Story of the little house, continued

If you've been reading this blog since, oh, more or less the beginning, then you may remember that there's been construction going on across the street from me. There was a little brick house there, a 1950's ranch that matched, exactly, every other house on this street. But the old woman who lived there, Carmen Wilkenson, a retired elementary school teacher, reading teacher, children's book author (as far as I can tell, a kindred spirit and I wish so much I met her) died just before we moved in across the street from her.

Her house was accidentally flooded by its negligent caretakers, and unsalvageable, it was demolished.

Then the construction began. Once it looked like this.

I have to tell you, it's been a long six months for the neighborhood. While there wasn't anything especially surprising about the constancy of loading, unloading, trucks, people, and noise, a few things have surprised me. There have been a great many crews--the roof guys, the siding guys, the garage door guys, the wall board guys, the landscaping guys....and on and on. Some have made more of an attempt than others to restrain their noise and presence in our neighboohood. When it was cold, the indoor crews started their generator around 7am, and it stayed on until 7pm most nights, along with their bright, bright lights. Some have parked right in front of my house, eating lunch in their car, doors open to get air and block the sidewalk, talking loudly and occasionally spitting. Some have taken more notice of us than others, stopping to observe my coming and going from my car. Once I stopped in my living room, idly thinking of something else and observing the growing house outside our picture window, when I realized that a member of the crew was likewise paused, and staring right into my window. We were having something of a staredown. I thought I'd wait him out, remind him of who was at work and who was in the "privacy" of her own home. But, after a second or two, I turned first. The most recent crew, the landscape guys, have brought along with them a radio and have appointed themselves the neighborhood DJs. Needless to say, I'm so glad to see that they seem to be nearing completion.

I took this photo a few minutes ago. And yes, that's a toilet on the front porch of the new (million dollar) house across the street. There's something about that toilet that spurred me to write this rather whiny post. Why couldn't they leave it in the garage? Or in the entryway? Could they throw the neighborhood a bone and try to keep a semblance of aesthetic grace? I hope it's a joke, something meant to get a laugh from another crew member, and not just complete unconsciousness.

Whining now complete. We'll now return to our usually scheduled programming.