Neighbors

The guy who lives in the apartment next to me is quite a character.  Mid-60s, legally blind, epileptic, alcoholic, and probably has a whole list of maladies I don't know about.  He is also one of the funniest, kindest people I know and having him next door is a hoot.  He'll knock on my door at 10am wanting to take my garbage out, and at least three times a week he asks when we're going to get married.  The answer is always, "Tomorrow, Wilson, we'll get married tomorrow," and he seems to be okay with that.  Fortunately his best friend lives a few doors down and is there to drive him to doctor appointments, wake him up when he forgets he's cooking and the fire alarm goes off, make sure he gets his Meals on Wheels and otherwise keep a watchful eye on him.  He's completely harmless, and there's never a dull moment when those two are around. 

I live in a building with three floors and 60 units, so there's a wide assortment of occupants and I'm lucky to have such good people nearby. No matter where I've lived, I've always made a point of trying to get to know my neighbors.  Part of it is a safety issue, but it also fosters a community.  I like being able to ask them how they're doing when we pass in the hallway, and actually care about the answer.  I like getting invited to birthday celebrations and knowing there's someone I can ask to sign for a package. 


Lancelot visiting, November 2010.  Dad's
actually a lot happier than he looks

 Before I moved Dad out of his apartment, he lived on a very friendly street a couple blocks away from me.  It was filled with families and couples of all ages who enjoyed their little part of South Evanston.  Fortunately, his neighbors were wonderful at looking out for him and treating him with care and respect.  They were patient when he yelled, told me when they saw him out walking, and knew he was delighted by the bevy of dogs around.  He befriended them all, but was especially enamored by Lancelot, the award-winning English Springer Spaniel who lived down the block.  Lancelot's owners would do training exercises in the field across the street, and Dad would stand outside just watching him clear hurdles and jump through hoops.  They soon developed a friendship with Dad, and we came to look for him in the early evenings and on the weekends.  We kept in touch after Dad left, and the owner started bringing Lancelot by the assisted living facilities to visit.  They now periodically stop by Maryhaven on the way home from work, and it's a huge treat for both Dad and me.  Lancelot performs his tricks- sit, stay, roll over, strike a pose, high five, shake, figure eights- and will even jump through a hoop I make with my arms.  He especially likes to come after dinner, when there are scraps of bread and tuna salad on the floor.  I am so touched every time they come to visit.  It's a huge distraction for Dad, and it warms my heart that after all this time they still care so much about him. 

Community can bring out the best in people.  Mom has lived in the same house for 14 years, and has grown very close to her neighbors.  When she can't get her coat over her shoulders, she just walks outside and within a minute somebody has come by to help her.  The teenager across the street mows the lawn, the neighbors to the left run to the grocery store for her, and the neighbors to the right have the snow plowed before it even settles.  She couldn't have asked for a better group of people to be around.  Her block has celebrated countless births, mourned numerous deaths, and enjoyed block parties and holidays together. 

Living in close quarters can also highlight people's worst traits- I've heard horror stories of the lady who played rave music at insane decibels at 2am, the guy who almost went ballistic at the noise from a ceiling fan, and the families who leave their dog home all day with nothing to do but howl.  But getting to know the people you live near can lead to surprising benefits and cherished friends.  And for me, if I ever get too lazy to take the garbage out, there's always Wilson.