Joe & Esther: Who Are My Neighbors (Part 1)
Joe, who is my neighbor, didn’t say No, but he didn’t say Yes either when I asked him if he’d participate in my project. You may remember Joe from the first WIMN story with Mike. A time or two after our first meeting, my walk around the cul-de-sac coincided with Joe’s work at the front of his house, but he remained coy. It was Esther, Joe's wife, who agreed to share her phone number with me and who I reached out to for a distance date/interview. At first she mistook my text for scam. However, once I mentioned my efforts to Mike, communication cleared up in a jiffy. Now, on a warm Wednesday in February, Esther and Joe welcome me into their backyard garden.I’m invited to sit at a black cast-iron table on the patio. A pitcher of iced lemonade telegraphs a message of hospitality. All three of us take our seats at the table; instead of one storyteller, I have my first duet. My surprise and delight settle while we banter and pour lemonade. Wondering how I’ll stitch their story together, I am so glad I have my phone! I set it in the center of the table—ready to record my first two-person interview. I say, “I’d love to hear the story of how you moved into this house.”
For the kids
Esther says with a smile, “Go, Joe!” and I have to laugh. Joe chuckles too, a bit surprised, but maybe not. I can tell that Joe and Esther share a long history together, carbonated with gentle humor and sustained by mutual fondness.Joe takes the cue and begins, “We lived in Moreno Valley before we came here. The main reason we moved over here was our kids. They started out going to a private school in Moreno Valley, but the school only went up to fifth grade. So, we put our kids over here in Riverside Christian Day School.“We were going back and forth then. Esther was working for San Bernardino County and had to leave by six every morning. I was doing air conditioning, so I could start a little bit later. I was dropping the kids off from Moreno Valley all the way over here in Riverside.”Esther summarizes, “Our life was just commuting.”
House shopping
Joe continues, “I was content living there, but after a while I got tired of doing that. Esther tells me, ‘I’m gonna start looking at houses.’ So she went shopping for houses.” He chuckles. “One day she said, ‘Joe, I found a house. I think you’re gonna like it.’”Joe’s matter-of-fact account and Esther’s clarity and confidence make me grin.Joe goes on. “We both came over here and looked at this house. I walked in the house and saw that pool and the cul-de-sac. I said, Ok, I want it! She was shocked!” He laughs remembering his own sudden certainty.Looking at Esther, I ask, “You thought it'd be a harder sell?” Esther nods, “Well, yeah. I expected give-and-take and all the rest. But he said, ‘Let’s buy it!’—within fifteen minutes!”Esther continues the story, “I wasn’t all that happy in Moreno Valley. I found it to be an angry town. All the people were commuting. By the time they got home, they were just up to here,” she brings her hand level with her nose. "At least that was my perception in those days, ‘85-’90. “Then we moved to Riverside,” Esther says, “and I was amazed! People were friendly!”
The giddy relief
Have you ever been amazed by friendliness? By being really seen? I know I have. Often we plod along diligently unaware or merely resigned to an environment that feels cold, remote, or just plain angry. We shrink back, self protect, or hold our breath in an atmosphere of indifference or judgement. When we turn from that situation or person and bump into warmth and openness—OH, the giddy relief! A beam of kindness falls across our path and we tilt towards that warmth and bloom a bit—a form of human heliotropism."For example," Esther says, “when we moved in, we were getting our carpet installed at the same time. Poor planning or something, and I didn’t know where my vacuum cleaner was. “Somehow, maybe my daughter was playing over there, Lido across the street offered to let me use her vacuum cleaner. She didn’t know me! I thought, I wouldn’t let someone else use my vacuum cleaner. She let me use her’s. We’ve been friends ever since.”
One friendly person
I nod and smile. Lido embodied the word friendly for me too. She was the first person on the block to spend time talking with me. We moved when our kids were going into 9th and 11th grades. There is no way to overstate it: ours was a rough transition. In the midst of the chaos of setting up house, Lido welcomed me and my daughter to come swim in her pool. In the shimmering heat of July, August and September, my daughter and I trudged up to Lido’s, let ourselves in at the side gate, braved the barking chihuahuas, and slipped into the small, sparkling aqua pool. Lido’s love of all green things made the garden an oasis. The cool water eased the sticky discomfort of the sweltering summer as well as the prickly detent of individuation that seems part and parcel of parenting teens. The friendliness of one person shaped Esther’s and my experience when, each in our turn, we unpacked and settled into the houses that became our homes. Like a simple tune, Lido's friendliness sings without flourish or fanfare—practical, helpful. I don’t know if any newcomers have needed a vacuum, and we don’t have a pool; but I do know how to bake bread and cinnamon rolls. Handing a warm loaf to a new neighbor or delivering fragrant goodies for New Year’s is, in part, my variation on Lido song.
Kids — they grow up
I ask Esther and Joe, “How old were your kids when you moved here?”Esther pauses to remember, “Twelve and eight.” Joe adds, “They were closer to school now which was great. It made it easier living here. And the kids loved the pool. They got to swim whenever.” Esther agrees, “That was their entertainment. I was working. After school they were in daycare. But they were here by themselves during the summer with me checking in all the time. They would swim and it worked out pretty good.”I ask, “Do they still live close?” In unison they reply, “Noooo.”“I wanted to move to Riverside because I thought, Our kids are gonna need to be in a big city,” Esther says. “We’re from a small city and I thought, If we move to Riverside, our kids will stay. But it wasn’t big enough for them.” I laugh in commiseration, my own grown darlings also live elsewhere. With a gentle laugh, Joe ponders aloud, “What’s wrong with Riverside?” He shakes his head and observes, “Once they went to college, from there they could go wherever they want.” Joe, who is my neighbor, chuckles wistfully, “I don’t know why kids leave.” Neither do I, Joe. Neither do I.
Next time, Joe and Esther tell me about life in their house in 2020. You're invited.Until then, thank you for being my online neighbor.
