I don't believe I've had much to say about where I live now. It's the same place we chose on our second visit, when we gave ourselves 2 weeks to find a new place to live on the other side on the country. The house is rather ordinary, one of the least expensive styles in this neighborhood. It needed a bunch of work, and we were able to strike a deal with our new landlord. We did the work, he payed for the materials, and we got to do it up the way we wanted to.
It's cozy and pleasant, but, it's very close to the highway, like almost every home in Sacramento, because there's so much highway here, and the road racket is unusually loud here. The neighborhood is one of the many, down at the heels, built on the cheap, suburban ghetto neighborhoods of Sacramento. It's an interesting collection of dystopic disparities.
On Saturday night, kinda late-ish (around 9pm or so) while lounging in our living room watching Japanese animated video, we were interrupted; startled, by a loud syncopated knocking at our front door. When I swung open the door, I was faced with a skinny shaking, drug addled shell of a man who immediately began a rather frantic speil about some fictitious program that he claimed to be representing. I quickly shut him down, much to his relief, and mine, and closed the door.
This was not an unusual occurrence here, as there is, what seems to be, a crack/meth house right down the street. I've seen hookers trickin' pretty much right outside our home, the pickup framed by our living room picture window, and we've had lots of addicted appearing people at our front door offering to do whatever we might ask, in exchange for whatever we might give.
So, when I heard loud banging on front door the following morning, I tried to ignore it, but they were insistent. I finally swung open the door, ready to blast whomever might have dared to mistake my weakness for kindness, and found myself facing our 11 year old neighbor girl who walks our dog. She needed an egg.
After I had furnished the requested egg, and recovered my equanimity from the wash of guilt and embarrassment for the snarly, transgressive demeanor of my response, I wondered about the contrasts and inequities in these two situations.
I continued my rumination, as I ambled about the neighborhood, with the dog, about an hour later. In the soggy haze of Autumn in Sacramento, a few days after our national day of engorgement and obligatory declarations of gratitude, only two days after the official start of the Holiday Shopping Season, our peaceful little neighborhood felt more like a broken dream, an unfulfilled promise, the no longer operational gift of winter holidays past. Just another faded, cheap thrill, the empty shell of campaign promises, pledges of allegiance, hollow paternalism, and threats of fire and brimstone.
I am grateful, however, that we have these homes and walls, however thin, behind which we hide any and all aspects of ourselves, which might of reveal our common humanity, vulnerabilities, and weaknesses. I am grateful that we do not have to ogle any characteristic of each other, or ourselves, that is not shiny and new and brilliant enough to be proudly wrapped in sparkling ribbons and shiny paper, and placed under a slaughtered baby pine tree.
What I said to the poor guy who knocked on our door, as I closed it in his face, was, "Sorry, man". Sorry, but I'm not big enough, strong enough, or wise enough, to surmount my embarrassment over the cavernous gap between my good fortune and your misfortune. "There, but for the grace of God, go I."
