there is something different in me this sunday. perhaps it’s because i have to put on my rah-rah face tonight so i have to be extra contemplative in the day, who knows. but there is something that i need to settle, that i wish i had the funds to afford some daily yoga (sorry, i need classroom, can’t do it at home alone…never mind that my old oak floors are crooked and my dog tries to lick my face during any inversions).
my next door neighbor died while i was in england. i found this out yesterday as i was catching up with one of my across the street neighbors. beverly lived in a small pink house with a boston terrier named bob. her husband passed away about 10 years ago while mowing the lawn. she was an artist many years ago, and when i would knock on the door, she always invited me in. i invited her over to sit in my garden many a time, but she rarely even left her house, so many conversations were simply talking over the back fence, or sitting in her living room as bob leaped from couch to chair to my lap and back. i would bring her homemade cookies and she would tell me stories, none of which i can remember as i write this. but she was sweet, and she would always have a hug for me. when she got cancer her mind changed. i didn’t know this was a common occurrence. so when i went to visit her in november, shortly before her passing, i was unprepared for the verbal abuse and her refusal of my hugs and left, shocked and unsure of what to do.
these are the moments when you wish you’d done more, pushed a little more to suppress your own emotions and still give to the person. i suppose it’s hard to imagine someone dying, no matter how many times you’ve experienced it in your own life, so you always think you’ll have one more chance to see things in a more positive light. but i suppose there was something positive i did bring to her, as my neighbor across the street was surprised to know how much time i spent with her, because she said beverly never answered her door – something surprising to me because i was invited in every time. of course my neighbor has a voice more similar to george costanza’s mother, but hey…
so i leave this cafe i type in, fully caffeinated now but still quiet, still unsure. i will place flowers on her doorstep and hope that the next person who is next door to me has as much beauty and intricacy as bev brought to this world.