The Picture of Dorian Child

I have lived in the same house for 31 1/2 years. It is on the side of a very steep hill. Behind our house, so up the hill, to the back and left have lived the same children for the entire time I've lived in this house. They are somewhere between seven and twelve. And they have been somewhere between seven and twelve for 31 1/2 years. They NEVER go inside, and they NEVER stop screeching at the top of their lungs. I have never seen these mysterious children, but I hear them. Every so often, I'm overcome with an urge, like right now, to go out on the back porch, and shout at the top of MY lungs, "Don't you children EVER go inside?" I don't know if I'm old enough to do that yet. One of the joys of growing old is that you can be as eccentric as you've always wanted to be, and people just think you are a crazy old person. It's dark. It's late. It's cold. It's a school night. And still these ageless children are out caterwauling. It is past MY bedtime. I love children, but I like them well behaved and in small doses. I got a baby fix at church this morning, when I got to hold Emilie May, age 9 days. I'll bet Emilie May is not in her backyard, screeching.


If I leave the computer, in the back of the house, and hop into bed to read, I will only have to contend with street noises and the occasional airplane. Beats screeching children.

xxooxx