Terry
and I have shared three houses over the years. Each one has had
one interesting common element. Neighbors that are nearby, but
not close.
In
the past few years, our current neighbors have made a few changes
around their properties, and honestly, I can’t decide if I’m a
fan or not.
Off
to one side, the couple has been leaving the floodlight in the
back on all night. I honestly have no clue if they’re even aware
it’s on. I never see them outside between sunset and sunrise.
Can’t recall the last time it was turned off. What I do know is
it’s on every night.
I
noticed it when I went outside last summer during the Perseid
meteor shower. I enjoy spending quiet time on our deck during
the summer months. Around midnight (and after), most of the other
external lights anywhere around are off, setting up a dazzling
array of stars. And while their light isn’t horrendous in taking
away from the view, it does offer up a bit of a distraction.
On
the other side, neighbors put in a pool. The crazy part of this
addition has been the filter. They run it overnight, and it sounds
exactly like a steadily cascading stream. When I first heard it,
it took me five or six nights to figure out why I had never heard
the water before. I kept trying to think of places where a stream
or such was located near our yard and couldn’t come up with one.
Eventually started walking toward the noise and got halfway to
the pool before it hit me.
Every
so often, I stumble across a moment where some sensation triggers
reactions and perhaps even old memories. The smell of garlic and
butter and wine in the kitchen. An echo of kids playing down the
street as hide and go seek extends across the twilight hour and
into the night. The sight of a waving neighbor as she turns her
lawn mower around to head into the other direction.
I
remember growing up I was fascinated by the trash collection each
week. Took place on Tuesday morning. It was an extra thrill to
see them flip the switch to compact everything inside. I have
no clue why I would sit in the living room window to watch it.
But I can see a younger me doing it when I pause on occasion these
days to watch the truck come by the house. (And the younger me
would have flipped over the lifts that grab and empty the bins
of today.)
Beyond
the normal, the reality that adds to this is that nothing is normal.
Where I live, regular trash and recyclables, one truck. My parents
will be visited each week by two different trucks. I know other
friends that say they have two different classifications of recyclables
and three different trucks that come around.
Even
in zones where houses were developed and raised using the same
blueprints and plot sizes, once you begin adding pools and fences
and landscaping things begin to twist. The sound of your neighbor’s
lawn mower could be different than mine. The way wind howls across
your yard won’t sound the same to you. And yet those same sounds
could hit both of us in similar ways.
The
other day I was outside working in the yard. At one point, I became
aware I was being watched.
Neighbor’s
dog. Across the street.
Never
barked. Never tried to come over to say hi. But as I moved around
my yard, she would shuffle a few feet along in hers. It was a
bit of a mirror motion, and it was hysterical. That was a fun
hour or so of chores.
Kids
are out in the pool next door. I can hear them playing. Beautiful
day for it. And later on, that means when I get a nice drink ready
and head outside, my stargazing will be joined by the symphony
of trickling water.
Sometimes
the unexpected joys are kindly predictable.