May 31, 2000
Good ear plugs make good neighbors
By Garret Leiva
Herald editor
Robert Frost wrote about good fences making good neighbors. Myself, I'd settle for a good pair of ear plugs.
Let me start with this qualifier - I like people and I can tolerate chain saws. People running chain saws at 9:45 p.m. on a Wednesday night, however, enter the realm of dislike and intolerance. Call me a curmudgeon, but I'd rather not welcome someone to the neighborhood if I have to shout "hello" at more than 80 decibels.
Of course, my passive-aggressive hostility toward the new neighbor stems from the not so neighborly act of peering out the venetian blinds. My wife, however, believes in full disclosure of your inner disgust - she stands in front of the glass storm door, hands on her hips.
"This is ridiculous. He's cutting down more trees," fumes my wife, sounding a bit like Mrs. Crabtree from "Bewitched" reporting on the latest episode of Darren being turned into a toad by his mother-in-law Esmeralda.
"You know, just now, you sounded a bit like Mrs. Crabtree," I reply, letting my subconscious get ahead of both my Id and tongue. Ignoring my semi-obscure pop culture reference, she silently stares out into the front yard wondering if Home Depot has a sale on good fences.
Throughout history, poets, philosophers, proverbs and anonymous have all pondered the word neighbor. It has been said that a good neighbor is a fellow who smiles at you over the back fence but doesn't climb over it. It has also been noted that a neighbor is one whom we are commanded to love as ourselves and who does all he knows to make us disobedient.
Often, neighbors are known more by their deeds then the name on the mailbox. The white house two doors down with the screaming kids hopped up on sugar cereal and Twinkies. The family across the street with the dog evidently named "shut up" or his full pedigree name, "shut the hell up." Or the guy at the end of the block who insists on mowing the lawn shirtless and uses his 12 pack beer gut to steer the push mower.
In our quaint subdivision, we are primarily known by one thing - our dog.
Walking around our neighborhood with the canine in tow is similar to hitting the presidential campaign trail during the New Hampshire primary. Every few houses she has to stop and lick small children on Big Wheels and shake, sit and give high-fives to their parents. People pass us on the street and greet the dog by her name but give us that "I have no clue who you are" polite smile.
Now if I seem naive about this whole neighbor concept, you'll have to excuse my rural upbringing. Growing up without a nearby neighbor, I had little exposure to the sociological niche known as a neighborhood. I was the kid that had to ride his bike 12 miles into town so the neighborhood bully could pick on me. I also never experienced selling a glass of lemonade for a quarter, a bus stop, or buying an Orange Push-Up from the Good Humor ice cream man.
Over the past two years, I found that living in a neighborhood does have another distinct advantage: borrowing stuff. Hammers, ladders, Allen wrenches, weed trimmers and, yes, even a chain saw, are just a few of the tools I've asked to borrow from understanding neighbors.
The fellow behind our house didn't even question me- or alert the authorities- when I showed up on his front door with a red stained T-shirt (engine assembly oil) looking to borrow a hacksaw (stubborn water pump bolt).
Perhaps I should make an effort and at the very least like thy new neighbor. I could even extend a friendly handshake or a quart of chain bar oil before this turns into the Hatfields and the McCoys or Seinfeld and Newman.
Better yet, when I finally get my 1972 Pontiac Lemans running this summer and drive past his house at 9:45 p.m. with open headers, I'll be a good neighbor and leave a pair of ear plugs inside his mailbox.
Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail at gleiva@gtherald.com.