Love Is A Verb

I have a difficult neighbor. By difficult I mean, he’s a little off. He’s in his mid thirties, may or may not live with his parents on the street, and spends an inordinate amount of time with the old ladies in the neighborhood. He has keys to their homes, he spends a lot of time across the street in the home of an elderly woman who died last year. The house is vacant. My children and my friend Ann’s children frequently use Ann’s front lawn to throw baseballs. Why? Because …