Mike: Who Is My Neighbor (part 1)
Mike, who is my neighbor, and I hadn’t spoken prior to our interview. In fact, I hadn’t seen him before he joined me and Joe chatting on the sidewalk in front of Joe’s house. Full confession, I hadn’t seen or spoken to Joe before that afternoon either. Mike’s and Joe’s houses face each other at the end of the block where the paved street bulges in a small circle. In generous terms this configuration might be called a cul-de-sac. But only two driveways turn into or out of the small circle that is a handy turn around for the FedEx driver or folks who meant to find a different block.
Go For A Walk
My walk seldom takes me to this end of my street. But now*, a couple of days a week, on return from my morning walk, or for my afternoon stretch, I stride up the slight incline and walk round the cul-de-sac because I might meet one of my neighbors.
(*Quick review of Who Is My Neighbor: Reach out to my neighbors to know them better. Yes, this is art. Google social art or socially engaged practice or use my search.)
On a recent cul-de-sac walk, I met Joe and Mike!
Say Hello
First there is Joe; alone and armed with leaf-blower, tidying his drive and walkway. I say Hello. Joe pauses the reverse vacuum and nods hello. He’s clearly on-task and focused. Feeling a little shy I keep walking. Joe is basically a stranger. We have never met or even waved before. Plus, I’m an artist and I have a unique agenda: No sales pitch, no witnessing, no political promotion. These facts could make him wonder.Skirting the small circle in front of Joe’s, I pass the fence and locked gate of the Washington Elementary School playfield. The curving sidewalk straightens in front of the house opposite Joe’s. Looking at Joe as he herds leaves and mulch bits off of the sidewalk, I remind myself that I have no idea when, or even if, I’ll see him again.
To Be Brave With My Live
I want to be brave with my life, I tell myself. A tiny courage-surge shifts my steps, I cross the circle, and speak to Joe. Was that a private tree service? I ask as my opener. I’d seen the tree trimmer’s truck earlier and honestly wanted to know. The power of curiosity is affirmed yet again as Joe starts telling me about his numerous phone calls to the city. This segways into observations about city management in general.As we’re talking, a man in a long-sleeved indigo shirt and tan jeans emerges from the house facing Joe’s. Mike walks over and joins Joe and me. While Joe is short and over 65, Mike is well over six feet tall and approaching 40. Sporting my mask and walking hat—a pink baseball cap I scored from a thrift shop—no one can see my smile as introductions are made. Neither man is masked, but both observe Covid-ettiquette and stay more than six feet away from me. 
Mike asks, “Were you there?” I’m confused. He nods at my hat. Oh! Yeah. No. Someone attended the Golf Masters Tournament in 2013, but that someone wasn’t me. I quickly admit how I came by the hat. With conversation about golf proved hopeless, Joe, Mike, and I talk about the tree service for several minutes. We identify the location of my house in relation to each of theirs. A bit is said about living on a quiet street. I sense Joe’s focus shifting back to his task. Before he eases away, I outline my project for them and tell them my prompts:
- Tell me the story of moving into your house.
- Tell me the story of life in your house in 2020.
“I can tell you that in three minutes!” Mike beams."Oh." I blink. "Right now? Right here?" His eagerness surprises me. My plan was to set up an interview for a later date. But, hey! Mike is ready. As I fish my phone out of my pocket and hit record on Voice Memo, Joe returns to tidying his yard.
Mike's Moving In Story
Mike, direct and straightforward, addresses my prompts with evident delight. Married three years ago, he and his wife Mayte began house hunting at the end of 2019. Mike, a Riverside native, wanted to stay in the area. They made an offer on a house in another neighborhood, but that one fell out of escrow when it didn't pass inspection. They continued their search.“This house hit the market and the next day we were here. I instantly knew that you're not going to find a house this size for the value. So, long story short, we offered above asking price. We had been saving the last 3 years to kind of facilitate that. And, because of the impeachment talks with Trump, the interest rate fell an entire percent. So our budget went up 10 grand that day.”While Mike tells his story, Joe and his blower come after the leaves near us, so Mike and I step toward his house and away from Joe’s.
What Folks Choose to Share
As my first interview for WIMN, Mike's ready response and transparent joy in sharing his story felt like an affirmation of the project. When I came up with prompts for Who Is My Neighbor, I had no idea what kind of response they'd generate. People could tell me as little or as much as they wished—just the facts, a list of actions. Or, what I hoped they'd tell me, a story. Listening to Mike, all of the facts were conveyed with feelings: thankful, lucky, happy. He had more than information to share, he had a rich, personal story. “We were very very happy, especially since we bought it from the original owners. Mr. and Mrs. Mickelson raised their kids here and those kids are almost 70 years old now.” I love that Mike knows the name of original owners. Jan Mickelson delighted in telling me about the jobs, degrees, and awards of her kids and grandkids. She invited me to swim with her at the community pool when she found out I was over 50. Mr. Mickelson, casting a suspicious eye at our drought-tolerant front yard, liked to tell us about the beautiful dichondra grass lawn a previous owner of our house once tended with care. He also invited Ken and me to his annual open house for a tour of his stunning orchid collection. “The Mickelsons bought this house in 1956, so only one family has lived in this home and we’re kind of selfish about that. We wanna protect it the way they did, you know what I mean? We feel very honored.”
Unexpected Invitation
Mike tells me about the kitchen renovation and opening up the living room. “There’s nothing fancy about the house, but the inside is great.” He tells me with obvious pride. “It sounds like it’s really nice.” I say. “I’ll show it to ya,” Mike volunteers. “Nice!” I say, “That would be great.”And just like that I have an invitation to see the house and meet Mayte. Mikes tell me about 2020 in the house, but I’ll save that part of the story for another entry. As our conversation ends, I ask for his number and enter it in my phone. 
I text him so that he has my number too. Now we can contact each other. I will reach out and ask when I can meet Mayte and see the inside of the house they are making their home.
The late November afternoon grows cool, but I feel the warmth of being brave with my life in this simple way. As I walk the short distance home, I think to myself, This is what it feels like to be neighbors.
If you would like to start your own socially engaged art practice, feel free to use my simple approach and basic prompts. And if you do, let me know how it goes!Your neighbors may be just as happy to be heard and seen as mine.