Spring Breaking

The wonderful thing about early spring is that it's the time you can get out on the weekends and really, really work on that garden until your back is ready to snap in half. That's what I've been doing for the past two weekends. Moving dirt from one end of my yard to another to keep my house's foundation from bending slowly in half and adding stone pathways over said dirt and planting tomatoes (please, dear god, let there be tomatoes) and shrubs and such.

In the process, I've verified that my crazy neighbor Brian hates me. I'm not sure why, but then again, he's crazy. I suspected it a few months ago when he decided to stop speaking to me--not returning my neighborly hellos, refusing to look me in the face, etc. Which of course made me all the more determined to figure out what was going on. I have an anti-survival instinct that way.

So the grand confrontation went like this:

Me, happily digging a hole for a pretty, pretty new pineapple guava plant. I hear said neighbor's gate squeak open right beside me. He can't avoid me. He's right there: Hi Brian--hey, just wanted to let you know I'm going to be working on the fence at some point, so if you hear some noise out here, it's me.

Brian, who has been raking leaves or killing cats or something in his back yard: Mmph.

Me, laying on sweet voice. Going to get to the bottom of this: So, how's it going?

Said Neighbor: Terri..mra..blah..rible.

Me: What?

Brian: Terrible.

Me, going into "talking to a crazy person, let's make use of our counseling training, finally" mode: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. What's wrong?

Brian, in a rather nasty tone: You name it.

Me, trying to assess my part in this: I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?

Brian, in an increasingly sneering nasty tone: I seriously doubt that.

Me, realizing I ain't getting to the bottom of anything except possibly a shallow hole in the woods if I keep this up: Well, sorry to hear that. (dig, dig, dig)

(Dexter the cat enters stage left and wander into Brian's garage while I continue brandishing my big protective shovel that could put a dent in someone's head if it needed to. I both fear and hope for a nice spray of cat urine.)

Said Neighbor: Mrahrara. (Goes into garage.) Scat, cat. Scat! (Shoots nasty glare out in the world's general direction, closes garage door.)

So I go on with my little life of planting things and laying down stone pathways and making a peaceful little earth-mother oasis of dirt and tranquility, and I try to ignore this. The unfortunate part of being a homeowner is, of course, that one is stuck. I must live beside and have semi-hostile non-interaction with Mr. Crazy Pants for the next several years. And I'm really not good at that. I am highly trained in the art of making peace with crazy people. It's what I do. I either make peace or, in my failure, grow frustrated and escalate into all-out war. And, as peace seems impossible and we're in the height of growing season, this leads to several interesting passive-aggressive possibilities.

It is with some embarrassment that I admit I started into the phylum plantae warfare dork thing by buying a plant that's supposed to ward off evil and planting it on the side of the house. No, I don't believe in this stuff, but, well, every little symbolic middle finger gesture I can direct over there helps me feel better.

Next, I'll consider sewing some rue (pretty, but downright itchy if you're allergic. I appear not to be too terribly.) right outside the fence near his side of the house. Might cause a rash or two and some good gnashing of teeth. I've also considered a nice border of thorny, thorny roses. Not sunny enough, though. I'll have to think on that one.

Finally, I've encouraged the cat to go pee in his yard. I'm not sure this is happening, but I am sure that the cat is enjoying peeing in all the nice, newly loosened and moved, highly diggable dirt in my yard. You'd think I'd have learned from all those you-reap-what-you-sew lessons in cheesy horror movies and Buffy re-runs.

So when you see me walking down the street in the next few weeks itching my rashy arms, my legs covered in small punctures (but what a great skirt!) and you notice that a vague, yet overpowering smell of cat pee seems to be coming from my left shoe, you'll know what I've been up to. Just don't ask me if there's anything you can do to help. Mrah!