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my idea of suburban diversity
Jun. 9th, 2007 11:25 pmOur neighbors one house down the road had valet parking for their party this evening. That's right, complimentary valet parking with two valets parking at least 12 cars on a road that's easily at a 35 degree angle. Those throwing the party the only Muslims on the street, as far as I can tell; the husband is occasionally mentioned in Business Week and prefers to drive the candy apple red Ferrari he bought eight years ago, and the wife has been faithfully jogging 4 miles a day ever since I was born. Sometimes they take in their nephew, but no one actually knows what the boy looks like or why he only stays for three weeks at a time at seemingly arbitrary moments throughout the year.
Just one house up the road, my special ed teacher neighbor is trying to figure out how to juggle attending her veteran son's trial for the armed robbery of prescription painkillers (which I've angsted enough over at unnecessary length, it seems to me) and babysitting her schoolteacher daughter's two-year-old son. The scientist husband has been spending more time on the golf course with his buddies lately, but the schoolteacher daughter's twin brother has come home for the summer, finding work at the same lab where his father is found during the weekdays.
Across the street is the Hispanic architect and his family who actually grows and raises their own food. The chicken coops were built so far up the hill that it looks like they plop down like wingless pigs to the feed bins that rest 20 feet away from their gas grill barbeque. There used to be turkeys, but they disappeared three Thanksgivings ago. The rooster stopped crowing around that time after my mother kept calling to complain about the unwanted 5 AM wakeup call. They (the humans, not the animals) live in a house that has become a landmark when giving directions due to the off-white paint job with firehouse engine red trim. If you have ever visited me at home, you'll know the house to which I'm referring.
And then there's me and my family, and I am too close to these subjects to know how to sketch them in pat phrases.
On an unrelated note, this post with my attempts at advice for high schol grads was apparently my 850th. I wonder how long it will be until I reach 1,000.
Just one house up the road, my special ed teacher neighbor is trying to figure out how to juggle attending her veteran son's trial for the armed robbery of prescription painkillers (which I've angsted enough over at unnecessary length, it seems to me) and babysitting her schoolteacher daughter's two-year-old son. The scientist husband has been spending more time on the golf course with his buddies lately, but the schoolteacher daughter's twin brother has come home for the summer, finding work at the same lab where his father is found during the weekdays.
Across the street is the Hispanic architect and his family who actually grows and raises their own food. The chicken coops were built so far up the hill that it looks like they plop down like wingless pigs to the feed bins that rest 20 feet away from their gas grill barbeque. There used to be turkeys, but they disappeared three Thanksgivings ago. The rooster stopped crowing around that time after my mother kept calling to complain about the unwanted 5 AM wakeup call. They (the humans, not the animals) live in a house that has become a landmark when giving directions due to the off-white paint job with firehouse engine red trim. If you have ever visited me at home, you'll know the house to which I'm referring.
And then there's me and my family, and I am too close to these subjects to know how to sketch them in pat phrases.
On an unrelated note, this post with my attempts at advice for high schol grads was apparently my 850th. I wonder how long it will be until I reach 1,000.
