The Invisible New Neighbors

Jan and I have been kvetching from yard to yard.

In the space where Allen's modest house used to be, two huge houses are going up.  When Jan and I look across the street, the first one--already framed in--looks like a giant Tinker Toy construction.  Two and a half stories high and very deep, we think it belongs on a large lot with trees instead of crammed into a lot too small for anything green.

The new owners have already complained about having to have a utility pole in their yard and asked that it be installed in Jan's yard instead! She has successfully rejected their offer to host their pole.  They've also asked the other neighbor to cut down his trees so leaves won't fall into their pool.  He, too, has rejected their invitation to chop down down his beautiful old trees for the sake of their pool.  It has been reported that the new neighbors are not happy campers.

From what planet do these people come, that they can invade our street of small houses with one that dwarfs us all AND demand that the neighbors accommodate their wishes?  We haven't met them yet, but we've already decided that they will not be our best friends.

All day today and yesterday, the workers have treated us to music so loud you could probably hear it on Broadway, six blocks away.  Someone on our usually-quiet street called the police and asked them to ask the builders to lower the volume.  When they did, it was like the ending of a migraine headache.  I'm not a fan of music in any language during nap hour, but mariachi music in the middle of the day is particularly noxious.

"Good fences make good neighbors," Frost said in one of his poems.  I wonder if we can build a fence down the middle of the street.