The Trash Pickers

Nearly every neighborhood has a neighbor that is, well, perhaps a bit of a challenge to associate with. In our neighborhood, we are blessed with an entire family of such characters, and we experience the joy of living directly across the street from ours.

Mind you, we're not talking the neighbor that can be fondly labeled as a colorful eccentric. No indeedie...our crew is a hard-drinkin', druggin', and livin' crew. The neighbors are regularly treated to the fights that erupt amongst them, usually in the front yard. Then, of course, comes the inevitable visit from the police. 

But let's forget about the crew's best efforts to daily devalue the property in the neighborhood for a moment, shall we? Let's talk TRASH.

I put a larger amount of trash at the curb this week, having worked diligently at cleaning and organizing our garage. While the majority of the items - useless, too worn, etc. - were bagged, I had tossed an extremely large basket alongside the trashcans.

As I returned from taking DD to the bus stop this morning, I noticed Big Mama and her daughter-in-law, the neighbors from the loud house, pacing the bottom of their driveway, eyeing my trash. No sooner did I shut the front door, then Big Mama darted across the street, snatched the basket, and both ladies dashed into their house.

Now, I am usually thrilled to put usable items at the curb. I EXPECT someone to take them. Heck, I scored a solid maple dresser from a house two doors up when the neighbor shoved it to street (I did knock on the door, first, and get her okay to haul it to my house). It's common to see people driving though the neighborhood, looking for usable goodies. And, for many, times are tough, and some may not have the money to make a purchase at a thrift shop.

But, since we've lived at this house, I admit that it gripes me that no matter what I put outside, the scavengers across the street take it. Split plastic storage containers, a broken bike - it matters not. They take it. Nine times out of ten, they don't even USE the items they take. It simply joins the enormous pile of junk already filling their garage.

Maybe I'd feel differently if they weren't incessantly ringing my doorbell, asking for food and money. Maybe I'd feel differently had the son not burglarized several houses in the neighborhood. Maybe it's because I'm sick of their grandson and his slingshot, as he daily wings rocks through the air, heedless of the houses or cars in the neighborhood. Maybe it's because they've already stolen my peace of mind.

Luckily, we rent this house, so we will not be in this neighborhood forever. In the not-too-distant future, DD and I will be moving on to the next adventure in our lives. Every box we sort, every item we get rid of, gets us one step closer to our goal.

We're moving forward...