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Barricade, as those in the know, know, is the name of the Transformer Decepticon that masquerades as a police car. So, whenever a police car is spotted, there is always an excited exclamation, “It’s Barricade!!!!”

Last week, BB happened to peer out the window and started jumping up and down, “TWO BARRICADES!!!!!!”

As it turns out, we have some fine neighbors. One woman was arrested. We don’t know the story. The house next door has recently had the garage converted to another house, so there are two rental houses where there used to be one, and all sorts of noises and late night parties and general mayhem seems to take place there.

This morning we were working out front, pruning and weeding, and a child was crying for over an hour at the top of his/her lungs. A very, very unhappy child. What does one do? Poor thing was miserable, obviously. And then some adult yelling and shouting started, and escalated. It went on for quite some time, and eventually Gadget called the sheriff. I was a bit nervous about this, as we were obviously the only people outside, so the call would most likely have come from us, and who knows what these people might do. I tend to be nervous about things like that, being a chicken $#!t and all. The thing is, you never know what violent people might end up doing. Because they don’t seem too concerned about reeling in their emotions and all. Anyhow, not long after, along came “TWO BARRICADES!!!!!!” Apparently they come in pairs for domestic violence calls? Second time in less that two weeks. Nice.

Some day we might move to a neighborhood with a little higher socio-economic demographic, perhaps. If we can afford it. Our little cul-de-sac is generally quite nice, apart from this set of neighbors. And we don’t spend much time outside, for whatever reason. I just hope all remains safe.

In more happy news, BB earned enough Good Boy points for his next prize. He’s very pleased. Once he gets the hang of this Good Boy business, we’ll start making him work a bit harder for his points. So far it’s an excellent tool, though. It’s working great! He helps me load the dishwasher, make the bed, hang the towels, pick up toys, wash the counters, put things in the recycle or trash bins, and such. Of course I have to actually do most of these things in tandem, or re-do them, but he’s learning, and that’s the important thing. I am very pleased as well. My beautiful boy. He fills my world with much joy.

Even with the two barricades incident, I’m feeling like I’ve had a happy, happy day. Our front yard no longer competes with the front yard on Malcolm in the Middle, we have a full tank of fuel in the van, a refrigerator filled with good vegetables, fruits, milk, cheese and eggs, the baby hammock is up, the sheets and towels are clean, the hospital bag is half-packed, and we had a delicious supper of grilled sirloin and asparagus, red peppers, onions, and mushrooms. Gadget hasn’t produced the car seat yet, but he insists he knows exactly where it is.

This morning on my way to work I noticed some high school kids walking to school and had to do a double take because my brain had a little difficulty processing what I saw.   There were two of them, and they were wearing something knee-length and colorful.  I recognized the colorful knee-length togs were those nylon or polyester sports shorts that basketball players wear.  My mind jumped to the assumption that these two figures were boys.  However, I realized they were girls, at about the same time that I realized they were wearing sport shorts.  The synapses were sparking, trying to make sense of this fashion choice.  Aware that gauchos or culottes have made an unfortunate reappearance on the fashion scene, my mind tried to match the knee length colorful garb to gauchos when I recognized the forms to be girls.  But recognizing those bright colors to be sport shorts at nearly the same instant that I processed the gender as female caught me off guard.  Add to that the detail that these brightly colored sport shorts, worn by girls, were also worn over jeans.  Over jeans.  My mind was therefore forced to recall another unfortunate fashion trend of decades past in which the sporty cool athletic types (or couch potato counterpart wannabees) would wear their jogging shorts over their sweatpants.  At a loss to explain this fashion choice, I recalled that it was so it for girls to wear their boyfriend’s letterman’s jacket in days of yore.  Maybe these girls were aligned with varsity ball players, and this is the twenty first century way of parading said status.  I hope.  Because, come on!  Bright yellow baggy knee length polyester shorts over blue jeans

I live near a high school. In the morning it is dark. The color of the sky blends with the color of the pavement. There are five lanes which separate the school from the sidewalk on the other side of the street. The speed limit on this arterial is 40 mph. I don’t recall seeing the 20 mph reduced speed school zone signs that are posted near the elementary schools. If I happen to drive along this street in the morning before school starts, I observe teenagers sauntering into the traffic, crossing the street. It never fails. They just walk out into traffic, without bothering to continue to the corner where there is a crosswalk and a traffic signal. It is so terribly hard to see these people, dressed in blue jeans that blend with the color of the sky and the color of the pavement. They don’t even look. They step out into traffic so nonchalantly. Defying society. Daring society. They are invincible, are teenagers. I used to be one. I remember.

I hope and pray that they survive this phase of clouded judgement and gracefully outgrow the arrogance that accompanies this time of youth.

…and Blackbird says… Show us your front porch.

Alas, my front porch is not so pretty. Not so inviting (but it doesn’t seem to deter the friendly Mormon missionary boys and the nice Jehovah’s Witness ladies, who all keep returning, again and again…)

On my front porch is an assortment of withering plants and a few empty pots (whose contents have recently met their demise and been sent to the afterlife — compost heaven).

Note to self. Must water plants.

There is one thing of beauty, however. This glorious green! Such a lovely coleus. Something is nibbling away at it though.

I live in suburbia where nobody knows their neighbors and nobody uses their front porch. People enter and exit their homes via the garage door, so there is little chance of interaction and things on the front porch can easily be forgotten. A level 2 sex offender just moved in a few houses down anyway, so we’re even less inclined towards being sociable. Directly across the street from a grade school. How does this happen

All said, I am thankful that I have a front porch.