Going Crazy

When we moved into this house, a crazy lady lived across the street.

She was more crazy than we realized. Following her death, the health department had to “condemn” her house and we were told she had been urinating in jars, which she was storing in her basement, and defecating in the toilet, which was non-functional but filled with kitty litter.

She was neither poor nor without family. But the mental disease she lived with was so severe that she lived like a pauper and wouldn’t open the door to anyone, including immediate members of her family.

When we first moved in, she would talk to us a little.

Her skittish demeanor, run-down house and odd beliefs and behaviors made us aware she was not normal. She showed me a tooth she had whittled out of birch and jammed into her gum. She said it worked great and hadn’t fallen out since she installed it. She burned all her garbage in her fireplace. Sometimes the stench coming out of her chimney was enough to make you gag. She had cases of Ensure delivered to her house and I believe that’s the only thing that passed through her lips.

Still, my numerous calls to social services and other town and state departments went unanswered. Nothing I said seemed to matter. Her mental health deteriorated daily as did her house.

We live on a dead end street and she was obsessed with keeping people from using her broken-down, double driveway to turn around. She created a series of barricades made out of “found” orange cones, cement pieces, wires, bricks, ribbons, rope, paper cups and once small plastic American flags.

The town said there was nothing they could do. Husband and I learned to live with the crazy lady and her crazy barricades; the house that was rotting from the inside out and worrying about the living conditions of someone who seemed to desperately need some kind of help.

We planted a huge island of trees, shrubs and flowers to block our view of her house but I always knew what was behind the plantings and it disturbed me if I let it. I had tried in every way possible to get someone to help her out but I was told it was okay for people to be nuts or not mow their lawn or not paint their house. I think I understood, still not sure about it.

Anyhow, to make a long saga condensed, she died, someone bought the house and started to remove debris in hazmat suits. From there it was cleaned and painted; an attempt at growing grass was made. Next the house was rented and the new people made a few more improvements. They moved and the next renter concentrated on the yard. The house kept looking better and better.

Last year the house was sold to a very nice couple who told me they were going to polish this jewel in the rough until it shown. And they did. New windows, gutters, roof, sidewalk. Lots of perennials and annuals tastefully planted. A breezeway turned into a kitchen extension. A new patio and new garage doors. Lovely!

Then our main, view-blocking tree died and had to be chopped down. I was sad, but it no longer served its original purpose which was blocking the view of the broken down house or sightings of the crazy lady walking around in 90 degree temperatures in a coat and scarf.

This spring I noticed a problem developing across the street. They started bringing home lawn ornaments: Little boys with fishing poles, squirrels, ducks, swans, babies in carriages, all cast out of stone.

Then came the wooden tchotchkes: the birdhouses and bird feeders, the pinwheels and large painted wooden flowers. Buckets and pots filled with flowers multiplied like the stone rabbits that were also scattered around the front yard --and-- they had their driveway redone -- a slick-black replacement for the gray, gouged ruins that once served such a purpose.

The driveway looked great; the lawn ornaments were a bit over the top for my taste, but still okay with me. After all, I had lived with the crazy lady for quite a few years and really couldn’t complain.

***

It has been over 6 weeks since the driveway was redone and the lovely people across the street have kept up the “crime-scene” tape across their driveway preventing anyone from turning around in it. I thought this was a temporary barricade to allow the new driveway to set properly. But, six weeks? I'm beginning to understand --it will be a permanent and the ultimate tchotchke on their property.

I watch how they religiously undo the driveway crime-scene tape to get their cars out, and then tie up the tape before they leave. I’m afraid the crazy lady left “crazy” in that house and it’s contagious.

These people started off normal and are now sinking into a new form of the neighborhood nut.

So, looks like husband and I will be out tree shopping again real soon.

Crazy, isn’t it?