My Year Among the Sunflowers (Month 2)
August’s theme: Lights, Winds, Action.
Someone told me that the secret to breaking my neighbor curse might be thinking of what I am able to tolerate, rather than what I want in my surroundings. That old “focus on what you want, not what you don’t want” positive spin on things hasn’t worked, so I’ve been working on thinking about what I can tolerate.
I have no complaints. Well, a few, but nothing in comparison to where I’ve been. I knew what I was getting into here, mainly the all-day puttering. There are days where my street feels like I-285 in Atlanta. Where is everybody going? I think they're all just manic - having to find things to make themselves feel important or valuable? The ins and outs. And the people coming to cater. The deliveries, the leaf blowers, the carpet cleaners, the auto detailers, the . But, everything closes down right around the time I’m closing up shop in my office, which is the quietest room in the house, so I am a happier camper than I’ve ever been when it comes to noise!
The garbage trucks come every day, because people use all four of the private companies who manage environmental services in this area. I use the word “manage” loosely, because I tried two and gave up. Neither ever got my pickups straight, and I feel like I have spent the first two months here on the phone talking trash.
What is with old folks and lights?! And wind chimes!? I just want to see the night sky and not hear Walmart metal pipes banging against Walmart metal pipes. They all love to light up their driveways, their tiny yards (I’m still fighting with Wilbur, and it’s feeling intentional), and even the inside of their homes, and all night long. As in, the lights just never go out here. Sunflower Living spits on that Tucson Dark Skies thing. Again with the entitled tool set, “Nobody’s gonna tell me what I can’t do.”
I don’t know any neighbors and can’t quite tell who’s year-round, part-time, or hasn’t arrived yet for “the season”. But, someone lives next door to me who adores birds. He or she is the Sunflower Birdperson. Not only are there actual living birds who hang out every morning and evening for a feeding, they have those stand-up metal flat cutouts of bird families in their tiny yard of gravel. Is this to make the real birds think there’s a bird neighborhood? BIRDS! Some mornings, if I look outside the window on the side of the house, I feel like Tippi Hedren in the phone booth.
There is a fair amount of car and motorcycle washing and revving and testing and cleaning and….puttering. To be expected. Old folk have toys, especially in a land with outdoor weather 365 days a year.
And the veterans. I imagine those who fly their flag the highest sat behind a desk in Des Moines during some tiki-torch conflict in the Maldives. They have flags, bumper stickers, motorcycles, campers, you name it, with heroic words about themselves. I’m a firm believer that those that flaunt it, ain’t got it. I’ve heard these guys referred to as the survivor’s guilt set - those that have to act like they mattered. The “real” vets can spot them a mile away.
About Wilbur.
In the first month, I reported that the only neighbor issue I have is a football-field-floodlight-level porch light (either Halogen or LED, I have no idea which is brighter, but whichever one it is, those are Wilbur’s) that my neighbor behind me turns on at dusk and doesn’t turn off until typically after midnight or some time the next morning. It’s directly behind my bedroom, making it like sleeping in daylight. I have asked Wilbur (not his real name) if he might turn it off after 9pm, but so far, I’m not having luck. I’m crying myself to a half-sleep a lot.
This month, I tried pleading with him again, to which he smiled and said, “No problem” again, but with an attitude. Then, he doubled-down on the lights for a few days, adding more to the mix. I emailed the Community Manager and received no response. I’m monitoring this, because in Month 3, shit at the Sunflower ‘bout to go down. I’m in a mood like no other after 12 days of sleep.
Sunny disposition dying in the heat.