Embracing the Dishwasher

We have a broken dishwasher in our front yard. It isn't on our lawn or anything, but it is still in our front yard, and it has been for almost a month, since it broke and Ar replaced it. Ar has definite plans to get rid of it, but hasn't quite gotten there yet.  The funny thing is, in our neighborhood, nobody really cares, and it doesn't look that out of place. I used to be a little chagrined about living in what could be (kindly) called a starter neighborhood. I used to really want to live in a nice, tasteful home - maybe not a McMansion, but something that had a little charm. 

Now I kind of love my neighborhood; I like that we know all of our neighbors, and that at there are immigrants from God knows where among them. I like that you can let your lawn go brown and have ten half rusted bikes on it, that kids just come over and start riding. I like that the people sitting out on their front lawn smoking in the rain wearing bedroom slippers wave to me when I get the mail. I like that there are kids playing at the park at ten o'clock at night on a school night.  I could go on and on about the joys of our neighborhood, but I would imagine you get the picture. 

  I have been in nice, manicured neighborhoods, and there is no way to get past the fact that ours is just a lot more laid back and livelier place to be.  It has taken me a bit of time to come to an acceptance of what demographic I fit in; sure, I may have ten years (and counting) of college under my belt, but I am certainly not living in Bohemian Bourgeois heaven. Thank God.