One is never enough…

when speaking of crazies.

As if my life weren’t eventful enough, a new crazy person is attempting to join our entourage. As I’ve noted previously: ours is a small island. Despite our meager size, our island may legitimately boast one of the most dense conflagrations of crazies to be found. Surprisingly I do not include myself among the head count. I believe this phenomenon is merely the law of attraction in action. Our rock may also boast the densest population of red ants, geckos, chickens or any number of things per square mile. But such things generally draw significantly less attention than crazy people. In honor of Thanksgiving, I had hoped to compose a one year anniversary post dedicated to the strangler fig’s most major attack. I was waylaid by a crazy person. The odds were in her favor.

second attack of the strangler fig

evil tree v evil car

One year ago the evil tree claimed not one but two vehicles, smashing a jeep and suzuki samurai to smithereens on the street in front of my house. Luckily, other than the autos, no one was hurt which is nothing short of a miracle.

strangler fig carnage

The amazing thing was that the precipitating event was not a Tropical Storm—let alone hurricane—it was merely a strong gust of wind. This is how truly scary the Evil Fig is. It has a well-established history of attacking randomly without provocation. The good news was that one of the two victims was the vehicle of the crazy cat lady! Like its owner, the suzuki samurai annoyed most of the neighbors as it belched toxic fumes into our homes while idling on the street for long stretches of time at all hours of the day and night as its battery charged. On a small island excessive starting and stopping, short trips and the use of A/C eat up auto batteries. Thus, empty idling vehicles are a common sight. In the case of the suzuki, the fumes and the noise carried well over a city block.

Justice indeed! After years of wreaking havoc on everyone other than its neglectful owner, the tree turned on the hand that refused to prune it smashing her vehicle most righteously! I was thousands of miles away at the time or would surely have been blamed for instigating the event in some nefarious way. My neighbor on the cemetery side, RDT, left me a voicemail; laughing so hard he could barely speak, his message ended with “karma’s a beyatch.” I could not agree more.

It was inevitable. The tree was doing what strangler figs are well known to do. It was fulfilling its destiny; honoring its stripes. I personally had been waiting for this branch to drop since 2006 at least. In truth, the event seemed to affect the crazy cat lady more than any other. I think she may have felt betrayed or affronted by the act of destruction. Prior to this, I believe that the crazy one felt that the tree carried out righteous acts against those that transgressed against the crazy one—in most cases the transgression was merely existing. The events of Thanksgiving last seemed to shake the crazy one’s constitution allowing perhaps a sliver of doubt to creep into the shadows of her self-righteous indignation.

It also cost her money: ironically not to remove the tree—as it had deposited itself upon a pubic street and two privately-owned vehicles—but to replace her vehicle. Although the samurai was revived briefly it ultimately succumbed to the attack and was replaced by a vintage red BMW convertible. Talk about a change of energy! The crazy one noticeably scaled back her aggressive antisocial behavior after this event. Even the compulsive watering was nothing compared to her actions prior to the loss of her samurai.

a costly battle for the Evil Tree

putting things in perspective

Unfortunately this would not be the final assault of the Evil Fig. On July 21 it struck again. This time lashing out at the neighbor on the other side of the crazy cat lady, the house formerly owned by my friends the Connecticut Yankees. Luckily the house was being tented for termites at the time and the Evil Tree’s efforts were thwarted.

attack number three of the evil tree

I awoke in the middle of the night to a loud crack/bang. I could not imagine what had happened. The remaining largest limb of the beastly tree had partially broken and was dangling precariously and dangerously over the former CT Yankee’s roof.

The next day workers installed cables to stabilize the branch until a crane could be obtained. Once again no one was harmed by the Vicious Ficus. In the group photo the crazy cat lady is in blue.

Rather than addressing the strangler fig, I must report that a new crazy person is attempting to move into our cozy burg. On Friday the 13th one of our own left the drama that is our street for good. Miss A (a widower who with her husband built from concrete block the small formerly avocado green bungalow across the street) would have been 86 in January. On February 2nd, Ground Hogs Day and my most favorite holiday of the year, she nearly departed this mortal coil but was pulled back from the brink—more by luck than any skill on the part of our seriously incompetent local medical personnel. To wit, after saving Miss A they implanted a faulty pacemaker which had to shortly thereafter be removed as it would have leaked toxic substances, finishing Miss A for good. You do not have to take my word for the state of medical services on our island. A prominent local lawyer who specializes in medical malpractice at a firm whose cases start at a million dollars, has given her staff orders, even at the risk of her death, to put her on a plane or into a cab to be taken at least 100 miles up the road for any major medical treatment. I am not making this up. After Miss A recovered she had to leave for the mainland as she required constant care which her loser local children could not provide. Miss A was a sweet kind soul who never missed church and always kept herself and her house trim and proper. She was fortunate enough to die in her home having returned for the first time since February right before Halloween. She was slated to leave again on November 20th and perhaps she decided not to go. At least that is what I think.

Chillin at Miss A’s

So it was on Friday the 13th that the emergency vehicles swarmed our street. It was around 6pm when a fire truck arrived and parked in front of my house. Our street is so narrow I could barely get off of my porch to figure out what was happening. Like most events in small towns, the arrival of emergency personnel is an invitation to a block gathering of sorts. We all come outside and catch up on the local happenings while ascertaining what exactly is going on at present. The coconut telegraph ensures that news travels fast.

I went over and spoke to TFKAD’s former landlords. We all were worried about Miss A as it was now clear that the firemen had come for her. Twenty minutes later, the EMTs arrived. We watched them miss the turn onto our street entirely and waited as they caused a major traffic fiasco backing up. This took another five minutes or more. By the time they loaded Miss A into the ambulance a full thirty minutes or more had elapsed. I am trained in CPR and First Aid but a novice could tell you this was not a good thing concerning the survival prospects for an 85 year old woman with a bad ticker. As I headed back indoors I crossed behind the ambulance and saw them administering CPR to Miss A. I did not take this as a hopeful sign.

Miss A’s Things

Miss A officially died the following day. We found out abruptly on Monday when her absentee family members commenced arriving—many from no further than new town, mere blocks away. By Wednesday afternoon when Miss A was buried in the cemetery across the street, most of her worldly possessions had been carted away by strangers, thrown out in the trash, or placed out on the sidewalk. It was truly horrifying. Early Saturday morning, not a week since her death, Miss A’s apparent heirs pulled away in their pickup leaving Miss A’s things strewn about. They have not yet returned.

The place was a mess, left in a condition that would have upset Miss A greatly. On Monday I went over and cleaned things up, moving items into her carport and throwing out trash and rain-sodden possessions. Condolence cards remained untouched in the mail box; the shades and blinds were open revealing a similarly disheveled interior bereft of all furniture. Miss A’s recliner was out on the sidewalk for over three weeks until late last Sunday. Around midnight I watched from my perch atop my roof as an intoxicated young man rolled himself down the street in the recliner calling loudly to his mates, “hey check this out!”

more of Miss A’s things

It was no surprise when on the Friday after Thanksgiving in the early afternoon I came around the corner of my house to see an older black woman seated on a chair in front of Miss A’s, shopping cart alongside, eating her lunch while loudly commenting to any and all passers by. My internal alarms sounded. I watched from inside my home as she finished her meal and lit up a small cigar. By the time I went back upstairs to work on the drywall she was singing happy day after thanksgiving to no one in particular at the top of her smoke-compromised lungs. I decided I would take her picture, just in case. When I returned with my camera she was on her way down the street having left behind a pile of stale bread crumbs, toilet paper and cigar butts. I suspected this would not be the last I’d see of her.

a magnet for crazies

Sure enough, when I was putting out the trash the following Sunday evening around midnight I was startled when a familiar voice began shouting at me. I quickly realized the bag lady had returned and, as feared, was attempting to squat at Miss A’s. I confronted her and asked if she needed some help. I explained that this was my friend’s house and would like to know what she was doing here. She said it was her friend’s house too and invited me inside. I accepted. She tried the locked door and then said she wasn’t gonna let me inside just now. At this point I was on the porch and she was back on the sidewalk. I stood my ground as she began packing up her cart all the while talking trash to me. She continued showering me with profanities as she headed down the street. I called the police only to be informed that since she had left the premises there was nothing to be done. I returned to Miss A’s porch to find a blanket, bags of clothes, cigarette butts and more toilet paper. Clearly she intended to stay. She had also dismantled a portion of the wall and fence in an attempt to construct a makeshift gate to further conceal her lair. I collected her things and threw them in the trash and repaired the wall and fence. I then smudged the porch with sage as the energy was intense. I had hoped she got the message that Miss A’s place was not available. Yes, the moon was full.

crazy v crazy

Saturday night was our annual Christmas parade. It had been a blustery cool day. The police put a street barricade on the sidewalk in front of Miss A’s the day before. Several times throughout the day it was blown over in the winds with a resounding crash. Around ten that night I heard another loud crash. This time it was not the barricade but rather the bag lady’s shopping cart. I watched from my porch as the altercation between two crazy ladies—the bag lady and none other than the crazy cat lady, my neighbor—unfolded. Prepared to lend moral and, if necessary, physical support, I watched from my porch in full view of the crazy cat lady. For once we were on the same side of a conflict. The bag lady was scolding the cat lady for ruining everything. I am not sure how the cart overturned but the bag lady was loudly blaming the cat lady for this calamity. The cat lady stood her ground accusing the bag lady of making quite a mess on the porch the other night. The cat lady informed the bag lady that she was not welcome at Miss A’s and the police would be called if necessary.

F’ed indeed

The cat lady then walked away towards the cemetery apparently to attend to a feeding session. I remained on the porch as the bag lady righted her cart and collected her possessions all the while loudly exclaiming how now everything was F’ed. Her Christmas was F’ed; her liver was F’ed; her new socks were F’ed; this island was F’ed; and on and on and on. She finally headed down the street in the opposite direction of the cat lady, still lamenting the various things in her life that were F’ed.

Miss A’s carport

So far the bag lady has not returned to Miss A’s. The same cannot be said of the cat lady and my cat Harvey, pictured here in the carport of Miss A perched atop the cat lady’s energy-changing BMW.

curiouser and curiouser

Just the other day one of TFKAD’s former landlords alerted me to this new addition to the crazy cat lady’s abode. Perhaps the loss of Miss A is changing all our energy. Time will tell.

happy st nick’s

love this

I am addicted to this site…

well, this site and gin…

When the Night Jasmine Blooms

WOW!

the big wow

The sun sets and the intoxicating aroma is nearly overpowering….if I ever leave my island home this is one of the things I will truly miss. The amazing thing is how one can forget about it entirely until, just after sunset during a certain time of year, the perfume hits your olfactory senses and every memory rushes hence.

As I type this post the scent is nearly overwhelming…an explosion in a perfumery! But so natural it takes you to the brink but no further…synopses fire and visions explode.

WOW of the most sincere form.

A mind can be a terrible thing…

when one is a paranoid schizophrenic.

watering the salt

A month into the siege the watering was continuing nearly unabated. The crazy cat woman had enlisted the witness services of another neighbor (the one whose phone she now uses since our other neighbor had to leave town to recuperate after a serious illness last spring) to document my use of a hose to rid my car of poop, vomit, and paw prints—courtesy of the crazy lady’s charges—in my driveway and her spraying her hose to remove a “toxic” substance from MY property. At this point I informed the neighbor of the crazy one’s nocturnal and near-constant watering. I then informed the crazy one that she knew that the substance was table salt since I had sent her a letter via the US Postal Service explaining this in print after her siege-related pronouncements of the month prior.  (I had made a salt circle around the perimeter of my property for Halloween and usually salt once a month.) When she continued spraying my salt, I informed her that I was about to get my own hose and spray her!  She ceased; of course by this time the salt was nearly completely washed away but for one big clump.

I realized I had to come up with another strategy. My neighbor is an energy vampire. She can no longer conduct normal interpersonal relationships. Her sole long-term relationships are based on conflict—this is how she feeds. Engaging her in conflict merely perpetuates the situation; ignoring the conflict causes her to escalate in a desperate attempt to feed. (For more information on energy vampires check out the article on the Miscreants page of this blog.) Intellectually I know this. However, after living in close proximity to this energy for over ten years, avoiding the trap takes constant vigilance and stamina. Rather than engaging in the conflict and feeding her more energy, as I had for the past month, I decided to attempt to transform the energy using Feng Shui.

not the wind!

I intended to break up and dispel the negative, intense energy emanating from the other side of the fence, transforming it into something productive. I ordered bamboo chimes and outdoor solar-powered lighting. I buried crystals along my side of the fence rather than using water-provoking salt. I hung a feng shui mirror in the window facing the most intense site of the siege. Within minutes, the mirror began spinning wildly in circles, so hostile is the energy emanating from my neighbor. I pruned back the tree in the corner of my property and began using my grill—situated in that corner of my property—which had been dormant for many moons. I realized that I had been avoiding and ignoring that area of my yard. I did not have any outdoor lighting in that area because my crazy neighbor was hostile to lighting, skulking about in the dark for fear of prying eyes. Her energy had succeeded in chasing me away from my own grill! I started using the back door to come and go. FLOW! The cure for stagnant, intense, stuck energy is flow, clearing, cleansing, LIGHT!

eavesdropping

Yesterday morning as I sat at my breakfast bar in the kitchen I could see the crazy neighbor in the side yard mucking about—once again proving that she could easily administer water to her plants absent my property’s participation. Over the phone, I was telling my friend about the new solar-powered spot lights due to arrive shortly. Believing that the crazy one was eavesdropping, an obsessive compulsion of the paranoid, I embellished my purchases claiming that the lights were equipped with video surveillance equipment and operated in the dark! Thanks to modern technology, I continued, I could view the live feed remotely from any computer and record millions of hours of footage on my own computer! I mentioned how TFKAD’s landlords had installed such a device on their front porch after their car had been vandalized on the street out front.

barriers to the light

Hours later, stepping onto my front porch I noticed newspaper on the crazy lady’s front porch. It had been a blustery day, I thought that the papers had flown out of my recycling bin and onto her porch. My initial instinct was to return the wayward papers to the bin.

not the wind either

That’s when I noticed the clothes pins. On closer inspection I realized that my neighbor was constructing make-shift  barriers, perhaps from the cameras—none of which actually exist nor would any lights be located near her front porch.

A sad reminder of the true state of her mental facilities and a caution to remain always connected and in light.

truly sad

By morning the blustery winds had made short shrift of the papers. My neighbor responded with a system upgrade. The energy has intensified. But, for now, perhaps temporarily, the watering has ceased. Not a single light has yet been turned on and so far only one has been installed (its solar panel is charging the batteries).

Sadly, my crazy neighbor is under attack from her own mind, a weapon capable of far more cruelty than any external force could conceive let alone implement. Or perhaps she received her water bill.

Gardening at Night

Fantasy Fest has arrived, our own version of Mardis Gras or Carneval. There are balls, parades, festivals, floats, and costumes or lack thereof. By Halloween naked folks will be walking around town, some of whom will be wearing body paint. Today’s events include a decorated bra auction and a fetish costume party at the 801, our local drag bar. Friday and Saturday were Goombay Festival in Bahama Village, a Caribbean Street Fair. I checked it out Saturday evening with my friend who owns an outdoor bar on the seaport. The weather was hot, grills steamed, music sizzled, hawkers flattered, and Goombay Smash refreshed. Fantasy Fest is the unofficial kick-off to winter here drawing many for this week-long party. A few of these visitors may have overheard me cheering on my crazy neighbor just after midnight this morning from my back roof which overlooks the side yard, the scene of the aforementioned siege.

ghetto ladder

I like to use Sundays as a day to recharge and prepare for the new week. Since I am currently rehabbing the upstairs, my weeks are very unstructured; I easily lose track of time amid the drywall dust. I am a Taurus, a creature of habit. On Sunday evenings around midnight I often close out my week/welcome in the new week by having a nightcap on my roof under the stars. On balmy evenings, like this morning, with a waxing gibbous moon I can think of few comparable experiences.

To get up onto my roof—the recently-added shed dormer—I climb a flight of stairs to a deck, walk across the tin roof and climb my home-made “ghetto” ladder. In the picture to the left you can see the Evil Strangler Tree lurking aloft. This photo was taken before its latest attack on the neighbor opposite, a costly battle for the tree.

ghetto ladder detail

This morning just after  midnight as I started to climb the ladder, libation in hand, I heard water. The crazy neighbor was indeed watering the side yard, in particular, my fence, at quarter past midnight! Impulsively, I walked over to the edge of the roof and began cheering her on. Perhaps fueled by gin and tonic with a healthy dose of lime, I called out cheerfully, “Way to go! Knock yourself out! You’ve already killed the poor little tree. Clearly you don’t care about wasting a precious resource, fresh water. Go on, keep watering! Maybe the root rot will finally get rid of that Strangler Tree. Clearly despite your claims about environmentalism, you are willing to waste a limited and precious resource for nothing more than spite and vindictiveness. Well done!! Keep on watering!! I applaud your stubborn mean-ness. Way to go!”

view from the roof

Feeling very satisfied at my childish histrionics, I climbed the ghetto ladder, sat on the edge of the roof peak with my legs  dangling down the side and drank in the balmy breeze, the night sky over the gravestones,  the magically encircled moon, and, last but not least, my nightcap—it wasn’t goombay smash but it sufficed.

As I soaked in the evening I was reminded of my second New Year’s morning in this house. I awoke to a rukus in the street. My neighbor from across the way, one of TFKAD’s landlords, was standing on his front porch shouting at the house of the crazy cat lady, “We all hate you! No one likes you! WE HATE YOU!!!” I watched from my window thinking how truly sad he was. Apparently the crazy cat lady, who in the years since this encounter has proven to be as benign as typhoid Mary, had stolen his cat. She had taken it hostage claiming neglect. At the time I thought he was drunk and a bit daft. Now I know better. Crazy, it turns out, is a relative thing. However, this night was too perfectly magical to be spoiled by craziness of anyone other than me.

watering at night

The picture to the left was taken at quarter to one.

a non-deterrent to compulsive watering

This morning, true to form, she was once again watering, undeterred by the threat of rain clouds overhead.

howdy neighbor!

On the bright side, I am making a lot of new friends!

Update: those clouds eventually bore fruit; by 22:30 the storms arrived: wind, thunder, lightening, and RAIN! Tuesday morning it rained even more. By noon one lane on a  thoroughfare was impassable. Of course, the watering continued unabated. This has nothing whatsoever to do with watering plants.

Windows Work Both Ways…

I am a cat person. I love most animals and have had dogs as pets at times in my life. Cats and I just click. My cats are always strays. I tend to collect strays of all types, feline and human. When I lived in the Boston/Cambridge area for many years, I had pet doors for my cats. Ultimately this became a problem when the raccoons became accustomed to the layout of my home, learning, in particular, the path from the cat door, up a flight of stairs, around the corner, down the hall and into the kitchen to the cat food bowls. That is a story for another time.

unexpected guest

Down here, I encounter all manner of creatures inside my house on a weekly basis. This little guy on the left was on my shade pull when I opened the blinds one morning. It took the better part of a week to trap and release him. This fact, in combination with my crazy neighbor’s antics, have meant that installing a pet entrance would be inviting more drama into my already-dramatic life.

As a result, my cats have had to become accustomed to something to which cats are not routinely accustomed: patience. They must wait for me to let them in and out. For half of their lives, these cats were accustomed to the freedom and control afforded them by a pet door. Here in the tropics they have had to adjust to many new things: heat, lizards, geckos, iguanas, roosters, and waiting for me!

front door

My front door is a French door. For privacy, I covered the panes of glass with rice paper. It was nearly midnight 18 months ago when I was about to install the last piece of rice paper over the final pane of glass in my fifteen-light front door. Seated on the floor in front of the door as I carefully picked up the moistened rice paper panel, I felt like I was being watched. Looking up, I was surprised to see both cats seated side by side, eye level, staring at me with a sense of great urgency. What on earth were they doing? When I started to place the last piece of rice paper I felt their presence even more intensely. It was as if they were saying, “you’re not really going to do that to us are you?!” I realized I was about to close their window on the world. I stopped. They looked at me expectantly. What is she going to do? I looked at them. How could I close off your view?

front door

Needless to say they won out. The lower left panel (looking out) of my front door has no privacy paper. It actually appears to many as though there is no glass in the panel.

window on the world

Last night around 11 or so, the second night of cool weather we’ve had (thankyou polar bear snow oracle!!), I again felt that I was being watched. I was. Henrietta had gotten locked out and was at the cat window (as I now call it) looking in. Windows work both ways…

outside looking in

all better

Dengue Fever You Say?

Nearly a week into the formally-declared state of siege my crazy neighbor has backed off somewhat, allowing the fence to actually dry for a few hours here and there. In retrospect, I now think the siege may have begun months ago. I kept noticing how wet the lower part of the fence was each morning and thought it must somehow be pulling moisture from the ground. My bad, totally!

Since my last update my crazy neighbor has made a few upgrades of her own. She has deposited several clumps of air moss (I think) on the dying little tree that should certainly choke out what little life remains in the poor thing.The watering peaked last Wednesday when I believe she watered over 30 times of which I am aware. I was doing my taxes at the time (I am one of those late-filer types).

air moss: the way to really kill a dying plant 

air moss detail

I have several concerns over the water: 1) inability to dry my laundry on my fence; 2) ultimate damage to the fence; and 3) did I mention dengue fever? Seriously.

O Pioneers!

It has been quite a year on our small island. Although an uneventful hurricane season (so far, knock-on-wood), the lack of natural disasters has been easy to ignore in light of the major public scandals that have unfolded since March. Our Superintendent of Schools, an elected official, has been convicted of three third-degree felonies for attempting to cover up his wife’s alleged theft of (by my count) well over a million dollars of our tax money. She allegedly—she has not yet been tried or convicted—used school monies as her personal ATM, buying lingerie, a canopy bed, furniture, clothes, you-name-it, using Purchase Orders and P-Cards. The Super continued to preside over the School Board Meetings, the main topic of which were how to proceed with the investigation into his wife’s alleged theft, until he was finally suspended by the Governor on June 11.

Monique, the Super’s wife, was the Adult Education Coordinator for our county, a job that required a Master’s Degree and paid around $77,000 a year. Monique was appointed to this position by her husband, the Super—all jobs are to be advertised and filled through open competition—who then hired an outside firm that was paid $99k of our tax money to re-write job descriptions, like that of the Adult Education Coordinator, so that Monique—who was an administrative assistant with a HS Diploma and the all-important FL Driver’s License—was qualified. Her husband made $140k as Super and the status of his educational credentials is a hotly-contested topic in local online forums. But then again the Director of Personnel for the School District was also an administrative assistant immediately prior to her appointment as Director.

Locals have dubbed her Hurricane Monique as she has thus far taken out several elected officials including her husband and, most recently, the Mayor—the Super’s best buddy from HS. The former-Mayor was 36 years old when he was elected 4 years ago and served 2 terms. He has apparently never had a real job. His wife landed an Assistant Principal job making around $100k shortly after their buddy became the Super, despite having no prior educational experience. So with a combined income of $110k (the Mayor is paid $10,000), 3 or 4 kids and no trust funds, it is surprising to note that they have been in foreclosure on approximately $1.5 million in real estate loans. The former Super and HM also were in foreclosure on loans that far surpassed what could be serviced by their combined annual income of $210k. The fact that a string of local developers and projects ran into financial difficulties around the same time the then-Mayor and then-Super began not paying their mortgages would be a pretty amazing coincidence. But then, I believe there are no coincidences; things happen for a reason.

You can read all about the school scandal by clicking on the following link:

School Scandal

The forensic auditor’s report is here:

Final Forensic Investigative Report

Exhibits 1 thru 18

The Exhibits are truly surreal when you bear in mind that these charges were deemed approved expenses and were paid for by tax dollars. For example, Exhibit 17 itemizes fraudulent charges by HM approved by her Supervisor who was the Assistant Superintendent until a month ago. On October 4, 2006 he approved her charge of $174.40 for “women’s  lingerie” for “supplies for after school tutoring.” I could not in my wildest dreams make this stuff up. The former Assistant Super (whose daddy still runs the District as in kiss-my-ring) got a new job title and a pay cut because of the scandal so he only makes $120k. Despite being convicted, the former-Super was given a sentence of 8 hours a month community service when he could easily have been given 15 years. Meanwhile, a lobster trap robber will be sent down the river on a first offense and serve hard time.

Monique has not yet been tried. However, under the same justice system that let her husband stroll on sentencing, HM has been granted a public defender as she is claiming that she is indigent. They are not divorced. She and her husband—who on the day after he was suspended from his job was given a consulting contract for $100k—live in a house valued at over a quarter of a million dollars.

Things work differently down here.

But clearly I digress. Back to Dengue Fever. Life on the Rock this year reminds me of  life in LA back in 1993—fires, floods, riots, natural disasters. Hot on the heals of Hurricane Monique we awoke to the news that a case of Dengue Fever had been reported by a tourist from NY who was staying at a B&B mere blocks from my house. Of course, on a 6-mile wide island nearly everything is mere blocks from my house. A few weeks later, there were more confirmed cases of Dengue Fever. Local health authorities refused to disclose the location of the outbreak.

Dengue Fever Flyer

One day after the news report, I had three separate visits from Mosquito Control before noon. At 10am, MC District employees liberally doused my mail carrier with DEET on my front porch – really. In ten years I have never had Mosquito Control come to my door.

Of course the most effective passive control strategy for mosquitos is elimination of standing and stagnant water. Hence my heightened concern over the crazy neighbor’s latest watering strategy. She has been creating a fertile breeding area for Dengue Fever in my very own side yard. Urged on by my mom, I called in a higher power: the police. A young officer pulled up in front of my house just before 5pm on Wednesday, the day during which the watering peaked. As the officer looked at the wet fence and the Crazy Neighbor Guard Version 2, I could hear him thinking, “get a life lady.” True feelings aside, the two officers—shortly after entering the crazy lady’s abode, the first officer was joined by an even younger one and I assume this is standard operating procedures in such domestic disputes—were courteous, patient, and polite. They listened to my side of the story and then knocked on my neighbor’s door. Just as she could hear everything that was transpiring on my side of the fence, so it was that I too could hear everything that transpired once the officer stepped inside her door. The second officer and I remained together in my drive.

I’ll admit to a bit of trepidation at this point. If you were to meet my crazy neighbor around town, other than in the act of feeding animals perhaps, you would in all likelihood not know she was crazy. She is highly intelligent and can be very personable. She is also totally insane. Standing alongside my car I strained to hear what she was saying to the officer. Was she playing normal or was she being real, i.e., crazy?

I was not disappointed. Shortly into the conversation, she had brought up the illegal tree trimming. She had opened the side window and was telling the officer of the day I and the other neighbor on the opposite side of her, who was, in fact, the Devil, had hired a tree trimmer to prune back her Evil Tree—a giant Strangler Fig.

crazy neighbor’s front porch

The tree trimmer had trespassed on her airspace and violated her tree. She noted self-righteously how even the City Tree Liason Officer (yes we have a Tree Commission and even an Urban Forestry Program Manager, the aforementioned Liason) had come the day after the “assault” and recommended legal action. Fueled by the Tree Liason Officer’s most expert opinion, my crazy neighbor had indeed called our men in blue and attempted to file charges. None were filed because nothing illegal had transpired. The tree had been appropriately pruned by a licensed and insured arborist. You can already tell that you have not heard the last of the Evil Tree; rest assured it will figure prominently in many posts. In the above picture, the crazy lady’s property ends at the white fence.

My crazy neighbor has never allowed facts to interfere with what is right—in her mind that is. To wit, about the same time as the allegedly-illicit pruning incident, I came home one day to find an officer and my crazy neighbor in the road behind my vehicle which was parked in my driveway. Fortuitous timing. As I locked up my bicycle I overheard the officer asking: that is your neighbor’s car m’aam? Yes the crazy one replied. It is parked in your driveway? No sir, she responded, it is parked in her driveway. OK, said the perplexed gendarme, then what exactly is the problem? Well, she said sounding a bit exasperated at his lack of intelligence, it is too close to my house! As you can see I cannot get onto my porch; her car is blocking it! But m’aam, said the officer, it’s her property. If you want to access your porch from this side, I suggest you prune back some of these plants. Of course this suggestion in her mind amounted to inducement to filicide. Kill her children?! the horror!  She promptly went off on the guy in that rambling nonsensical way of which only the truly crazy can avail themselves. Her current discussion with the police was inducing a similar reaction in the officer.

After awhile, I interjected from the driveway, “tell the officer what happened: NOTHING, no charges nothing because nothing happened; furthermore this was over eight years ago!” At this the current Officer confirmed the date of the alleged illicit-pruning. Of course it was eight or more years ago she confirmed. So what? This is, of course, all relevant. Had he allowed, she would have continued to go over the litany of assaults perpetrated on her by me—many of which will make it into the pages of this blog—ad nauseum. She told him of the chemicals she knew I was putting on her plants,  lamenting the fact that had she only been around earlier she would have proof. She did have witnesses that I had washed my car the other day in my driveway. I had been spraying my car with my hose in my driveway clearly with no other intent than to threaten her. She reiterated that she did indeed have witnesses to that! To my utter surprise (which is saying a lot in matters concerning my crazy neighbor) she even told the Officer about my comment that worms were fleeing her presence. She urged him to watch her as she was due to water again precisely at this time. She seemed unwilling to take no for an answer.

In the end, the Officer politely extricated himself from her diatribe. As she watered for perhaps the 25th time that day, he informed me that this was a civil manner. I was somewhat incredulous. I clarified, you are telling me that I can take a hose and spray my neighbor’s stuff and that is not illegal. No, he answered, it’s all about intent. That sort of behavior would be criminal. Intent. Since her intent is apparently to water her plants, unfortunately there is not much you can do about it. His advice was to take pictures, keep a record. His younger cohort added that I could call in the police from time to time and build a case on record. They also suggested looking into other code enforcement possibilities. Ultimately it would be a matter settled in civil court.

waiting out the latest deluge

Intent would explain the sudden addition of air moss. Crazy like a fox, I tell you. On a positive note, the water-laden air moss appears to be attracting a lot of visitors who are forced to hang out on the dry side of the Crazy Neighbor Guard Version 2 during the deluges.

But then, I believe there are no coincidences; things happen for a reason.