As I said in a recent blog entry, Bob and I know too much about our fellow 501 residents. The same is true for our neighbors on the block. We live at the top of a steep hill just above a large, imposing brick Tudor and across the street from a huge, white broad-beamed house.  We bought our unit because of the view from our bedrooms, which faces the water and those two big houses. Bob and I put our computers underneath the view-facing windows and spend a fair amount of time sitting at our desks working, writing, designing quilts, reading our email, and looking out the window.

We watched the imposing, brick Tudor go up for sale, languish several months on the market, and eventually be purchased by a young couple with two small children. Last July, the "Sold" sign went up, the moving vans filled up with furniture, and the house was vacant. For the next ten months, our bird's eye view consisted of a fleet of service trucks—hardwood floor installers, cabinet makers, painters, electricians, plumbers, roofers, landscape architects, sprinkler system wizards, cable guys, window treatment experts, decorators, masons and other worker bees carefully grooming and patting the stately, old matron. And all this for a house that sold for $1,300,000!

The young couple with two small children moved into the imposing large Tudor in June. On the Fourth of July when Bob and I walked down the street to take in our neighborhood parade, we saw them there with the rest of the paraders. I had to restrain myself from walking up and asking, "So how do you like your new bedroom shutters? They don't know me, but I know far too much about them. 

                                                    Imposing Brick Tudor

We've also watched the party blonde and the beefy man in the white, broad-beamed house across the street build a brick wall, install hardwood floors, tear out the kitchen and acquire a small, white puppy. They already had one dog—a large quiet Samoyed whose name ends in ..olly. I hear them call: Polly, Molly, Dolly or maybe Holly. We just call her (we think it's a her) White Dog or WD. Well, about a month ago when I was working on the computer I noticed a small white puppy in huge, white, broad-beamed house's yard. WD was completely disinterested as WD2 ran around in circles, yipping, pouncing, and pulling at ..olly's thick fur.

                                                White Broad-beamed House

WD2 is a nuisance—she (I think it's a she) yaps routinely and runs away at the slightest provocation. Party blonde and beefy man in white, broadbeamed house ignore both dogs, haven't heard about Cesar and the importance of "the walk", and are lucky that the WD is so good. Today while I was in the garage dealing with the recycle bin overflow, a neighborhood man with WD2 in tow asked if I knew where the little dog lived. "Across the street in the white, broadbeamed house", I said.  WD2 had escaped, spent the day at Good Neighbor's house, and had definitely worn out her welcome. Good Neighbor took WD2 across the street and deposited her in the back yard. By the time Good Neighbor was out of sight, WD2 squeezed through the bushes and raced gleefully back up the street.

A few hours later Bob and I were drinking coffee on the balcony and heard Crabby Lady in the big, gray house on the corner shout, "Get out of here!" Who should it be but WD2 chasing Grumpy Lady's old tabby down the sidewalk and up a tree. By the time Crabby Lady came down from her back porch and got to the sidewalk, WD2 had raced back into her own yard, down the steps and in the basement, smiling all the way. Crabby Lady peered down the alley and up the street but WD2 was nowhere to be seen.

                        
                                Big Gray House on the Corner
                                            

A few hours after that, Party Blonde, who lives in white, broad-beamed house and ignores her dogs, came home and was completely unaware that WD2 had been gone all day. I'll never tell.