Too Close For Comfort
I usually love to retreat to my cave away from home, our camp in Confluence. On most of our trips, I get a lot of work done. And the cats enjoy looking out the windows at the rabbits, squirrels, wrens, moles, and chipmunks that frequent the underbrush behind our trailer.
However, the last two times we’ve been here, my peaceful work environment has been shattered by—NEIGHBORS.
Part of my problem with people living in close proximity is the fact that I grew up on a farm. Our neighbors were cows. The human variety lived at a comfortable distance. I could walk to visit my friends. But they couldn’t look in my kitchen window.
Even now, at home I only have human neighbors on one side of our house, and they’re as reclusive as I am. We wave at each other when we’re out in our yards. But that’s about it. My mom lives nearby. I can walk there in under two minutes. But I can’t hear her talking to her lady friends on her phone.
Here in Confluence, we’re squeezed in between two other camps. On one side, the trailer sits empty and for sale. On the other side, the family rarely shows up. Until recently.
And when they do show up, they show up in droves. I think they invite ALL the relatives to come enjoy the amenities. These relatives hang out on their deck, which is a whopping two feet (maximum) from my kitchen window. They park in our spot if Hubby has the car out, or block us in if the car is here. Kids and dogs overflow onto our campsite and play in our “front yard.”
This morning there was a huge (HUGE) argument between the husband and wife. I don’t think they realized I was inside my cave listening to every word. It’s not eavesdropping if the only way you can avoid hearing it is sticking your fingers in your ears and singing “Lalalalala.”
As I write this, there are six adults and three children right outside my window having a grand ol’ time. I want to yell out at them, “I’m trying to work in here!”
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