Giving Voice to Anger and Pain

I decided to pen a letter to the new owners of the house across the street; the house that as I write this post is being demolished. There are so many ways the letter could be written and some I probably should write and then burn as a form of therapy. But, I decided to write one that emphasized how their plans impacted me as the neighbor directly across the street. I acknowledged that they had all the right in the world to do as exactly as they did (which was to give no "heads up" and no verbalized appreciation for the fact that construction is a visual and auditory assault that goes on for months) My goal was to suggest that neighbors communicate and that there was a breach of the more subtle laws of civility going on here.

The letter goes out in the mail today. I signed it and gave my address. I own this letter and I stand behind it whether it backfires in my face or not. I feel very strongly that someone (that would be me and maybe there will be others) needs to tell these two grown people that their choices do impact others. They may not care. They may get angry. Or not. But something will happen. Something.

I have to remember what Mom has always said when I go whining about injustices inflicted on me by others.....she always reminds me that "It's a long road that doesn't have a turn.". I interpret that to be some law about karma and people eventually having to own up to the shitty choices they've made, especially ones that hurt other people. Yikes!

Here's what I said in my letter:

Dear....

This is a difficult letter for me to write. I want to welcome you to the neighborhood on ...Avenue West. Yet I feel the need to honestly share with you how it feels to be on the receiving end of the plans for your new home. I’m reminded again that whatever we do in life impacts others, sometimes in small ways, sometimes in larger ways. It’s so easy to forget this fact when we’re busy. It’s something I’ve tried to remind myself to remember frequently.

I’m writing from my perspective only, as your neighbor directly across the street at .... We have lived on this block for over seventeen years with a view of the Matter’s house from our front windows. I know that times move on, ownership changes hands, and people join the neighborhood with new plans for their property. While it makes me sad to lose the last bit of sound and mountain views we have from our upstairs windows, I have to accept that things like this happen all the time. It is what it is and we’ll adjust.

We’ll also have to adjust to the disruptions inherent in a project like this; congested traffic flow, the added noise of construction, and the time factor that comes with the demolition followed by the rebuilding which will go on for many months. This does impact your neighbors. We will live it; you will move in when it’s finished.

I’m happy that you’ll have your dream home. I remember meeting you, Dan, shortly after you purchased the house. You were in the driveway and I came over, introduced myself and we talked about how my daughter Laura had done some babysitting for your family in the past. I asked when you were going to move in and what you told me was that you were still considering options and didn’t know what the plans would be. I made the unfortunate assumption that if you were planning on a tear down and a total re-build, we might be advised. Although you certainly don’t have an obligation to divulge your plans to anyone, it saddens me that you didn’t.

I wish that you had knocked on my door (the earlier the better; it helps psychologically to get prepared), sat me down and said, “Kate; these are our plans. Yes, I get it that there will be noise, and construction, and hassle and the like but, that’s the way it’s going to be.” I might not have been happy about it inside but your honesty and your willingness to acknowledge that your decisions affect other people, and in this case your neighbors, very deeply would have gone a long way in easing the pain and disruption of this transition.

In my opinion, when all is said and done, it boils down to communication with those who are directly affected by our decisions and actions. That’s the starting point for enduring relationships and what I would hope neighbors might enjoy.

Sincerely,

Nothing to do but SUCK IT UP

.....the contractor, Mr. and Mrs.

Although I long to run outside, scream at the top of my lungs, fling my body on the wet grass, and make an enormous scene, I don't. And, I won't. That doesn't stop me from internal versions of the same scene however, lived out again and again.

Our new neighbors are not making a good first impression. Look at them here, all happy and excited about the first day of ground breaking on their new home. Mass destruction. Noise. Crowded street. And then once the destruction is finished, the laying of the new foundation for the dream home. Again, I ask; "Will this make you happy?". The answer (of course) is "NO".
What would I have had them do differently? Not build the home of their dreams? No. What I would have asked is that they knock on my door and tell me of their plans and acknowledge the disruption to the street, the hassle of a crummy scene of destruction, the noise factor that will go on for the next 9 months, and yes, the loss of our view.

A.C.K.N.O.W.L.E.D.G.E.M.E.N.T. Not even an "I'm sorry" necessarily. Just that they even sort of "get it", sort of understand the impact of their decisions.

Our decisions are not made in a vacuum. We may think so but they aren't. EVER.

I really agree with the person who said that we are all looking to be understood, just understood.

Nice'n Easy Natural Red Blonde

Even after 40 years, Clairol still makes Nice'n Easy Natural Red Blonde hair color. As a teenager, I was introduced to this product and used it off and on for years....so much so that everyone thought my hair was naturally this color. In college I quite dying my hair and let the authentic color evolve. Gradually people forgot, or never knew, I had hair any color other than what it was.


In 1970, at age 16, I was in Europe (and Florence) with Mom and Dad and I was a natural red blonde as seen in these "butt photos" that Dad took of Mom and me. He was famous for taking pictures of us from the rear. I've always wondered about that. You get a good look at Miss Clairol at work however. My hair is much like Mom's color; maybe (but I can't remember) that's what I was trying to achieve. Attempting to minimize the natural frizz in my hair, I took elaborate, somewhat byzantine steps to straighten the look. There were no plug in hair straighteners around in those days. If I was happy with the color, the curl was definitely not my thing and something in demand of daily attention. Some days were easier than others.

In case you can't find us in this butt photo taken between the Duomo and the Baptistery in Florence, look to the lower right in the photo. You'll spot my mother in a green dress and me by her side in a mini-skirt and white top.

What I think about here, in addition to the red-blonde hair, is that little child wearing a hat who stands midway along the bottom half of the photo. That little one is now 40 years old. Many of the other people are long gone. Those that aren't, are much, much older. The natural red blonde gal now has grey in her hair and hasn't sprung for highlights in over a year.

Time passes but Miss Clairol stays much the same.

Brother and Sister

He has ideas
and plans.
Energy.
He loves them as they
need to be loved
in these dark hours.
He's game for a sprint,
as we all are in this
long journey.
Piece by piece, with time away
to collect one's soul back from the fray.
At it again with a resigned, if not joyful style.
If there is ambivalence or pain,
it does not show.

For me, the exhaustion never quits.
The guilt over succumbing to exhaustion even worse.
I've always said, I'm up for a sprint, not a marathon.
Because, because....
Even with bits of time away, the rejuvenation never comes
and I feel older by the second.
My face muddy,
my heart stony and hard.
Aching to make the most of a whisper of time
but not knowing how, with my
soul slowly burning, evaporating into mist,
dying to today's promise
with the closing of a door.

Gratitude Amidst the Noise

Today has been quiet until the fire truck pulled up across the street (again) to chainsaw holes in Mr. Matter's rooftop this afternoon. On a Saturday? C'mon. Give it a break, can't you? See those guys on the left? They're busting through shingles with intention, learning how to break through a roof in a real emergency. After all, this house is a "tear down" (see post from 11/25/08). Sigh.

Oh wait, I think they're leaving now; they never stay long. Just enough time to bust a few new openings in the roof and then they're off leaving the street quiet again. Blessed. I can now hear my Mozart CD playing, the Grandfather clock marking the seconds passing, and the soft, nearly imperceptible breath of the cat who lies next to me on the living room couch. This is such the typical late November afternoon in Seattle, complete with overcast skies hanging so low you can all but reach out and pull the mist into the front door. No rain, just air that's heavy with stored moisture. Waiting.

I'm remembering 48 hours ago when we gathered for Thanksgiving Dinner at the Arapahoe House; the 5 of us: Mom, Dad, Denny (the cook; all except for the pumpkin pie and the corn pudding), Chris, and me. We were a small group this year but privileged to celebrate at the Arapahoe house which has until now, never been the gathering spot for a Thanksgiving meal in our family. Nice. I have gratitude for the gifts of family and food shared around a table that has hosted thousands of meals in Aruba, Houston, and now in Seattle. Here we are....

Black Friday

Today, Black Friday, is the day retailers hope to make up for lagging sales and launch the official Holiday Season of buy, buy, buy. This is the first Black Friday in recent memory that Laura and I will not be hitting the road (we never start before 9 AM and therefore are not the hard-core shoppers) to check out Target, Northgate mall, Fred Meyer, and a few other choice places with lunch at Taco Time. This holiday weekend she's with classmates traveling through Bosnia and Croatia.

I don't intend to shop today. Maybe I would if Laura were home. Nonetheless I can't help but wonder....if things don't make for happiness, why are all these people out there buying things?

Wallowing in Misery

Historically, the day before Thanksgiving is either the most favorite day of the year for me or if not, way up there with the top five. Last year on this day, I blogged about my love for this day. But today is anything but joyful for me. I feel overwhelmed by duties, a messy house, the pressure to cultivate gratitude, by ailing and unhappy parents, the fact I won't see my daughter for the first time on Turkey Day and on it goes. I just wish the holiday was over, that I could close my eyes and sleep through it all, awakening sometime next week. Sure, my life will still be the same, more or less, but I'll have had some time with dreams, restless as they may be, and be lying horizontal instead of pushing through vertically oriented tasks.

Yesterday came the assault of chain saws across the street and a fire truck in front of Mr. Matter's former house. When he died last year, his family sold the house to a couple with young children sometime last spring. We waited for the family to move in but nothing ever happened. We knew this likely meant they were planning to "build up" to get their so called "sweeping sound and mountain views". Not quite; it's worse. With all the commotion going on at the property yesterday we learned that the house is now a "practice palace" for in-training firefighters. The house is a "tear down" we learned so the fledgling firefighters are using ladders to access the roof and chain saws to cut gaping holes in said roof. Good for them I suppose. They need experience.

For me, I witness the slow destruction of a house that has been my front window view for the last eighteen years. I can only imagine the monstrosity (aka new construction) that will come in its place. The bit of blue and mountains we see from our bedroom window will be no more, turned into the brick facade of another family's home.

I wonder if they'll be happy. Do things like this bring happiness? I asked Denny this question today. He just shook his head and said, "I don't think about things like that." I wonder why I do. Questions like this chew at my soul sometimes.

On a day when I should be savoring the sunshine and the opportunity to celebrate a glorious meal tomorrow with my 91 year old parents, my husband and son, I'm ploughing around in the underbrush of sadness. I certainly wish one and all a Happy Thanksgiving. It's the best holiday of them all in my opinion. I'm just not in the mood for it this year. Is there the equivalent of "Bah Humbug" for Turkey Day?