Although our house lives in a safe neighborhood, it lives by itself. An abandoned house hidden in the woods is still an abandoned house in the woods, and even if everything around it seems tame, sometimes you lose your trash.
For months we piled our recyclables in the driveway (yeah, we’re that house), until one fateful night, somebody carted it away in the cover of darkness and, I tell myself, recycled it out of their desire to save Mother Earth and buy their kids new shoes.
Loss of trash is fine with me. What I did not anticipate was receiving other people’s trash.
Our creepy shed door was swung wide open when my husband and other super helpful workers stopped by this weekend. What we found inside was someone’s old tires.
In case our robber/donors read my blog, I’d like to make you aware, sir/ma’am, there’s a nice little auto center conveniently located right up the street that recycles tires for you, so you don’t have to go depositing trash in other people’s homes.
In all fairness, I quizzed some neighborhood kids and found out that rumors abound about our lonely little house.
My favorite: If you crawl through the hole under the poorly constructed, falling-off (and taking the rest of the house with it if we don’t put it out of its misery soon) back porch, you’ll find a tunnel that leads to the basement where all the dead bodies are.
I guess if we’re the kind of people with that (Arsenic and Old Lace, anyone?) in the basement, probably we wouldn’t mind a little trash too.
Update: I went out on a quest for internet to write this, and when I returned, my husband said, “By the way, those tires? After you left Dad said he brought them for the Subaru.” But I’m posting this anyway, because it was fun while it lasted.