If there's one thing I want to do . . .

Last night we were out working in our yard (i.e. weed patch, as some would have it) when some neighbors came by on a walk (good neighbors, not faux pseudo-neighbors who leave anonymous letters in the mailbox). They have 8-year-old twins, and the boy twin was in our Sunday School class a couple of years ago. He is delightful, if a bit of a handful. For example, one Sunday he escaped from me and started doing ninja rolls up the center aisle of the Sunday School. Sigh. He was always bored, and I didn’t blame him, because I was often bored in there, too. His little mind was too quick for the Church Ladies.

Anyway, the kids were poking around in the garden asking Marmot Dad the Latin names of various plants. Apparently, apropos of nothing, Twin A said to Marmot Dad, “If there’s one thing I want to do, it’s stop global warming.”

Let me repeat that: “If there’s one thing I want to do, it’s stop global warming.”

The kid kills me. He went on to explain that it was all about the sharks (he spent a lot of time drawing sharks when he was our pupil). Global warming is not good for sharks, I gather. He let Marmot Dad in on a little shark trivia, though: “Bull sharks are the only sharks that swim in fresh water. There was an unusual incident (sic) once where someone was attacked by a shark in a creek. It was probably a bull shark.”

Then he rollerbladed into the sunset. Sic transit gloria twinboy.

The Garden (of Eden)

Here is our glorious garden for this year (see previous post--yes, this is in part compensation for the fact that SOME PEOPLE don't like our gardening style).

Collards. Have you ever grown collards? You should. They are impossible to kill and they make lots of tasty dishes for weeks.

The staging area, where Marmot Dad keeps his hopes up that these plants will be planted somewhere this year.
The Great Onion Massacre of 2009. 
True Love. Marmot Dad does not care for rhubarb, but he brought home FOUR plants for me.
Squash-a-rama.
An eggplant! Houston! We have an eggplant!
Holy Sqash Bugs, Batman!
My climbing cantaloupe. Marmot Dad says cantaloupe doesn't climb. I say it does. So far he's winning. 
Peppers. Hot.
Arugula a-goin' to seed all over. And a cabbage.
Popcorn! Tooie can hardly wait to put the ears in a bag and "'tomp the corns off."
The garden from a distance. Not bad for the back half of a very very very small lot.
Amen.

Weeds, Glorious Weeds

I came home from swimming lessons today with the kids and, as is my habit, checked my mailbox. I found a little packet from a "neighbor" inside. Let me quote the letter, as written, poor grammar and all:

This property is a eye sore to the neighborhood. please clean it up! the weeds and flowers are out of control. if you are overwhelmed. please ask your neighbor's or church leaders for help. we have decided to give you a few days before we contact the city and start filing complaints. thanks for being a responsible neighbor.

Yes, someone actually left this in our mailbox, along with a pamphlet from the city ("weeds cannot be higher than twelve inches") and some photos of our home from the street, taken from inside a car.

Well, suffice it to say that I was shocked and appalled. And really annoyed. For so many many many reasons. There's the passive-aggressiveness. Then the patronizing-ness. And the high-and-mighty-ness. And the insulting-ness. And the fact that we do not have 12-inch high weeds in our yard. What we have is a yard that does not conform to the idiotic golf-course aesthetic of our white-bread-eating, American-Idol-worshipping, ATV-riding, pious-church-going neighborhood. Allow me to illustrate.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:
Exhibit C:
DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT???

Here's the thing. I think I know who sent this to us, bless her little heart. She calls the city all the time on people (despite her own city code violations). She even turned my neighbor and friend, a wonderful parent, into DCFS because she didn't like her potty-training techniques (said friend then picked up and moved because she couldn't stand to be in a neighborhood where people would do such a thing).

So this is my plan. I'm planning to put the letter (just the letter) back into her mailbox. If I'm wrong, no harm done. She'll just think some crank put a letter in her box. If I'm right, she'll know that I know it was her. 

Passive-aggressive, meet passive-aggressive-ER.