Rachel, Who is My Neighbor, Part 1
Wind chimes sound as Rachel, who is my neighbor, and I settle in for her stories. I smile and say, “If you would like to change your name for the story, let me know. Otherwise, you'll be Rachel.”“Okay. I'll think about it. See how much I say,” her laughter mingles with the wind chimes.In case she’s worried, I assure her, “It's not like a ton of people have found my work. As an artist I just feel my job is to do what I'm called to do. I chose this, no one's commissioned me. It's what I want to do.” “Right,” says Rachel. “And that's nice.” I tell Rachel a bit more about Who Is My Neighbor, share the first prompt, and she begins her story.
We lost our home
“My dad owned the house, and I moved in with my family in 2010 after we lost our home. My husband lost his job during the housing market crash in 2008. He was a superintendent for home builders. His income was like the main income. So then we were upside down on our house. I tried to save it with my income solely and we just couldn't do it. So we short-saled. It sold within hours.” She shakes her head remembering, “Hours.”I ask, “Where was that?“Right behind Ramona High School. Yep. It sold within hours and they wanted us out in fifteen days.” My insides collapse a bit as I recognize the emotional labor of sudden loss combined with the chaos of moving house. “How long did you live in that house?” I ask.Rachel replies, “We bought the house when we were twenty-one, in 1999.” Wow, I think: homeowners at twenty-one. How grown-up. I was still in college and living at home when I was twenty-one. She continues, “We lived in that house for eleven years. Yeah. So it was rough.” I nod, “That would be.”
An adjustment for all of us
“So at that time, my oldest had just graduated from high school. We moved in October and my son was in seventh grade. My daughter was in ninth, and so they were able to, you know, switch over... Thinking about it, I think.” Rachel stops and begins again. “No. My second daughter was actually in seventh grade, and my son was in fifth. But I kept them at their schools. Yeah,” she confirms her memory. “Eventually, my son started at Gage [Middle School] and my daughter started at Poly [Polytechnic High School] because I wanted them to meet the neighborhood kids.”Have I mentioned that my neighbors are heroic? Rachel lost her house, had two weeks to move, and three kids and their social and educational needs to juggle. She simply says, “It was an adjustment for all of us." About her husband she says. “He eventually found a job, a good paying job. Finally. I mean, never never to where he was. But, you know, we adjusted.
Good neighbors
"And I love all my neighbors. So I'm thankful for that part,” says Rachel. “That's a big deal,” I agree and remember hearing Daniel, Esther, and others mention this as a huge plus for our street.Rachel nods, “It's such a big deal to get along with your neighbors and to have good neighbors. I mean, thank goodness, I've never had bad neighbors. I've never had any falling outs. I've been pretty lucky, you know. I've been pretty lucky. Thank goodness.”Her words walk right into my heart. The more time I spend listening to my neighbors tell their stories, the more muscular and vibrant the words good neighbors become. Thank goodness.
Circle back
Thinking of the stories different neighbors have told about moving in, I circle back with Rachel and say, “So it wasn't like you chose the house here. You said it was your dad's.”“It was my dad's,” she says. “He bought it in 1998. Basically he'd come over on the weekends and just maintain it. We used it for family functions or just to come swimming.” I grin, “Oh, that's right. You have a pool!” I love backyard pools. In theory. (In practice, not so much.) “Yeah. So we did that for years before we actually moved here,” says Rachel. Looking for the silver lining, I say, “That means you knew the neighborhood. You'd already been bouncing back and forth.” 
Rachel agrees. “Right. Yeah. We only lived a couple minutes away. So, you know, it was,” she pauses and tries again. “It wasn't too, I mean, it was stressful. It was a stressful move because we had to do it so fast. And, and, you know—it was sad. It took me a while, but I adjusted, and like I said, we made a lot of friends here, and I'm good here. I probably will live here forever,” she says, her giggle blends with the wind chimes again.“That's a good feeling,” I say. “Especially since it started out so tumultuously." “Yeah,” Rachel replies."
That yard was huge
“Did your kids ever process the move out loud with you?” I ask.“No,” Rachel answers. “The only thing they really talked about was the yard at the other house. That yard was huge! My yard is smaller now. But looking back, I'm like, 'Oh, it's so hard to maintain!’” The music of her laugh punctuates the words delivered with intended drama. “If I had that property over there, I don't know how I would do it!” She laughs again then returns to my question about her kids and the move. “But no, they're okay. And they're all grown. I honestly think they're looking to stay in this area—my oldest daughter and my son once he's out of the military.”“Oh, right," I say. "I've seen you fly the flag. He’s a…”“He's a marine,” she fills in my blank. “He'll be out soon. The end of this year he'll be all done. He went right out of high school.” I whisper, “Wow!” in wonder. “He signed up for five. But he's ended up doing four. Medical—he injured his feet and his ankles. So he'll be done by the end of this year.”
A safe space
The tenderness of Rachel for her kids creates a safe space. I surrender a bit of my parenting woe in transplanting our kids in California from the Midwest. “Our daughter had finished tenth grade: a tough time to move," I tell Rachel. "But our son had just finished middle school. The move was less disruptive for him—we thought. But he did not fit at Poly. He was still a little boy in so many ways. It was way too big for him.” Rachel listens. “I get it,” she says. “Yeah. Hard. Definitely. And then, you know, going from middle school to high school. That's a big transition, especially if you're in a whole different state.” I love her for this mom-to-mom moment of understanding.Turning the focus back to Rachel's story I say, “Moves are hard. Even across town.”She takes her cue. “That's for sure. My kids all went to the same elementary school over there. [The Ramona neighborhood] Their friends were going to go to the same middle school and high school. Then I moved the two younger ones away.
A good thing for them
“But you know what? I can honestly say that it was a good thing for them because they have friends from different high schools. They still had their old friends that they knew from elementary, that they played sports with; and then they made new friends in this area—neighbors, and Poly and Gage kids. So it worked out. It really did.”“So much to be thankful for,” I say for Rachel’s story as much as my own. Rachel echoes the words. “So much to be thankful for.”
Thank you to readers who share their neighbor stories with me. Recently, someone emailed me that, "We must be living parallel lives!" She told me she has been walking a "hand-me-down dog" that she got during the pandemic. She now knows all of the other dog owners in her neighborhood. Another reader calls me from time to time to say she enjoys my neighbors' stories and to tell me her own from the past week. I love this!Socially engaged art is for everyone, including you. I'd love to hear about your practice, your neighbor conversations. Comment below.Thank you for being my online neighbor,
