Crazy neighbors

I think I'm going to start a "crazy neighbor" section of this blog. Most of you know a little bit about our crazy neighbors. There's the family with the kid who walks around a tree in their front yard, yelling incoherently to himself and waving his arms. There's the lady who lives behind us who so despises trees that she has hardscaped her lawn, front and back, so that nary a tree or shrub is left. And then there's the old guy next door. Mr. LaMarsh is about 85 years old and has a deep hatred for (wait for it): acorns. Can't stand the sight of them. So much does he dislike them that he took out all the trees on his property (what is with these people and trees??? here's a hint: don't live in a swamp!). He carefully grooms his lawn BY HAND, picking up every stray acorn. But there's a catch: we have several trees on our property. One in particular is an oak tree, the branches of which hang over the property line. What with gravity and squirrels doing their jobs, the acorns tend to land on his yard. And he just... can't... stand it! I can't tell you how many times he's taken John or I aside and talked to us about the "acorn problem," as if it's a pandemic sweeping the globe. But lately, he has taken up a new tactic: he waits until we're gone, then he goes into our yard and starts picking up acorns, stray twigs, really anything that offends him. And today he was doing it just as we pulled up to the house. The look on his face was priceless: it was like a five-year-old who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Our crazy neighbors, I swear.