One Plastic Bag at a Time

Life is full of trouble and travails.

I can only imagine what it is like for a tree here in Brooklyn (where yes, indeed, we have one - more than one as a matter of fact, but that's not the point here).

You're a personal lavoratory for dogs of all shapes and sizes. You're home to rodents of all shapes and sizes. You've got all kinds of birds making their homes in your limbs.

You've got wires running amongst your branches, and the occasional freak weather snaps off your limbs. I have even seen a tree or two that's been struck by lightning.

On top of all that, you're a public notice board for every flavor of garage sale under the sun (moving sale, block sale, spring cleaning sale), for anyone looking for a job and to warn anyone who not to even THINK about blocking the driveway of the house you so thoughtfully shade.

Even the City uses you to do it's bidding, acting as a signpost.

For those of you who are not natives, to give you a point of reference, the City put these signs up sometime in the late 1970's (if I'm wrong about the date, feel free to correct me).

Somehow we all find a way to survive, to bounce back and go on no matter what happens. I can only hope I have the resilience of this tree.

There is something weird about my block, I think more so than most other blocks in Brooklyn. We have the requisite beautiful Victorian house that is decaying before our eyes as the lawn slowly returns to it's natural state.

We've had reports of public defecation and urination - in broad daylight.

We've had a fire, a senior citizen who tries to make out with the lovely ladies on the block and a parking nazi, who roams up and down the block muttering about the way people park and yelling at anyone he catches parking inconsiderately (and I'm all for that - I think we should all chip in any pay him a small salary. Think of all the gas we'd save not having to circle endlessly around the block.)

Imagine my surprise though as I came up to my house and caught a woman digging around in my front garden. Mind you, it's not my garden, it's my landlord's, and his wife puts a considerable amount of effort into this garden. She changes the plants with the seasons, and I'm often tempted to accept the compliments people often offer about the state of the garden (but I don't).

At first I was too far away to figure out what she was doing but as I got closer I realized she was STEALING PLANTS. Yes, stealing plants. And I don't mean that she was snapping off a flower or two - she was digging out plants, roots and all.

I put on my best Brooklyn attitude (complete with thickened accent) and the following dialogue ensued:

Me: "Excuse me! Can I help you with something? Or are you just helping yourself?"
Plant thief: "Oh! Hi! What a beautiful garden."
Me: "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
PT: "They are such beautiful plants, I'm not damaging them. I just wanted a sample."
Me: "No, what you're doing is stealing."

As I am saying this to her, she is actually starting to root around looking for another small plant to pull! Now I'm pissed - I've just come back from the vet so not only do I have a shouty 18 month old squirming and being a nuisance but my cat's ashes dangling in a fancy little paper bag from my stroller handle. This is not a good time to be getting on my nerves in any way shape or form.

Now I am all up in her face when I make it very clear that the floral five finger discount is done and she had best move on. She starts walking away very quickly, then stops halfway down the block.

I am stunned when she pulls a small clear plastic bag out of her cart and carefully wraps the roots of her ill-gotten blooms - this was not a random event but pre-meditated botany larceny!

Only in Brooklyn. And only on my block!