I live in an area of Indianapolis known as Meridian Hills. It is within the city limits and is considered a more than decent place to live. Mostly professionals, mostly folks with a little money (I moved here for the school district and am in on a "just passing through" technicality).

The name is a little misleading, because you'd have to drive the area for an hour or so to find an actual hill. BUT, you can easily find the hillbilllies. They're next door to me.

When I talk about my neighbors, one might think I live in the sticks. It'd be an understandable conclusion, because it is exactly where they should be. They are recently retired campers. Not RVers, just campers. Their favorite place to go is the campground (and not "the new one") in Gulf Shores, Alabama (lookie there, favorite and Alabama in the same sentence!). They practice casting (throwing a fishing pole, right?) in the backyard. They have gobs of family over almost every day. They have a little fishing boat behind the camper and an overgrown diesel truck in their extended driveway. Sometimes, they rip the tarp off the boat and sit in it with the grandkids. (Don't they have video games to play with like normal children?) Recently, they repaved their driveway and had a big hoe-down in the front yard, grillin', sippin', I'm assuming spittin', and watchin' the tar dry.

Not much goes on in our backyard. Mostly just getting in and out of our cars, dog business, and lawn mowing. But, boy howdy, when something happens, it's like we're movie stars.

Today, we had someone cut up and haul off our downed tree (which every member of their extended family has come in the yard to get an up-close and personal look-see. Maybe they're hoping for Jesus or the Virgin Mary in it or something). When it was cleared and the man had gone, we went outside to approve the job and do a tiny bit of leftover clean-up. I glanced in the neighbor's general direction and saw a big ol' shadow in the screened-in porch. The hillbilly Papa. Just staring and not even flinching when we saw him.

Then, I stood outside and chatted with the cable repairman for a minute or two. And there ol' Pap was again. Unnerving me and cramping my style.

Later, I pulled up in my rental car for my trip to Charlotte for work tomorrow and there he was again. I'm not even sure he went inside. I don't know if or when his shift ends.

Maybe I should throw him a line. He must be drowning in boredom if we're something to see.