Day in the Life of an Idiot

 The other day when Shawn and I were out for a walk in the Cathedral Hill neighborhood of St. Paul, we ran into a woman who was out walking her alpaca. 

And you just need to see this cutie:


Image: alpaca out for walkies....

 I'm still incredibly shaken by this election.  

The only upside to my nerves is that I've been walking away from social media to do busy work. With the weather being unseasonably warm (another sign of the impending apocalypse), I've been raking all the leaves.  We have one maple tree, the one out front, that has very broad leaves that refuse to fall until mid-Novemeber regardless.  Normally, this means the leaves fall on snow.  Most years I end up having to rake them in spring and by then the baby-shoots of grass have suffocated.  

This year, I got most of them up. I also put to bed gardens that I ignored most of the rainy summer, too.  

Though it was colder than usual yesterday, I got anxious again and worked on finishing the front. Our neighbor James said asked me how I was. James is an African-American photographer.  He's married to Katherine, a white woman, who a anthropology professor at Hamline.  They have an adult daughter, Mali, who is of course mixed race.  At first I lied. I said the thing you're supposed to say, "I'm fine." Then, I thought, "No, you know, I'm really not and I should say so."  James and Katherine and Mali have as much at stake as Shawn and Mason and me.  So, I said, "Actually, the election has made me sick."  At first he dismissed it with a, "Don't even start," which I completely respect.  A lot of people I know are in the hiding phase. They've left social media for good or are just out of evens (for the moment.)

Later, James came back to chat a little. Even though he's black, he seems to be taking the "wait and see" approach.  James is very much a dyed-in-the-wool liberal, whose politics have been shifting center with the rest of the party.  Both he and Katherine are very middle class.  Or at least they're 'professorial class' with aspirations towards middle.  We'd previously had an "anybody but Hillary" conversation.  So even though I'm sure he voted against Trump, I'm not sure he voted for Hillary, if you know what I mean. I don't think he's the type to go third party, but even if he did, I wouldn't blame him.  I blame the people who didn't show up.  I blame the people who blocked voters from voting. 

Even so, we both agreed Trump's election was beyond tragic. I told him about my plans to volunteer.  He nodded, but his air was one of cynicism.  Again, given that he's African-American I can hardly disagree with his experience or tell him to have hope, when I see so little myself.

I waved good-bye and told him to stay safe.

Another neighbor, one I didn't know, came strolling by. We'd shared a few 'hellos' but nothing else. Our conversation stayed mostly to the weather and the never-ending task of yard work. There was something about the guy, though, that made me think maybe he was family.  So, again when we said good-bye, I impulsively added, "Hey, stay safe."

He looked a tiny bit shocked (he was white), but said, "You, too!"

I didn't think much more of it, other than to wonder if I was going to just add 'stay safe' to my good-bye rituals from then on out.  But I was just about finished with the front (I swear I was out there almost two hours), when here came the same neighbor again. He had another guy in tow, and I instantly thought, "OH! that's going to be his partner!"

Sure enough.  My chatty neighbor was Michael and I was introduced to Jon, his partner. They came down, ostensibly to go to the gym (a YMCA is at the end of our block on the other side of University), but really wanted to find out if we were family, too.  So I introduced myself and said, "and I live here with my wife Shawn and our son Mason." It was nice. We exchanged business cards and commiserated.  We talked about rumors of violence; I told them about the very real violence that happened at the bookstore.  We worried about their next door neighbors, an extended Somali family and I found out the guy I've been waving to and saying hello to for years is named Mohammad.

He walks very slowly with a cane and because he pauses a lot to rest, I've always gone out of my way to wave and say hello.  He doesn't have a lot of English, but we still manage pleasantries. And one day he worked up to saying 'Beautiful day!" which was just so wonderful. I wish there was some kind of "OMG I'm so NOT one of them" gift basket I could bring to all my neighbors like Mohammad, you know?

But the point is, the one nice thing that's happened is that now we know two more of our neighbors by name.  We've made plans to get together for coffee or deserts or just to say 'hey, still here. Still alive' to each other... and who knows, maybe start the revolution.

For those of you who have been following the story thus far, you know I've been painting our fence. This is the fence that goes between our house and the house to the south of us, which is a Section 8 rental. We've been passing acquaintances with one of the families that lives in that house because they have kids Mason's age and are, by chance, also lesbians. Today, while I was finishing up their side of the fence, Ebony (who may be genderqueer/trans because the kids call her 'dad,' though the partner uses 'she' to describe Ebony.) Regardless, Ebony and I exchange a few words about the fence and my work and how I'm mostly painting myself. Then, we have this very... interesting conversation.

Ebony: (somewhat angrily) "You like not working?"
Me: (confused, because WTF, I have a paint brush in my hand. I am clearly working), "What?"
Ebony: "I said, you *like* not working?"
Me: "I have no idea what you're talking about. I have a job at the library, I'm a sub. You might not know that because I work odd hours."
Ebony: "I ain't getting up in your business, but she [meaning Shawn] makes the money, right?"
Me: "Uh... that kind *is* my business."
Ebony: "Yeah, I guess it is. So, you're like the stud?"
Me: "THE WHAT?"
Ebony: "You know, like, the stud."
Me: "The stud? You're hilarious. I wish." [Because at this point, given the context of this very odd conversation, I'm thinking, 'are you thinking Shawn's my sugar mama or something?]

We say a few more random, though friendlier things to each other, and Ebony goes back in the house and I go back to painting, laughing at the idea of being Shawn's 'stud.'

Later it occurs to me that maybe Ebony meant 'butch,'* since s/he's no doubt seen me doing odd jobs around the house. It also dawns on me, while I'm retelling this story to Shawn that maybe the issue is that I also had a very short interaction with Don, Ebony's landlord, earlier. He came by for some reason and--though I tried really hard not to--I overheard Ebony tell Don that they were short on rent and that they'd have to make arrangements to pay him later. Thinking about this, I figure MAYBE Ebony really came over to harass me for my perceived status as 'richer.'

Which I guess, from Ebony's perspective, we are.

I mean, we don't rent, we own. We can very clearly afford groceries on a regular basis. I *do* actually get to stay home more often than not--though if I could find a full-time job that would accommodate Mason's schedule, I'd probably take it (though I do love the library a LOT.)  

So, maybe she was just mad about her situation and poverty in general and thought to harass me, because it seems like I'm doing so much better--and, you know, we are.  No mistake.  But it's a matter of degrees, and the distance between Ebony and Nicole and Shawn and I is not nearly so great as it is on the OTHER side of our OTHER fence, with Catherine and James--James also stays home, because Catherine is a college prof at Hamline and they own not only that house, but rent their upstairs AND own properties in Philadelphia.  They regularly travel to Africa and just sent Mali, their daughter, to a college out East for a summer writing program. They might actually be middle class (it's so hard to tell in America, these days.)  

I also get anger as a response to this.  I've felt it in much less dire situations.  

It was still, possibly, one of the weirdest conversations I've had with ANYONE in a long, long time....

---
Edited to add: 'stud'--d'uh, I should have gone right to the urban dictionary.  Stud is, in point of fact, a word that means butch lesbian.  I am Shawn's stud.  So, as a bonus, we got to be completely crossed-wired despite both speaking the same language and ostensibly from the same culture (lesbian.)

As you can probably imagine, I got nothing done yesterday. When I went home (after zipping over to the history center to chat with Shawn about all the weird of being on TV), I found dishes in the sink that needed doing and a stinky garbage. I ignored the latter and rolled up my sleeves and took care of the former... and suddenly, I was just me again. And all was right in the universe.

I also got the make-up off with generous applications of soap and water, and I was really grateful because I thought it might take industrial strength cold cream like we used to have to use in high school theatre.

Anyway, we still have stuff all over our backyard from our weekend garage cleaning extravaganza. I need to drag everything back in the yard. I would have started on it yesterday with all my excess engery, but I'd thought Shawn wanted to do some organizing. I talked with her about it last night, and we decided it's probably better to just start putting things back or what's left of our grass after the roofers will be dead and buried.

I went to our "National Night Out" annual gathering over on Herschel (a block east of our street.) I go every year, and pretty much have done since we moved into the neighborhood 15 some years ago. Yet, I still don't know anyone. I have to admit that part of the problem is that I'm not very good at that whole insert-yourself-into-the-conversation-and-talk-small-talk thing. As a a result, when people came up to introduce themselves there was a lot of awkward, "So are you new to the neighborhood?" And me, trying lamely to joke, "Yeah, fifteen years ago." To which, I mostly got "are you serious?" stares, and then I'd have to explain that I don't often hang around very long, though I've been coming to this for... well, never mind. And then they'd walk away and I'd stand there thinking, "I made cucumber salad for this?"

Mason insisted we go because in past years they've been very good about organizing games for the kids. They have had water ballon tosses and other little easy games. Not this year. The fire fighters rolled a big truck in as usual, and Captain Dan handed out stickers and whatnot, but I guess most of the kids who used to be into all that have grown and so Mason and one other kid, Bjorn, were the only ones really keen for something fun to do. Given my socializing FAIL and the lack of games, I abandoned my cucumber salad after about twenty minutes and realized this was the reason I really don't know many of the people over on Herschel.

We moved into the house belonging to the former block club leader, so we kind became the de facto block club leaders... and we used to be all sorts of stuff. Nothing super organized, but I feel like we know a lot of the families on our block pretty well. We, however, have a lot of renters, so...

Anyway, I feel kind of bad at what a dorky neighbor I am. But, at least the SWAT team hasn't been around for several years. (Yes, really. Once, when Mason was still an infant, I came home to a cop in full SWAT gear crouched behind my pine tree. Apparently, the raided the house next door for drugs. I didn't even really stop, I just turned around and drove Mason and I out of there for a couple hours.)

So, could be worse.

Okay, I'd been hoping to get back to the blog before now, but I guess that's one of those best laid plans. Eaten by mice!

At any rate, I can't even say I've been particularly busy. I have been desperately trying to catch up on things that need doing around the house. I am still VERY SLOWLY painting the neighbor's side of the fence. I think today I managed another four slats. And just to completely irritate her, I started on the opposite end. To be fair, one of her other workers has propped some doors and such that they're working on in the middle of the section I was supposed to do next, but I probably could have moved them if I'd been so inclined. But, as I've said elsewhere, I'm a lazy neighbor.

Today Shawn and I went to see Mason perform "Chicken Little" at Crossroads. He was originally supposed to be Ducky Lucky, but he switched to Goosey Loosey. I must say, in my completely biased opinion, Mason's group was the most polished and easiest to hear/understand. To be fair, his is the advanced reading group, and the teacher Ms. Miller, chose a piece that was short and repetative. The first graders were SUPPOSED to do their own play, but apparently it got cancelled for being to chaotic. So, it was three classes of second graders (Mason is in first grade, but is pulled out for second grade advanced readers.) The first group did Gingerbread Man and, I have to say, they were pretty cute. The last did a folktale about why it's cold in winter, which, unfortunately, I didn't understand in the least. There were a lot of missed/hurried/mumbled lines and, as it wasn't a story I was familiar with, so I ended up sort of baffled. But, despite that, they had the best effects and costumes.

Shawn took a couple of shots at the show, so if I get a chance, I'll try to post them. Got to go get the little guy now.