There's no denying I longed for the warmer, balmy days of spring to herald in the renewal of life.
The grass has found its green vitality, the birds have found their winter-stilled voices and the neighbor's kid has found his basketball!
I know...basketball is the undeclared religion of most Indiana Hoosiers. It's been sanctified by cheering crowds and blessed by unabashed sponsors.
But as much as I dislike hearing bad singers struggling to hit the high notes in Church, I hate the recurrent sound of the basketball on the driveway across the street.
Guess I'm just being unfriendly and petty...OK, and just a bit crotchety, but I miss the gentle sounds that used to sooth a winter-weary soul. The constant thud of the basketball doesn't conjure up tranquil thoughts. It mostly sets my teeth on edge after an hour of uninterrupted pounding.
I've fantasied about using stealth and the cover of some dark night, to shimmy up the pole and steal the net...or even better, cutting down the pole it's attached to! These uncharitable thoughts usually occur after three straight hours of thumping; it's only been two, so I guess the kids are safe...for now...