The Front Porch

Saturday was Valentine’s Day – which made me pause for a moment and assess the state of my relationship, and . . . after 26 years, I think we are in a rut, and by “we” I mean me and my neighborhood.

We’ve let ourselves go. Gotten too complacent. I’ll be the first one to admit that over the course of a long, cold, snowy winter, I may have let certain things slide . . . the last time I ran a razor over my legs coincided with the last day I gave up on tending to my lawn care duties sometime in October. Why shave when I’d be wearing long pants for the next 7 or 8 months? Why mow the lawn (or pick up dog poo) when it could snow at any minute?

Both of us have gotten a bit sloppy in our appearance. I blame this time of year. It’s those winter doldrums. I mean, the snow, much like my big puffy winter coat, covered a lot of sins like, my fat thighs, paunch and lack of a fashion sense. In the case of my neighborhood? The snow covered the litter, the sparse lawns and buried all the things that everyone decided could wait until spring.

And there’s always the What ifs – this was not my first choice for a neighborhood.

There were other suitors – the trendy East side, Bay View, ‘Tosa – they were attractive enough, but . . . this neighborhood? Well, it needed me. And, dare I say . . . I found it’s bad boy rough-around-the-edges vibe rather appealing, especially when it came time for my kids to invite friends, who lived in Brookfield over for a play date.

Me: Sure, Tiffany can come over this Saturday. We live on South 33rd Street off of National Avenue.
Tiffany’s mother: Oh (long pause) okay.
Me: Is that a problem? I mean, time wise?
Tiffany’s mother: No. No. It’s just that–I didn’t know–(long pause)Um . . . is it–I mean, that neighborhood . . . would the kids be safe playing outside?
Me: Safe? As far as what goes?
Tiffany’s mother: You know . . . crime?
Me: Well, my kids haven’t been involved in a crime spree in at least a couple of weeks.
Tiffany’s mother: (silence)
Me: I was joking.
Tiffany’s mother: I mean . . . on second thought, maybe your kids could come over here?
Me: Brookfield? Ooo. I don’t know. You don’t have sidewalks.

After so much time spent together, every relationship hits a wall, and ours is no different. I just wish that whoever keeps hitting the wall – or in this case, the decorative fencing on Layton Boulevard – would stop.

There was only one time when I was ready to call it quits. To throw in the towel. It was during one summer and there was a house on our block . . . let’s just say the people who lived there were engaged in nefarious activities that spilled out onto the street and my lawn. And after a while, I got sick and tired of it. Long story short? I informed the MPD and one day, they paid my neighbors a visit (that would be Copspeak for a bust). My former neighbors now have a different place of residence, somewhere in Waupun and Taycheedah.

We don’t keep in touch.

The street has never been so quiet. Come spring, when I sit on my patio, with my glass of white wine, I'll hear soft swells of Mariachi music, smell the garlic roasting from the Thai restaurants down National Avenue, and I’m in love again.