Go Home Whitey and Other Advice from the Hood

About a year before Braxton and I moved into our neighborhood we had dinner with a friend that had moved in about 2 years prior. He was telling us about a time when he was walking down his street and a man called out "go home whitey." We laughed at the irony of the situation as this was our friend's home.  There is great advice given by neighbors here. Some warranted and some not so much.

A year later we found ourselves living in the same neighborhood and about six months later I found myself chasing a much younger and faster 10 year old who had just stolen Preston's scooter. About halfway around the block and completely out of breath, I was telling myself, "go home whitey." Good advice.

We have joked several times about how we should write a book on all the funny stories and things that people could not only enjoy but benefit from by our experience. I think I would title it Gunshots from the Lumber Yard. But that is another story albeit piece of advice for another day.

Definitely part of the book would have pictures. On several occasions we have seen things that you would not believe unless you could see it yourself. I recently told my friend Erin, "we will never be bored here."

For example:

This is a man on a horse. On our street. He lives here. In the middle of the city. The horse lives in his backyard. Our lots are roughly 50 X 150, not bad space for a swing set but maybe not so much for a full grown horse. You can't make this stuff up. I think this man's advice would be, "when gas is expensive, make the best of a bad situation. Buy a horse." No gas for a lawn mower, no gas for a car. I like to call him an economist.

Exhibit #2

Tuesday night as I arrived home from picking Bennett up from football practice this was the scene in our guest bathroom. Apparently Emma Sanders had emptied an entire bottle of her shampoo into the upstairs bathtub. And when a catalyst such as this is added to previously stopped up plumbing, well this is the result. I guess if you are going to have a toilet overflow, bubbles is better than the alternative.

Braxton was in the front yard with a flashlight and a wrench for the better part of an hour. Then because my husband is acutely aware of his strengths and weaknesses, he called a plumber.

Only in our neighborhood can you make enough noise with a plumber's snake to wake the dead at 9:30 at night and no one complains. Around here things are just getting crankin' about that time.

Turns out we were clogged up with close to an entire box of baby wipes. I like to call us multi-taskers. We clogged a toilet, provided free entertainment in the hood, and cleaned a bathroom floor all at the same time.

I think I am already working on my 2nd book, What you can't do in your neighborhood, you can definitely do in mine.