Hoovering

The New Year has swept in, and a phalanx of vacuum cleaners is massing next door. After the never-ending end-days of 2008, when wave after wave of economic gloom rolled through, life shows signs of returning to normal in Stone Mountain. ‘Normal,’ of course, is a relative term.

In my neighborhood, diverse in race and culture, things fell uncommonly quiet the last few months. The Bosnian family next door—Bosnian-Americans now, having gotten their citizenship—could always be counted on for generous dollops of color. Swarms of relatives dropping in to roast whole lamb over an open fire—front yard parties late into the night.

But the cops cracked down on the noise this fall, and then they forced Ned to clear the back yard of engine blocks, mufflers, and vacuum cleaners—his growing heap of treasures, stock in trade of his then latest business: scrap-metal recycling. Neighbors rejoiced as truckload after truckload disappeared, and then scratched their heads when a long-bed pickup filled with 40 upright vacuums drove off. In formation, the Hoovers leaned forward, waiting—waiting for the signal. Fantasia, the motorized edition.

Now, even Ned’s moved-off business has failed—scrap prices having out-sunk the stock market. However, now he's back. Home renovation—homes in distant places, thank God.

But peering over the fence, I see a formation of Hoovers massing anew. First sign of a returning economy washing color back into my neighborhood? Or is it the motorized ghost of President Hoover, self-begetting?

Only time will tell.