Couple of things I want to write about. 

Number one? Stimulus $$$.

Now, you (and I) would have thought that LBWN as an organization, doing all the good deeds it does –  stabilizing and revitalizing the neighborhood – that it would be right up there on the list of eligibility for some Big Money. Well, my friends, not exactly.

See, it would be different if LBWN were doing things citywide, then . . . maybe. But as I understand (kind of) the Governmentspeak, heretofore, therefore, etc., etc., because its scope is local . . . then . . . sorry.

But, perhaps there is hope. Now, this is just me talking . . . maybe one of the many funding sources is eligible and if they are, well, do I hear trickling down?

The other thing? The Alfons Art Gallery. 

Yes. There is an art gallery in the neighborhood. Art. Gallery. White walls. Wood floors. With actual art in it and on the walls. Who knew? I didn’t. And I graduated with a Fine Arts degree.

I thought that all the galleries were either downtown or in the Third Ward. How wrong I was. The Sisters of Saint Francis have as part of their mission, a commitment to the visual arts, and to honor that commitment, there is an open-to-the-public gallery (and gift shop) tucked away on the second floor of their HQ at 1501 S. Layton Blvd., that positively wreaks of sincerity. It’s not a place that feels intimidating. Hey, the Sisters were wearing black long before it was trendy.

Check it out. Seriously. 

Sorry if this posting is a bit of a downer, but . . . I wouldn't be honest if I didn't write about how the mortgage crisis has hit my corner of America.

The house next door to me is empty. Late, one night, I heard my neighbors coming and going, which wasn't unusual for them since they worked long hours and spent what little free time they had with their Church. I'd often see them rushing into their back door and within fifteen minutes, they'd be rushing out again, clothes changed, shirts pressed, Bibles in their hands. 

We exchanged waves. Chit-chatted over the fence about how our sons (same age) had shot up over the winter months, or complained about our daughters' don't-stop-backing-up-until-you-hear-a-crunch driving methods.

I remember when they first moved in . . . how excited they were about owning their first house, the plans they had, how happy they were with the size of the lot, the amount of bedrooms. 

And then, after 6 years, they were . . . just gone, and I'm left to speculate about what happened. Ballooning mortgage? Divorce? Job loss? I don't know. I just feel so . . .  bad. 

Why Layton Boulevard West? Click on the link below to see the video clip.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlRR9Q8unCk

Ick. It’s early March and . . . while it’s not really winter, it’s not really spring, it’s . . . sminter? Wring? Sprinter?

Whatever this is, it sure isn’t pretty. The snow, what’s left of it, is gray tinged with black and hard as concrete. Whatever was underneath it, has now resurfaced, but soggier, flatter and even more lifeless than it was when whoever it was discarded it – the Mountain Dew bottle, the McDonald’s Happy Meal (not looking happy at all!)

Lawns are brown. The sky is grey. But, hey . . . Opening Day is just around the corner.

Yes. Brewer Baseball. The true first day of Spring as far as I’m concerned.

One of the great things about living here, is that the ballpark is a nice walk, a short bike ride, an even shorter bus ride (why drive when you have to pony up for parking?) away.

When my husband and I first moved into our house, we went to over 20 home games. That was back in the day when we didn’t have air conditioning and it was cooler in the bleachers, and tickets were $4.

I remember my husband camping out for opening day tickets – our house became the starting point for many an opening day party. Who says you can’t drink beer at 8 in the morning?

Let me just say this, that by the time the first pitch was thrown no one cared about the slushy game day conditions.

That was BC – before children. And we had to become responsible adults. Before there was a retractable roof.

This year? We are empty nesters. Control our own destiny. Unfortunately we are past the point of camping out for tickets (been there, done that). Opening day will find us outside (weather permitting) on the patio, Bob Uecker on the portable radio, our brats sizzling on the Weber and if the sun is out and the roof at Miller Park is open, we’ll hear the crack of the bat and the roar of the crowd.

The best part? No lines for the bathroom.

Let’s face it, my neighborhood, like my family, is not perfect. Everybody has cousins, aunts, uncles who on any given day can drive one ca-razy, right? 

Do I wish that the video store had a better sense of display? I do. But, you know what? The hodge-podge of cardboard cut-out movie stars, dried hanging plants, and flashing neon, just like my 86 year old great-aunt who likes to wear plaids with her polka dots, accessorized with pearls and a shear scarf – it works.

During the warm weather months, the neighborhood, can get boisterous. Like my family around the patio. Everyone has something to say and whoever says it the loudest gets the conch. Living off of a busy thoroughfare may have something to do with the noise, just like my genetic make-up. Hot-headed Irish and stubborn Polish. Loudness comes with the territory. 

Sometimes there are disagreements, differences of opinion, hissy fits. And somebody vents their frustrations on, oh, let’s say, my garbage cart. Oh, well, it’s only plastic. Easily hosed off. Or, a person’s expressive nature takes hold and, well, while some see the cement retaining wall as a retaining wall, to others, it’s a blank canvass. Not to worry. That’s why they invented Goof-Off and the I’m Sorry line of Hallmark Cards.

And, just as my aunts, uncles, cousins, related to me by blood or by marriage can drive me crazy, they can surprise me with their warmth, caring, sensibility and selflessness. Like when the neighbors got together to make a blighted corner into a beautiful garden. 

Shea Park. The daffodils and hyacinths should be poking through any day.

Or when I get interrupted from my gardening by a passer by, who thanks me for making the street a better place.

No, my neighborhood, like my family isn’t perfect. Show me a family who is and I’ll show you a family with problems. At least we have the decency to lay all our cards on the table. Even if they are mostly jokers.