Our Grandmothers Grandchildren

Out wonderful Irish Grandmother--Ann Elkink--keeps "good records" of her neighbors going-ons. I won't say "spies," because more than anything it’s simply watching with speculation. Well, Hillery and I took a page out of her book. About 2 weeks ago our neighbors across the street unpacked a large truck full of square hay bales (or idiot cubes) into their yard. The owner of the house--who has a long, braided gray ponytail--proceeded to build a "hay shed" with a full sized house window, complete with blinds. Hillery and I amusedly watched this process and debated what the use of such an eye sore could be? A dog house? A kid’s play house? A safe house for stray elephants? Yesterday a pile of sand appeared on their drive way (another curious phenomenon). But today took the cake. We were happily eating apple turnovers and reading Harry Potter when we noticed a FIRE MARSHEL knocking on braided hay mans door! We swiftly opened our screen door, Hillery hid with the curtains, and I performed an army roll across the floor in order to catch what the conversation was about. I glanced up at her from my hiding place (laying flat on my stomach) to her hiding place (eyes peeping out from behind the curtains) and said "Hillery, we are our Grandmothers grandchildren!"