Memorial Day Miscellany

The Miz'ry
Katy and I both have it. I'm going to have to take her to the vet about it. Me? Friday's doctor visit netted me a "So what?" look from the doctor. I'm not seeking drugs, trust me. I already feel like I'm on way too many. She looked at me noncommittally and said she would hook me up with some physical therapy. Why is it so hard to get good medical care for humans in New Jersey?

Katy aches all over. I can see it when she walks. She's got tummy troubles, too. Poor girl. Time to find another vet because Hunky Vet's place es muy expensivo.

The Neighbors
Saturday, my catty-corner neighbors were whooping it up. This happens a couple of times during the summer. I was nursing the start of a migraine and the bass thump-thump-thump made my house jump. Then the kids, apparently 200 strong, all decided to get into the pool and scream. I know kids scream. I did when I was a kid. But this was about to send me into Migraine Land. I walked over to the neighbors' house and saw a woman looking at me through the open gate. I introduced myself, was pleasant, and she told me her name. I asked what the occasion was - her daughter's birthday. Lovely. Happy birthday. She said, "The music is too loud?" By this time, the music was fine.

"The screaming," I said. "A bit much. Could you ask them to tone it down?"

"Oh, sure, sure," she said. I thanked her, came home, and the screaming stopped.

So much easier than calling the police and now I know her name. Nice.

Everyone's Gone to the Moon
Except for all the Indian folks who decided to come back home for the holiday weekend to revisit their old stomping grounds. Apparently, you cannot buy basmati rice, baby goat, or mangoes in Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Missouri. I saw license plates from all over and the streets were thick with families.

I walked past one family, a mom in a salwar kameez, dad in trousers and a shirt, the daughter who was about 18 in tight jeans and a t-shirt. Daughter said, "Oh, Mooommm, that is so Indian!"

The Fire Pits of Pleasantville
Last weekend, I was taking a nap on the couch and woke up to the smell of woodsmoke. All the windows were open and I heard the rumble of a big truck go past my house. When I got up, I saw a police car zoom past. And then sirens.

In the ten years, I've been here, five houses within a half mile of me have caught fire. All required rebuilding.

I went out and looked for the smoke. At first, it looked like it was very close in the east. Then a little further south. I watched the fire trucks go down one street, come back up and go down another one. By this time, I was on the sidewalk with a bunch of other people. "They can't find the fire," I said.

Then I saw to my left, gray smoke billowing up like the Smoke Monster on 'Lost', from a fire pit. And to my right, another column of smoke from another fire pit. The cops and the fire department found both of them. The people to the left had already extinguished their fire pit. The ones on the right let it keep on burning, or it was out of control. The cops went to the left. The fire department went to the right. A neighbor's Dalmatian had come out and a fireman stopped to pet it, which was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me.

A neighbor standing near me said, "Those fire pits can get out of control."

Another one said, "They're illegal unless you have a metal mesh covering for them. We do."

And I said, "I was going to get a fire pit. I just changed my mind."

The neighbors on the left were cited. We watched the cops write the ticket. The fire on the right went out, the fireman came back, end of story.

It doesn't take much to get the bourgeoisie of Pleasantville out of their house on a Sunday evening.