Posted in neighborhood, trash

“Chairs on the curb” day

Today was “chairs on the curb” day in the neighborhood. Fridays are big trash pickup day, which means you can put anything except toxic waste on the curb and the trash guys will haul it away. Lots of upholstered chairs got the old heave-ho this morning.

Every chair has a story. Who sat and stayed up into the night absorbed in a recently purchased book? Who binge-watched a whole new season of their favorite show from the chair? Who wore the jersey and hat of their favorite team, cheering them on to a championship from the comfort of a chair? Did a cat or dog occupy the chair, making it their favorite snooze location? Any chair like that would be ground-zero for many naps.

Every chair has a story. Stains from spilled drinks. Crumbs from late-night snacks. Grime from infrequent cleaning. Faded fabric from sunlight peeking through blinds.

Every chair has a story. Each started out in a furniture show showroom. Each one was brand new, delivered to a home, carefully placed in a room. The color matched the carpet and drapes. Scotch-guard protected each chair for one year. After that, you’re on your own.

Each chair was someone’s favorite. For a few years, at least.

Until curb day.

Posted in neighbor, neighborhood

Do-it-yourself hybrid roadside mailbox

Okay, I lied.

Here’s another post about a mailbox in my neighborhood. Here’s a broken metal box nailed to an old wooden post. A fusion of two broken worlds. Functional. Ugly. Creative. Resourceful. Not even close to code. Unashamed. Neighbors hate this. Mail carrier must chuckle every day.

This is definitely Florida man. Hell no, I’m not buying a new mailbox. The old post hasn’t fallen over yet. All we get is junk mail anyway. A couple of nails. Problem solved.

Posted in neighbor, neighborhood

Front yard of the week

I chose this as my “front yard of the day” because the eclectic design drew me in.

  • A “Welcome to the Shitshow” banner
  • A meditative frog
  • A stately egret
  • A grimacing pelican
  • A patriotic pinwheel
  • Blank directional signs pointing everywhere and nowhere
  • Three pedestal solar lights
  • One spiky plant in a pot
  • A trio of bowls where rain collects

The residents may have had some rhyme and reason for this collection. But it’s not obvious to me.

Do these folks lack direction in their lives? Or do they feel like they’re being pulled in so many directions that life seems out of control, or as they put it, a “shitshow?”

Perhaps they allowed each person in the family to choose one item for the front garden. The collection represents the personalities and preferences of those who live in that house.

I suppose it could be a collection of gifts they felt compelled to display, lest they insult the givers. (I wouldn’t feel obligated, but that’s just me.)

So there you have it. My choice for front yard of the week.

Posted in dogs, neighbor, neighborhood

Picture perfect poop

A neighbor framed his driveway with these new signs last week. On my daily walks I haven’t noticed any dog waste left behind.

Until today.

Today someone deliberately left a bag of poop right there in the driveway. It wasn’t me. I swear. But I want to thank the person who did for creating the perfect picture for me.

This does nothing to improve the neighborhood. I have this theory that these signs cause owners to make their dogs wait until they arrive at these yards.

Let’s say for the sake of argument that the camera catches my dog, big or small, making an early morning deposit on this lawn. What would happen next? Is there facial (or butt) recognition for dogs, revealing their home address? Would someone come knocking on my door with photo evidence of the crime? Could they get a canine restraining order?

These signs come and go in my immediate neighborhood. They fade, rip, deteriorate, and eventually blow away. Nature will restore balance to the world.

Sign, sign
Everywhere a sign
Blockin’ out the scenery
Breakin’ my mind
Do this, don’t do that
Can’t you read the sign? (Five Man Electrical Band 1971)

Posted in neighbor, neighborhood

Shorty-short mailboxes

Okay, this will be my last mailbox piece. At least for a while.

Today’s topic: short mailboxes.

I chuckle every time I walk by these two mailboxes. They are short. Really short. They struggle to max out a two feet. USPS indicates a height of 41 to 45 inches to the bottom.

So why have a shorty-short mailbox?

The gracious answer: the person is in a wheelchair or scooter. That’s what they can reach. Their house has lower counters and lower shelves, to accommodate their limited reach.

Or perhaps they are just short people. One doesn’t use the word midget any more. So maybe it’s a little person or person with dwarfism. For them, a mailbox like this works.

Bad installation? Maybe. Someone didn’t buy a long enough 4×4. Or got carried away pounding one into the ground. They were too lazy to change it, so they just cut it off and made it fit. Who cares? It’s mostly junk mail anyway.

It could have been a former mailbox casualty, fixed and restored. After discarding the broken pieces, this is what was left. Good enough.

I’ll try not to chuckle too much when I pass these homes. Short mailboxes have feelings, too.

Posted in neighborhood

It’s not easy being a mailbox

It’s been a rough week for mailboxes in our neighborhood. Every morning I notice new ones that have been attacked and left for dead.

A few years ago, it looked like someone drove down the street with a baseball bat, taking out a whole row of roadside mailboxes. I’ve seen the latest rash of violence in front of random houses. Whoever it was didn’t just take a swing at the mailbox, but intentionally knocked down whole posts.

I suppose this is how some have fun late at night. I don’t know who they are, but they are bold. When most houses have doorbell cameras, someone is going to see you. You’re going to get caught.

I know most mailboxes are just plain ugly. Even brand new ones only look attractive for a few months. The Florida sun and heat quickly takes its toll.

My mailbox is intact. For now.

Posted in neighbor, neighborhood

He’s painting his windows!

It’s six-thirty am. It’s just light enough to see. And what I see is my favorite neighbor painting his windows. That’s right, he’s painting his windows with a very small roller and a pan of paint.

Go back and read that again. He’s painting his windows.

You’ve read about my favorite neighbor before. If not, check him out. (You know, the one who ripped out his lawn, put lights in his driveway, painted his house white, and didn’t want visitors.)

I thought I would never write about him again. What else could he do? How far could he go? What was left?

And yet here we are. He’s painting his windows!

Okay, maybe he wants more privacy. Fine. What about curtains? Too much sunlight in the morning? How about some nice blinds? Peeping Tom in the neighborhood? I doubt it. If there is, call the cops.

So there you go. Another chapter in “the most interesting neighbor” saga.

Posted in neighbor, neighborhood

A very un-welcome mat


So this is the most recent picture of the neighbor I’ve written about before. (You know, the one who ripped out his lawn, put lights in his driveway, and painted his house white.)

Anyway, here’s the latest. In the pictures above, you see that he’s stacked up sprinkler donuts to create a security barrier for his front door. A looped cable connects them. That “No Soliciting” sign will surely repel any who think they can jump the barrier.

Door-to-door sales is still a thing. I never did that, but did knock on doors for market research. Had I seen this setup, I wouldn’t have to read the sign. I would have walked right by. No way I’m walking up to this door.

I daily walk by homes with security system signs, motion-sensitive floodlights, cameras mounted along the roof, metal bars across the windows, loud woofing dogs, and prominent “No Soliciting” signs. I give them all a wide berth.

Ironically, the houses with the most security are the least appealing homes. Spoiler alert: no thief is casing your house. No solicitor thinks about knocking on your door.

Paranoid? Maybe this is a booby trap. Explosives? Who knows. Is that even legal? I have no idea.

Don’t worry, I’ll keep my distance.

Posted in neighborhood

Each one unique: all those mailboxes

Photo by Nikolay Loubet on Unsplash

During a recent walk, I marveled at the variety of mailboxes in front of the homes in the neighborhood. It seems like no two are alike. That’s amazing given that I walk past hundreds of houses on a usual two-and-a-half mile trek.

Black, white, and shades of brown dominate. But there’s also teal, forest green, gray, and rust red (literally rust-covered). Some are wrapped with patterns or pictures.

I’ve noticed a few ornamented with turtles, small black bears, pelicans, flamingos, lizards, eagles, fish, manatees, and mermaids.

Some look like small houses. Others are covered with vines and flowers. Colleges are well represented, along with branches of the military. Seasonal flags hang from some, while others have small flower boxes.

The boxes are supported by bricks, wood, concrete, chrome, miniature lifeguard chairs, metal poles, and 4×4 timbers.

Even though few people get the newspaper delivered, a quarter of the mailboxes have a newspaper slot. Those who get the paper usually have to pick it up off the driveway anyway.

Some mailboxes have locks. I’ve never had mail stolen. Some are just the opposite: the door has fallen off. Some of those folks don’t check their mail very often. I can see rain-soaked, sun-dried bills in them.

Almost all have numbers, affixed at all different angles. One had the address written out in longhand with paint. I’ve only seen two with the family name on them.

The majority are a standard height. With a chuckle I pass one that’s only two feet tall. To be fair, that could be for someone in a wheelchair. Over time, many have started leaning forwards, backwards, and side to side, some at crazy angles.

In some communities, all the mailboxes are together in the middle of a block. I think I’d miss all the creative ways people receive their mail.