There is nothing like neglect.
My neglect of updating this blog for more than a month is not hurting anyone (I think), but it certainly makes no good showing of the blogger, does it?
Saving the big philosophical discussion of how neglect can be deadly, here is a true tale about neglect.
A while back, my buddy Neil sold my friend Chris (they are lifelong friends) a lot of land next to the former's childhood home in Westchester. Chris took the tract of land, used his developer skills and carved out a very nice home for his family of four.
Next door remains Neil's old house. Following the death of Neil's father, Neil and his mother opted to sell their Westchester abode and move full-time to Florida. Florida is where Neil and I met and became friends.
Fast-forward to 2005. Neil comes up a couple of weeks ago for a rare visit, and I have the pleasure of his time. We are walking around Chris' pristine new place, but our focus is on the house where Neil spent his formative years.
They sold it to a couple, both doctors from Korea. It is painfully obvious that anyone who saw their house would refuse treatment from these doctors, since the house has remained untouched on the outside since the sale.
In 1985.
So we celebrate the 20th anniversary this year of neglectful neighbors in Westchester. If those doctors were looking for a way to stand out, they sure found it.
When Neil provides a story from closing day, some of the other events (or lack of them) do not seem so strange.
During the hours before the closing took place, the buyers began to make an unnecessary stink about blowing up the deal unless Neil included the ping pong table that was the centerpiece of the upstairs entertainment room.
Always thinking on his feet, Neil finally gave reluctant approval. He then went back to the house, opened wide the double-windows, and launched his ping pong table onto the side lawn.
"Here ya go. You wanna play some ping pong?"
After he told me the story, I informed Neil that we should cross the property line and take a look over there, since there was a good chance some of the table might still be sitting on the lawn. Right next to the random pieces of rusted, broken iron benching installed by Neil's father in 1960, but neglected for the last 20 years.
Neglect, in all forms of the word, has a bad connotation. You might not have thought that if you neglected to read this.
