HILARIOUS.

The previous owner of our home was like that. Only she would just drive by and complain to our next-door-neighbor that we weren’t doing enough to the yard. I was like, “Woman. I work from home and I have two kids. Get a yard.”

To come over, uninvited, and start nosing around and clipping things, that’s another thing: trespassing. Offering to clean up the yard? Totally crossing a boundary.

I understand that people have sentimental attachments and it can be hard to let go. I think most people are sympathetic to that. But it seems like this woman is being invasive and not terribly considerate of your feelings in this situation. I think I would say, “Sure. Come over and get the flower from my yard. Thanks for offering to help in my yard, but we’re happy with it as it is.”

Believe it or not, some of those poor plants survived–beautifully. I especially loved some giant pink dinner plate hibiscus (hibiscuses?) that were gorgeous, and came back year after year despite my apparent neglect. I’ve even driven by the front yard a couple times “just to see” how everything’s growing.

But on the other hand, I sold those plants with the house, along with the closet organizers and pot rack that I installed and the gallons of paint that I applied to the walls. If the new owner wants to repaint, they’re her walls. If she wants to let the flowers die, she absolutely can. She paid good money for the house and land, as well as every plant and blade of grass that came with them.

It seems that A. is having a bit of trouble realizing that the deed to the plants was passed along with the house. It would be the same as coming into your house and rearranging your furniture. And given that I don’t think she’s elderly, and so, might deserve the respect and patience sometimes required there, I’d say the next time A. appears it may be time for a little chat–diplomatically of course.

Then there’s always finding out where she lives and pitching a tent on HER front lawn. See how she likes it.

She was just coming back to visit the child she gave up.

If she’s in a retirement home now, or some place where she can’t grow something as beautiful or diverse, does it devalue you or your property to let her wander around the yard, wistfully snipping herbs?

I had the same situation. Identical, only my first little house on the edge of the city only had a little postage stamp lawn with a few flower beds. But after the kids moved the old Dutch lady to the retirement home, my crappy little yard turned into some kind of memory magnet for her.

When I had a giant dying maple cut down and removed from the back yard, she knocked on my back door the following Saturday. She was crying. She was angry. She told me about the fight that she and her late husband got into over where to put that tree. (She won the argument, but husband never let the subject drop.)

Yes, I was annoyed.

For three springs I walked out of my house to find the old lady on her knees, splitting Hostas and replanting them in places where I was trying to grow grass.

Yes, I was annoyed.

It was not annoyance, but surprise when I stumbled out of bed one morning my forth winter in the house, buck ass necked, and saw the old bitch standing in my living room.

There’s no startle like a buck necked startle, lemmetellya.

She stood there in her old folks home-issued housecoat and smiled at me like a frickin’ loon.

And then she was gone like a wisp of cigarette ash into one of those smokeless ashtrays. Fwoooop.

One of the best parts about being a man is that the world is your urinal. Not so great when it’s an involuntary reaction.

She came to see me one more time before I moved when I was down in the laundry room loading the dryer. I turned around to grab another load of wet towels out of the laundry basket to look straight at her pink-gray fuzzy slippers. I screamed like a little girl.

She had the same dopey, almost maniacal look on her weathered face. This time I had the presence of mind to say something, but I couldn’t think of anything relevant to say. I think what I said was “Do you f**king mind?” About that time I realized that her smile was more contentment than crazy, as I had first thought. And then she was gone again.

I have no doubt that you think I am as full of shit as a Christmas goose, as I would you if the situations were reversed.

But please consider this: If the old lady has an emotional attachment to the house, I AM BEGGING you to consider what kind of terms you want your relationship with the old lady to be when it’s out of your sphere of influence to reason with her.

Next time you see her in the yard trimming stuff, just call the police.