Even as I write this, there are seven kids in our front yard that I don't know. I had just finished watching a DVD that I bought today when I heard giggling. I got up to check if the mail was here yet, and saw them in the front yard.

One was playing with our rake. Another was playing with a long metal pole we have. Two others were playing with oversized butterfly nets that would be better suited for snagging foul balls at baseball games than catching any sort of fast moving insect.

Four were in the yard ands were later joined by three of their female friends. The seven then went into our backyard for a short period of time. It was at this time that I seriously thought of hiding their bikes behind some bushes.

Kids in our neighborhood have always been bold. At least more bold than I. But back in my day we didn't wander into the gated yard of a stranger. Not even opening the creaky front door sent them running for the gate. They just hung around in the yard as if I wasn't there. When I was their age, I'd ride my bike (which by the way, were much better than the simple bikes we had as children) and sit in the yards of people I knew. None of this walking into people's gated front and backyards.

You should know that they've since left.

School today was barely worth the drive. I only had two classes, with anthropology being cancelled due to the anthro majors needing the room all morning to show thesis-related projects. Today was also my first day back to botany since the 16th. Kaleena, Shirley and I caught up with what each had been doing the last nine days and nearly neglected the duty of taking notes by doodling on our papers.

Sometimes, tracing your hand is just more important than learning about tundra and permafrost. Especially if you just discussed them in your geography class discussion of Russia.

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