It’s hard to write when anywhere from five to eight urchins ranging from ages six to ten are screeching and howling in the front yard, digging trenches in my lawn with bike tires, flattening landscaping with football tackles, screeching and howling some more so that my dogs will bark at maximum lung capacity.
This year, it stops. My weapon: holly bushes. A whole row of holly bushes stretching along my and my neighbor’s property line. Said urchins won’t be able to run down the hill unimpeded, at least not without a few stickers in their screeching and howling butts.
Yeah, I’m the mean old lady of the neighborhood. I got books to write, stuff to do. Bah humbug.