It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood
Let me tell you about our neighbors. Or, rather, let me tell you about not telling you about our neighbors.
But before that even, let me tell you about the neighbors I used to have many years ago. In 1978, my parents built, to their exacting specifications, a house in a brand-new subdivision of suburban Utah. Over the years, people moved in, people moved out, trees grew tall and were felled, the empty lot on the corner became a modern monstrosity of gray stucco (in the face of our brick ramblers and stone bungalows) and put an end to my daily jaywalks through brush and weeds, my weekend daredeviling off dirt ramps built a staggering five inches tall, almost too much for my pink two-wheeler with the white handlebar basket with the plastic flowers.
Twenty-nine years later, my parents still live in that house on that street, but of the ten houses there, a surprising (to me) 50 percent are still occupied by their original inhabitants--once young couples with no children and big hair, now grandparents with RVs in the driveway and almost no hair at all. When I moved to Berkeley in 2001 and was looking for my first apartment, I thought it strange that some of the rentals were advertising that "on our street, neighbors actually know each others' names!" What's that about? I thought to myself. How is it possible for people to live so close, to see each other every day, and not at least know each others' names, if not also each others' hobbies and habits and maybe a few secrets too?
Of course I had no idea what I was talking about. Not only was my frame of reference twenty-two years in the suburbs, but it was the Mormon suburbs, for pete's sake, where everybody knows everybody's business, in the interest of national security or something, I guess. Besides, in the suburbs of the eighties, it was almost imperative to know your neighbors since they were the people watching your children bounce on their trampoline, the people feeding your cat on their back porch, the people watering your plants while you're away--all that in opposition to my experience in California, where the goal seems to be keeping the neighbors out because who knows what kind of crazy is brewing up in those brains of theirs. If one of my California neighbors anonymously left a plate of cookies on my porch at Christmastime, I'd put on rubber gloves, snap snap, before taking it to the trash because YOU NEVER KNOW.
If you've been around this site for any length of time, it goes without saying that there's very little I'll miss about our current neighbors and neighborhood when we move in less than two weeks(!). These days, Simon is so focused on the light at the end of the tunnel, the car alarms and mariachi parties don't bother him anymore. How nice for him. As for me, I've found that the word "hate" is becoming less and less suitable to describe the red-hot seething contempt I have for those bastards across the street who can't be bothered to TURN IT DOWN IT'S 3 AM ON TUESDAY! When we leave maybe I'll shed a tear for the easy freeway access or for the street cred we earned when the hoodrats sprayed "Oaktown Crips" on the sidewalk in front of our house. Maybe. But probably not.
One of the best things about our new house is that it's in a neighborhood that is not only clean (yay!) and quiet (imagine!) and mostly full of resident-owned single-family homes (people who actually give a damn!), but it's also an honest-to-goodness "community." When we talked to the lady next door at the open house (a mere two weeks ago), she told us about the block parties and group walks and park campouts and neighborhood watch and parenting network. When she said the words "monthly town meetings," visions of Stars Hollow danced in my head. Since I signed on to the members-only community bulletin board, I've been bombarded with friendliness and goodwill the likes of which I haven't seen in years, if ever (aka, Mormons are nice but they often have an agenda).
About this messageboard: Aside from the lackluster postings about council meetings and right-of-way disputes and the sometimes terrifying pie charts showing crime distribution (it's still Oakland, after all), neighbors are doling out recommendations (the best company to tile your new bathroom, the best way to install French drains to prevent basement floods) and advertisements (furniture for sale, spa discounts for residents). When people move away, it's customary for them to send e-hugs to everyone on the messageboard for being so swell and then provide a link to their personal blog so everyone--we're talking many hundreds of people--can keep tabs on what words little Jordyn is learning this week. That's some serious community love, no?
The best/worst part of the messageboard is the neighborhood watch aspect, which consists of real-time alerts about area goings on--particularly whose house got broken into this afternoon and what priceless heirloom was stolen. Ugh. Obviously, burglary sucks balls, but in the interest of not freaking the hell out, I also find these updates sort of funny. The way they're written, I can't help but picture the people behind the exclamation points. "Bad air quality today! Close all your windows! [Hide your women and children!!]" and "One of my [twelve] cats is missing! Please check your garages!" and "A car that doesn't belong to me has been parked in front of my house for two hours! From whence did it come?!" Doesn't that smell faintly of old ladies sitting on their front porches all day with nothing to do besides get overly riled by semi-suspicious activity? (I'm suprised no one has reported Simon and I, the way we continue to stalk the house, just to make sure it's still there (and tell it how pretty it is ("Who's a pretty house? You're a pretty house!").)
Sadly, a lot of the reports are also versions of "Two men, ages 18-25, wearing black hooded sweatshirts, knocking on doors, looking in windows, climbing over fences into backyards on Main. Have called police." That's not the kind of thing I want to read. But then again, it's exactly the kind of thing I want to read. Oh, Oakland, whatever will we do with you?
Which brings us back to the part where I don't tell you about our neighbors. Although some people are obviously comfortable sharing their blog addresses on the neighborhood bulletin board, I'm not one of those people. Also, I'm not going to write here about my neighbors in such a way that they can Google their way to this site, no matter how goofy they get. They may be porch-sitting fogies, but it seems they all have sleek laptops with wifi access perched between the arms of their rockingchairs. And thus we bow our heads to prematurely mourn the loss of all the stories about my wacky neighbors that will never be shared here. What a loss.
Omigad you're going to have a Taylor Doose! With a gavel! And a Miss Patty sidekick! I am uberjealous.
I don't understand. Are you TRYING to make me weep with jealousy? Are you? ARE YOU. Because you have succeeded? Happy now? Great.
Seriously though, counting down to your move-in day.
Cath,
Give me six months, and I will be the new Taylor. Just wait until they try have a winter carnival without me. Gavels will fall mercilessly.
-Simon
PS - in order to ensure that we have an appropriate Miss Patty, Leah has been taking double helpings of dessert.
I didn't want to say it, honey, but I think you might be our Kirk. I think it's the spandex.
I think house pictures are a fair trade for wacky neighbour stories.
Yes don't give out your url--you'll never write freely again. I Michele stupidly did just that in our little gated community forum board.
Let me just tell you, SOME people don't have a sense of humor. Some people will think you're a lesbian who wants to lick them and their sisters just because you said you think Nigella Lawson is hot.
Don't even get me started.
I'm so happy and hate you all at the same time.
Gah! Mourning the loss of wacky neighbor stories! How about you do it under the guise of Gilmore Girls? As in: "Remember that episode when the person that lived [insert neighbor's proximity to your house] did [wacky thing] that made me feel [emotion]? Ha! Great episode!"
I vote for that.
The homes in our neighborhood were built in the late 50s, 60s and early 70s, and there are still plenty of original residents around. We have only a community of convenience, sadly, as we pull together during bad times but cuss each other's late-night barking dogs the rest of the time (ours sleeps indoors).
WiFi or not, I don't mind whining about my hippy neighbor who mows the lawn without wearing a shirt. I should really tell her husband that she does that.