There's a Moonwalk in my Backyard

All week my neighbors have been pounding, sawing, and buzzing away at some big project in their backyard. Yesterday I thought the Chelsea Summerfest was going in over there, they had so many of those white picnic shelter tents set up. Since I can’t see over the palisade fence (which resembles a fort in an old western), I really couldn’t tell what they were doing. For one brief, shining moment I even thought they might be moving - all the shit was cleared off the porch - until I realized that the shit had simply been moved to a temporary pile in the front yard.

Smoke and classic rock started billowing from their back porch mid morning. I shut all the windows and turned the air conditioner on. I went to run an errand, took a spin of the rather-diminished Summerfest sidewalk sales, got a steal of a deal on a toilet bowl brush (sans caddy) at the hardware store, and returned home. There was a note stuck in the door asking my permission to have a moonwalk installed in my backyard near the tree line. I was to holler over the fence to let them know.

So I went to the back and hollered over. Then hollered again. On the third holler the chef looked up from the sizzling grill. “Mmm - burger,” said my dieting stomach. I tried not to drool and told her the moonwalk was okay.

She thanked me and was truly appreciative. She explained it was a party for her son’s graduation and said I could come too. Really, despite my grousing, the neighbors are not bad people. And seeing the amount of stuff and money going into this shindig, I’m thinking they might be eccentric millionaires, who prefer their vintage Broncos with genuine rust and haven’t moved to a nicer house because they cannot bear to part with the twenty-foot, bright yellow “Wolverines” carving that seems permanently fixed in the backyard.

The moonwalk went up about two hours ago. Part of the palisade came down to allow passage between the yards. The kids are bouncing around screaming and the adults are putting their cigarettes out on the lawn. The Rolling Stones are blaring from a boombox on the porch.

That sappy penguin movie is playing at the Michigan tonight. It might be a good night to go.