The New Neighbors

This winter, the house that is kitty corner from us across our back yard finally sold and became a group home for developmentally disabled adults. The previous neighbors were a very nice pair, except that, according to other neighbors, they were both bipolar and refused to take meds. We always knew when the guy was manic because suddenly there were household projects going on at all hours of the day and night. Two summers ago, for instance, the man power-washed the deck from 5pm to 11:30 pm every night for just under three weeks. So, when we heard that a group home had moved in we thought it was a nice upgrade. (I must admit that for a moment I envisioned the group homes I ran in my twenties when the movement to empty state hospitals was underway. I had one house where the guys were chasing eachother around with spades and throwing eachother over the railing of the split level entries. That's another story though.)

So, anyway, as we were gardening yesterday, we kept hearing this cooing sound. Cooooo. Cooooo. Cooooo. Cooooo. Finally, Curt asked "Is that Mourning Dove?" I chuckled and said "No, honey, that's one of the group home residents." Curt sort of rolled his eyes. A little later, we hear some music come on followed by louder cooing and a little wailing along to the music. I'm thinking this is kind of charming and, you know, more power to anyone who engages in self expression. I see Curt looking up occasionally and seeming a little puzzled. Finally, he asks me "Is that supposed to be singing?" I say, "Yes. These are the haunting vocal stylings of our new neighbors." To which Curt says, "Sounds more like a nightmare to me ."