The Love Wars

The little harbor has been something of a Love War Zone this weekend.

A fraternity of neighbors are nearly five hours into the third day of Bean Bag Toss Torture.

Initially a lovely backyard family game, the clatter of bean bags on plywood, and roars of "Whoa!", has rarely quit at all this beautiful weekend.

On earlier weekends, the soundtrack to this game was a pretty good party mix. This weekend it has crystalized into only one song, played a couple of times each day: "Love is My Religion".

And while I'm finding Other Things To Do and Other Things To Listen To, I am watching this irritate my Downstairs Neighbors significantly, since they are much fussier than me.

It seems maybe the bean bag toss has turned into something of a Discussion Among Neighbors. There were loud snippets of "The Landlord Said..." floating along the lawns and water today and I'm seeing sheepish looks in the mornings as the party messes are cleaned up.

Today, Downstairs is having a soiree of their own, and they are loudly playing their own love music - Frank Sinatra.

For a "weighty" Quaker, this might become a spiritual exercise in peace-making. But since there's actually no such thing as "friendly fire" in a war zone, even a Love War Zone among respectable neighbors, I'm reluctant to enter the discussion.

I've resisted the urge to visit the Boys with a Parchese set, for instance, or Scrabble, or even badmitton. Or perhaps a game requiring skill. Nor have I brought over a 6-pack of good beer and asked if I could play too.

I haven't hired someone to steal the bean bag game, called my landlord, called their landlord, or started a game by myself at 5:30 am when I get up for my Ashtanga class, since I am taking the High Road.

The politics that rule this roost will to have to sort it out and hopefully it won't take all summer. I may pray for rain.