HOLD YOUR FIRE!

This will be the last time I mention my neighbor's boat trailer. I promise. It's where it should be, on their property and not on mine. I wanted to write about victory--the Detroit Lions were definitely out of the question--then I realized, it's the preseason, it's not about winning and losing, it's how you play the game.

Yesterday, my neighbors slipped a musical Hallmark Card into our Detroit Free Press box. A loud distorted transistor sound of "Sweet Home Alabama" assaulted my ears when I opened it. My neighbor's live-in fiancee must have coerced him into signing the card. Notice his signature in the bottom right corner.


I'm willing to bet he put forth more effort launching bottle rockets into my yard last weekend than into his written apology. My wife and I had to pick up thirty-some bottle rocket sticks. I'll have to check our gutters too, as I suspect there are more of them waiting to clog up my downspouts once our future autumn leaves turn and fall.

It's funny how the women tackled the crisis, communicating with words, directly or indirectly. What's done is done. In the past. Now it's up to me to turn over a new leaf and approach my neighbors like a fool on the horizon. Speaking of leaves, the cherry tree seems to like its new location. It will grow quickly, and my wife and I will remember our thirteenth wedding anniversary and the events surrounding it.