over the wrong way...) AND I remembered that Melissa's husband, up the street, left me a can of graffiti remover!!! I don't know what it does to cars, so I'll bring it to Mrs. Harris and NOT try to do it myself. I'm thinking that, if she needs to get her car re-painted over the graffiti, maybe sharing this can of graffiti remover can at least make the car drivable without embarrassing her family or her kids...

I'm going to have to ask Melissa's husband for another can, or the vendor's name... but they rock so hard for getting me stuff to clean the park. Maybe it's good that I was too tired to clean yesterday!

I've got to get back to sleep...I've got a 2:30 tattoo appointment and, even though I'm going to try meditation music (thanks Mona!) so that maybe I can relax enough to get the nap I'm going to miss, I've still got a work day to get through, AND I want to run out for an hour before the coffee's even ready so that I can offer my neighbors' offering to the block watch lady.

last night, in my continued efforts to protect those who want to be protected (!) i went to the neighborhood block watch meeting at the police department. my neighbor melissa, and her husband, joined me in representing our street :) it amuses me mightily that i learned about the block watch because the sign is directly in front of the home of that beeyotch nora.

part of the problem is that my block seems to have decided that, if there's a problem, to call me. they've even cell phoned photos of dogs playing off leashes to me - what the hell am i going to do with that? they've got to call the police on their own; i'm not their mothers. that said: if i personally witness something like a dog off a leash scaring a kid, or vandalism, i will call.

only half a dozen adults, total, showed up. (one woman brought her two kids, who behaved.) we were there for a good two hours, easy. we discussed the resources of the police department and how they generally do respond well. melissa's husband has had a few experiences in which the police were not sympathetic to his calls about nora (they, poor dears, live directly next door to her; their back yards connect) and he was told to demand a supervisor. they're doing their best about the kids drag racing by the playground (!) and indeed, our crime numbers have dropped. (for a city of, we were told last night, 60,000 - i thought it was 52,000 - our crime rate is very low!) we heard about a crime ring, which was caught by another block watch, who were riding up and down I-95/I-95, between hartford and new york, and getting off the highway, going into neighborhoods, and stealing GPSs out of cars. (the GPS units were returned because the police hit the Navigate HOME buttons on them!)

we were told to keep calling the police about chronic problems, and not to be afraid to.

we're told that someone is going to talk to nora about her dog - my mom has said more than once that, if you've got Beware of Dog signs, you've got no business letting THAT particular dog off its leash! (we have a leash law.) i did point out that i'm a bit afraid of her retaliation. nonetheless, the kids on my block are afraid of the dog, and that's just not cool. they're supposed to be able to play in the park safely (and cleanly) since the park has, posted, signs from the city about the leash laws and the Curb Your Dog laws.

we've got to call public works about signs for the one-way street; it IS possible to miss the signs (though the cabs that come regularly to nora's should know better, by now) and i want to see about getting a bench for the swings area. either the officer who led the meeting, or maybe melissa's husband, will try to get me graffiti remover (i paid for bleach out of pocket, along with a bunch of other stuff, out of pocket, and none of it worked) and i said i'd clean the playground equipment myself. (that means that i'll also be watching the equipment all summer to make sure the vandals don't repeat it.) one of the ladies there, the wife of a retired officer, was saying that she won't let her grandchildren on the equipment any more because they keep asking about the words written on it. in a way that sounds prudish - but she's right. she shouldn't have to explain expletives on playground equipment - especially when you take into account how our property taxes keep getting higher and higher!

nothing is resolved, per se, but the officer knows my face, and melissa's and her husband's, now. he told us that they've got a file on nora. (we talked about how she used to be pretty! - drugs are bad, mkay?) he knows our concerns, and the police also know - from everyone at the meeting - that we do appreciate their efforts and we know that they're only human.

the meeting for city-wide is tonight. (last night was just about a half mile radius of our area) i didn't want to go; i needed to nap yesterday to make it! but the officer did ask for a representative from our block, and melissa and her husband are busy. and there's coffee.

i feel good about this.

Ferrie Brothers did an AWESOME job on your driveway!

I often think of calling you, but the time is usually bad (like, 3 a.m. or else when I'm driving to the office). I have a missed call from you on my Caller ID, too... I did want you to know about the work being done at your house, which was completed yesterday.

Last weekend was warm enough for me to sit on our stoop and read. As I sat, I saw Ben Ferrie's truck pull into your driveway. I read until he came over. You may remember that I worked with his wife, at Yale, for several years; that's how I got to know him and that's how I began hiring him to do my parents' walk and driveway, when I lived in New Haven. He wanted to tell me some stuff about his wife and their kids, and mentioned that he was doing your driveway. I called my mom, knowing that she wanted to do ours. (The roots from our big oak had bucked the driveway a good 4" to 6"; she even fell off our tricycle recently! She's OK, before you worry.) Mom and Ben talked, and Ben did our driveway at the same time he did yours.

They prepped both driveways early in the week, removing the enormous roots from ours as well. Yesterday (Thursday), he and his crew (and son - I remember when this teenager was born!!) were outside before 8:00 a.m. When I got home from work, they were just finishing. I parked in front of your house, since our driveway was still being rolled and smoothed, and noticed the attention to detail. That bump at street level at your driveway, the one that some truck probably broke, the one that's probably the city's job to fix, had been repaired. When I pointed out to Ben that I'd noticed, he said that he wasn't charging you for that. When they finished my parents' house, there was some tar left over - so they continued to the end of the street!  That "lake" of the whole block's drainage will probably still be there, but I won't tear my tires on the end of the street, which gets worse every year due to the snow plows' blades. That, too, was no charge.

Do let me know if you'd like photos. I'll be taking pictures of ours, since my mom and I need to pose with the tricycle (friends have requested pictures) and my mom can either print for you, or I can have prints done for mere pennies.  Really, with the digital camera and/or cell phone camera, it's no big deal.

Things... are what they are. My dad is now 80, and isn't doing too hot. He's also belligerent; I can understand his frustrations, but I'm too sore and tired with fibromyalgia (that's what's been making me sick; it's "chronic, widespread pain in muscles and soft tissues surrounding joints, accompanied by fatigue") to be able to deal - and my mom may look 50, but she's, uhm, NOT. We can't do this, and we're on a wait list for the Jewish Home in New Haven. My mom's health has been pretty good, I'm happy to say.

I've been fighting with Social Security; I need them to accept me as disabled so that the State can pay my medical bills. It's all a huge tangled knot! except that Social Security, the one agency I need to get the ball rolling, is the only one that's giving me a hard time. I've got a [free] consult with a lawyer next week, and my boss also gave me the name of a lawyer friend of his.

I get really angry when I look up the street and see that drug addict - the one with the big dog - who hasn't worked in years, and who lives off the Government while she does drugs and screams at her mother (when the wind is right, you can hear it a block away, in our house!), and I try so hard to help my mom and to keep going to work. I can only manage to type five hours a day; however, my boss only gave me stuff that needed polishing, not "hard" work, so this letter won't hurt me. I don't think I'll be working in another five years, though I don't know if it's the work injury I got in 2002, or the fibromyalgia, which wreaks the havoc on my hands and wrists.

That said, it's getting warmer. Two neighborhood children (they live in the McCarthy's old house) came over to sit on my steps with me, yesterday, for the first time this spring. Last summer, when I got involved with the neighborhood, was the best since I was a teenager, and I'm hoping for the same this year. They're good: they know that there's no fighting on my property, and if they start to "cut" through your front yard, I only have to say, "No, sweetie, that doesn't belong to you," and they remember. (The kids run on each other's lawns, so they forget.) I'm going to try to go to the Block Watch meeting at the police station this month. I've already complained to the police this year - cars speeding the wrong way down one-way Third Avenue, by the park where the kids play! and an officer phoned me to invite me. I'm keeping the parents up to date on what I hear. I do not know if you are interested or not; if you are, please let me know. If not, I won't bother you with details.

I hope you are well. Know that I think of you often, and I am sorry that my timing is not better. I'll call soon - or, you call me. After 2:00 in the afternoon, on weekdays, or any time on the weekend, is fine. Call any time, though, if you need something that is time-sensitive.

My mom and I both wish you the best.