On the subject of the hippies in my backyard.
I have hippies. In my backyard.
Hippies. Backyard.
HippieYard.

I am NOT kidding. They moved in two days ago, and I think deep inside I was hoping they might go away on their own. They haven't. I know... I'm a dreamer. They set up their tents. They sprayed patchouli. OF COURSE they're not going anywhere. There are tie-dyed prayer flags. Is this the equivalent of backyard-squat home-decorating! IS IT?!

This morning I got up, and as I was washing my face I heard this great haunting violin music. I peeked out the back window and there was a hippie, in patchwork pants smoking a cigarrette and playing violin, cross legged on our picnic table. He waved.

I thought to myself. Oh dear.

I mean, I like hippies. I also like my backyard. Des doesn't like the hippies, and really likes our backyard. And all this seems like a very odd cosmic practical joke wherein God is pointing and laughing at me, (Hey! Hey Peter! Check this out! What a laugh!)... and in the meantime I'm wondering how to nicely (in Christian love) ask a group of people to please vacate my yard post haste.

Oh. I think I hear a drum circle starting...