Failing as a Neighbor
And finding inspiration on Instagram
I spent a night this week on Instagram. As in, I spent the night, many hours, scrolling on my phone. Crazy, but there it is. Alternatively laughing, shaking my head, mumbling “uh-huh”, and taking photos of some posts that resonated the most. All of which has everything to do with home.
Honestly, I wish this was true. It’s close, but not quite. I’ll trust the BBC over Instagram and here’s a great 4 minute video of hermit crabs trading shells. The bummer - and yes, the punchline - is that the crab who moved out of its shell because it had become too small - and thus starting the chain reaction of crabs trading shells - ended up with a new (old) shell the same size as the one it gave up. But worse. It had a hole in it.
The next one made me laugh. Alaska, obviously. And, honestly, it could happen in Idaho too.
This one is a heart-warmer. I’ve seen it before so who knows if it’s true but I certainly want it to be. And I want it to inspire us all.
Except that as much as this touches me, I’m not interacting with my neighbors much. I’ve become a kind of hermit crab myself.
Of course, I’m engaging and friendly when I see my neighbors, which is typically only when I’m walking my dog. Even my friends, the folks I’ve known here for years, I don’t see them much either. I’m not comfortable being in enclosed areas - restaurants, for example, or the theater -because I don’t want to catch something that will make me sick again. I even wear a mask when grocery shopping.
But here’s the downside. Here’s an admission which is not good and of which I am not proud. In fact, I’m pretty bummed at the moment. Embarrassed. Down on myself. Shaking my head.
Our neighbor across the street is an adult, maybe in his mid-50s, and in an electric scooter chair. When we moved in last fall, I would see him often, always in his open garage, smoking a cigarette. We would wave. One day we met half way and spoke. Very nice guy. I learned that his mom died about 2 years ago now. I came back home thinking I really should bake him some cookies some day. Or, at least I would certainly bring food over sometime. But I never did. The holidays came and I thought it again: I’ll bring him some pie. Maybe I’ll bring him a gift. And again, I never did.
Then one night early this spring, we saw the ambulance lights. From our kitchen window, we watched him get wheeled out of his house and whisked away. Okay now I was definitely going to have to visit him in the hospital. I mean, really, we have just one hospital in this county and it only has 18 beds, so it wouldn’t be difficult to find him. Yet, once again, I didn’t do it. I can’t tell you why. Every day I worried about him and still I did nothing. After a few days, we saw him come home. And still, I didn’t bring him food or even knock on his door.
The only thing in my defense is that he doesn’t have a front door. The only visible door is his back door, through his garage. But there’s a ramp and a wooden gate at the top of the ramp, blocking that door and keeping his German Shepherd from escaping. Knocking on his door wasn’t an option. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t some other way to reach him. Maybe leave a note or card taped to the gate?
Instead I waited and within a week or so, I saw him outside as I took my pup out for a walk. I told him I had been worried. He told me what happened. He has congestive heart failure “just like my mom did,” he said. “And I smoke. So I’m going to die.” Not soon, hopefully, but… We must have talked for about 20 minutes, which wasn’t that long but long enough for Mazie to start pulling on her leash. I told him again how good it was to see him and how glad I was that he was home and then I left. And I haven’t spoken to him since.
I feel terrible. Sure, I’ve been traveling, I’ve been sick, I’ve been working a lot. None of this is an excuse. I’ve failed as a neighbor. I have not been the neighbor I want to be. And now, I think it’s too late.
There’s an old camper on the side of his house now. Someone is living in it, but we haven’t seen who. And there are a lot of cars coming and going. On most days, there are four dogs - three other German Shepherds in addition to his. Last week we saw a queen mattress lying on top of some boxes in the garage and then… pretty sure it got moved inside. It seems that his home health aide is living there now, but not because he’s fading. In fact, on two occasions we’ve seen him whizzing down the street on his scooter looking like Dr. John: big sunglasses, funny hat, kinda flashy clothes like a shirt with a vest- altogether a look we had never seen on him before.
Here’s the thing: I wonder if he’s okay. I wonder - and maybe this sounds crazy but - I hope he’s not become a victim. Are all these new people coming and going and staying at his place, are they taking advantage of him? He doesn’t have money. But he does have a house and any real estate is valuable. And still I don’t go over to find out because now I think I missed my chance. How do I ask when others are around? And really, if he has company and he’s happy, if he’s no longer lonely… I did nothing, nothing at all to make his life better. Who am I to butt in now?
I love summer. I was really looking forward to this summer. And now, well, I’m struggling with a bit of this:
Especially as we gear up for two political conventions, in addition to everything else, this seems legit:
What about you? How are you feeling these days? Maybe planting red creeping thyme will help. I’m thinking about it. Seriously. If only I had the energy.
“Failing as a neighbor,” how about failing as a citizen, human, etc? I have a few regrets compiled in this 84 year life but none as poignant or depressing as the “sins” (for emphasis, not religious) of OMISSION.
Looking back on the way many of these omissions they have become regrets that are painful, I try to avoid them. When I decided to do something “neighborly,” I indeed intended to do it, I took pleasure in my intention, I felt good about myself but, intention is more than hollow as intention turns to guilt, justification creeps in, avoidance is relief. Almost daily there are instances of neglect, mostly barely noticed. Then there are those that happened decades ago but PAIN me regularly. They were wonderful intentions no longer available for amends. Nevertheless, my consciousness of them often now lead me to follow through on intentions, to do the things I saw as valuable for others and, from them I get lasting pleasure, lasting peace, lasting knowledge that my action to somehow participate in something will be noticed and passed on to others. Reward enough! Omission to me is more difficult to reconcile than procrastination, similar but certainly not the same. Thank you Jan.
Engage in an open ended statement by asking “how are things going for you these days?”