Eye'll Analyze Myself

For twenty years, I lived in a beautiful old colonial home in a very nice neighborhood.  The biggest glitch with this area was the house across the street, just to the left; an old colonial, nearly identical to mine.

For about fifteen years, it was inhabited by a very unusual group that we came to call the Addams Family.  We all got the…ahem…opportunity to have a conversation or nine with the adult male in this household.  These encounters were more like one-sided ramblings of a type so odd, that even I can't classify them, and I work in mental health.  The man was extremely annoying, decidedly ugly and had a foul body odor.  Once he was on our porch and talking, you couldn't get away from him.  The kids knew that when he showed up, they were supposed to fake some kind of emergency upstairs to get me away from him.  In all of the years that they lived there, I never once had a conversation with his wife or two children.  I was grateful for this.  They didn't take very good care of the property.  Everyone came and went and kept to themselves, except for the man of the house.  I don't think he ever figured out that it was no coincidence that every time he saw me on my porch and started to walk over to visit, I would yell "Coming!" and hightail it into the house for safety.  My son was pretty sure they had hooks in the ceilings from which to suspend their goats on Sacrifice Night. 

They finally moved away, much to the joy of the entire neighborhood.  Our joy was short-lived, however.  Enter what we came to call the Jerry Springer Family.

An overstuffed couch took up residence on the front porch.  Cars went up on blocks.  Dogs ran loose and when they disappeared, were replaced with the next Dog of the Month.  A couple of teenage residents enjoyed music so loud that I couldn't hear my own, and also amused themselves by throwing firecrackers from the tree on the curb at passing cars.  Mom and Dad Springer kept us entertained with nearly non-stop, top-of-the-lungs fighting.  Foul epithets flew at full volume on a daily basis.  The addition of two new Baby Springers in the time I lived in their proximity had me put Children Services on my speed dial.  They played in the street, unattended and on one memorable occasion, I saw them follow the Dog of the Month out of an upstairs window onto the roof.  I would often come home from work and sit on the porch, just to enjoy the show.  There wasn't anything I could do about it, so I used them instead of cable.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and I moved a few years ago.  As I sat in my sunroom and looked out over my new surroundings, it took on a surreal quality.  Across the street and just to the left, in the same proximity of the Springer house in the old neighborhood, is a beautiful, stone covered Cape Cod.  The landscaping is perfect.  The flowers are nearly as nice as mine.  Dad works full time and Mom stays home with the kids.  They smile and hug each other.  I've never heard a loud word come out of that house.  They have three, beautiful blond children.  The oldest was about fourteen when I moved in.  He played football, while his twelve year old sister was a cheerleader.  The eleven year old sister would wear a jersey with his name on it when they all piled into the family car on Friday evenings to support him at the football game.  When not being supportive of their siblings athletic endeavors, the kids would all play together nicely in the front yard.  They played with roller blades, bikes and jump ropes.  The older girl taught the younger one how to cheer.  They enjoyed each other's company.  A large, quiet dog would always greet them when they came home.  A dog I never saw except after school.  On Sundays, they all went to church.  I realized I was living across the street from Pleasantville.

But, I began to notice an odd phenomenon with myself.  Every time I'd sit in the sunroom and look across the street, my left eyelid began an involuntary droop.  Initially, I was worried that I was having mini strokes.  I'd look away and put pressure on the lid and it would stop, only to restart when I looked back out.  It never happened in the house or in the back yard.  It never happened if I didn't look out the window of the sunroom.  This went on for about the first year I lived here, until one day I spoke of it to my husband.  I said I found it odd that it only happened when I looked over at Pleasantville and that it started as soon as I moved in with him.  As soon as I didn't have the Addams Family/Jerry Springer house to look at.  When my life changed so drastically and the house to the left became Pleasantville, my left eye started drooping.

With that revelation, the droop left and never returned.