Do you see Lindsay’s Psychophant link over there on the right hand side of this page? It’s a link to a short video.
I may have already clicked it multiple times this morning . . . it makes me giggle every time.
Back here . . .
One time?
I was looking out my kitchen window, and I saw our neighbor arrive home with a woman who was not his wife.
Huh.
I watched as he guided her into his house, one solicitous hand on the small of her back.
Huh.
Our neighborhood was not a chatty friendly sort of neighborhood. All of the houses on our short street had gorgeous views, and the houses were designed around those views. No sidewalks. No front yards to speak of. All of the houses were set sideways down a hill, so that each house’s yard was at a slightly different elevation.
A discussion with a neighbor required effort.
No one made the effort.
Everyone else on the street was nearing retirement age. Mark and I had little in common with them, and so we continued to make no effort. They made none in return.
Even after living there for several years, I had engaged in very few conversations with any of our neighbors.
We all liked our privacy, and unless there was a pressing need to talk, we never sought one another out.
The single occasional exception was the woman who lived next door.
Random bits of conversation over the years . . . compliments on the girls’ beauty, permission to send her gardeners into our yard to trim an unruly plum tree that draped from her property over into ours, stories of 4th of July parties she had thrown over the years, frustration with her husband’s refusal to retire, a strangely urgent conversation one time about being careful with the girls when I took them swimming, small bits of her history, news about her family, a vacation she was looking forward to taking.
I remember one time, I climbed a tall ladder to sit upon our steeply-pitched roof and clean out our gutters.
She came out into her back yard, a cup of coffee in one hand, “Be careful up there!”
There was no real way to have a conversation, as she was too far away for regular voices. I was annoyed that she was paying attention to me. Annoyed to be seen all awkward and nervous on my roof, throwing soggy leafy handfuls of muck into a bucket. I spoke loudly, “Yeah, I’m good.”
She watched me for a few minutes, and she was freaking me out, “Was there something you needed?”
She laughed apologetically, “No, I’m sorry. I was just remembering the days when I might have done something like that. Climbed up on my roof to clean out my gutters. I see you over there, painting and remodeling and getting things done. Dealing with your daughters. I like the woman you are. I just wanted to tell you that.”
Far too much emotion in her over-loud voice, and she tried to cover by taking another sip of her coffee.
Awkward.
It was abundantly clear that she wanted me to climb down from the roof and come talk to her. I was not in the mood. I was covered with sloppy filthy gutter goo, and how does she not see this is a bad time? This is not a moment in which I want to bond with my neighbor over how she used to be just like me. I am cleaning the gutters, silly woman!
Awkward.
So I pretended not to understand. I waved and called something lame like, “Thank you,” and then focused really hard on cleaning out the gutters, hoping she would go away.
When I looked up again, she was gone.
That had been maybe three months ago, and as I watched her husband walk this woman who was not her into her house, I tried to think when I had spoken with her last.
Was that the last time . . . the awkward gutter thing?
It had been raining endlessly, so it was no surprise that we hadn’t seen one another for a while. And then we’d been out of town visiting Mark’s family for almost two weeks. And then hadn’t she said something about going on a cruise with her daughter? Greece or something? Pretty sure.
Stupid fucking mid-life crisis husband with his dyed-blond whore.
I started keeping an eye on the neighbors’ house so that I would notice when she returned.
Time passed, and I didn’t see her.
A long cruise?
Had she moved out? A divorce? It seemed like she would have told me that.
I played back our final conversation in my mind. She had been weirdly emotional . . . maybe they had separated. Maybe she had moved out.
How had I missed that?
The neighbor kept showing up with this not-so-young dyed-blond whore. They had a barbecue in the back yard. They sat together in the swinging bench on the small back deck.
What the fuck, dude? What did you do with your wife?
By now, she had been gone so long that there was no sensible way for me to approach another neighbor and casually say, “Ummm . . . I know that we don’t know each other at all, but you know the couple that lives right next door to me? Where’d the wife go?”
And in all the years we had lived in this house? I had never once spoken to the husband next door. Not once.
No way was my first-ever conversation with him going to be, “So where’s your wife?”
So I just hated him. Hated him for driving away the only friendly face on our street. Hated him for throwing her over for this trashy blond grandma-slut. Hated him for throwing away his marriage. Hated him.
Time passed and I continued to hate this man.
He and the blond grandma-slut got noisier about their happiness in their back yard.
I hated them both.
Until one morning I was sitting at my dining room table reading the newspaper.
A wedding announcement. My neighbor and the grandma-slut (who now had a name) had gotten married. A lovely photo of the couple.
I kept reading, filled with outrage.
The article mentioned his first wife, and my eyes raced ahead . . . YES! Finally! Where had she gone?
Oh.
She had died.
Of cancer.
Not long after that awkward gutter thing.
While we were out of state visiting Mark’s family.
Tears ran down my face as I remembered her saying to me, her voice filled with emotion, “I like the woman you are. I just wanted to tell you that.”
How I hadn’t come down off that roof.
Fuck.
Am I first? Yay. Now I’m going to go read the post. Be back soon.
Fuckin’ cheater! LOL
na na boo boo!!
You two are ridiculous.
Natalie?
You are supposed to read the post first!
Hee hee!
Love you both.
The content of this post renders this particular comment strand rather, I don’t know, ridiculous.
Read the post first, people. You might learn something.
Chris?
Don’t sass my readers, babe.
They read.
Both of these ladies read the post and are lovely.
I will do the sassing, if any is required.
No sassing is required.
Yeah, I guess. Didn’t mean to sass, but I was touched by the post and then the first thing I see in the comments is “YAY! I’M FIRST!”
Seemed a little anachronistic and disrespectful to you, the writer.
I stand corrected though. Not trying to be a jerk.
One of the things about my blog is that people are never sure what to expect.
I have posted for the past two days in inappropriate raunchy fashion, and today’s post suggests more “Gutter Talk.”
Additionally? It is not at ALL unusual here on Pretty All True for a comment section on a serious post to go wonky and off-topic and insane. We do not stick to the subject at hand around here.
Both of the women above left fabulous comments below this thread.
Love them both.
I get your reaction, but your thoughts would have been better stated in a separate comment that was not directed to these two women.
And now I have sassed you.
Ahem.
Hey, you can sass me any ol’ time you like. And if an apology is in order to the other two ladies, I am truly sorry.
Didn’t mean to offend.
When I DO mean to offend, you’ll know.
:)
If you are aiming the offensive at me?
We’re all good.
Bring it.
Moments like that are hard to swallow.
Like when I hated the rude asshole for not answering me from across the street for months until one day I learned he was deaf.
Fuck, indeed.
Exactly like that.
Sigh.
So much energy wasted on hatred.
So little energy expended when someone asked for a moment of my time.
Fuck, indeed.
Hmmph.
Ok.. Now I’ve actually read the lovely words you have written and can write a meaningful response.
Regret is truly one of life’s worse emotions. Jealous, fear even hate can all be dealt with. But regret is one of those things that we carry like luggage.
Your neighbor was right though- you are a phenomenal woman.
Natalie -
There are very few things in my life that I regret.
Not climbing down off of that roof is one of them.
Sigh.
I can understand this. It will cause me to do something reasonable about the neighbor who is my age, who is an empty nest mom, who unless one of our husband’s moves to another university, I will be neighbors with into our old age. How come we only politely nod?
And, on another tangent, I find the things I most regret are not the big obvious ‘errors’ that everyone knows sent my life careening into unexpected directions. It’s small moments like this that, in the end, made not much difference (to me) that I regret.
I think about this too. Why is it that we only politely nod? Chris and I moved here last summer but in our previous neighborhood, upon first moving in, I baked muffins for the neighbors and went to introduce myself. Not a one of them said so much as thank you and never really spoke to use after. We lived there for a year and then moved. Makes me sad.
We were the first to move in on our street, there was still construction fencing up between us and the rest of the houses, and it took a month to convince the post office and garbage collectors to bring us our mail and take away our garbage. I meant to be that nice welcoming lady when others began moving in; but then I had exams, and my kids graduation and, yeah. Didn’t happen. It’s been 8 years now.
This lady and I are one of the few people at home all day. We pass each other by all the time, she with her doggie, the most walked dog in all the universe, and me with my baby/toddler/preschooler.
I know I’m inclined to just go about my own business without a lot of social interaction. PLUS, the internet lets me feel like I am interacting without any of the concerns face-to-face socializing causes. Then I talk to much to the cashier and realize that actually, I need a friend.
Karen?
Isn’t it weird how time slips away? And what would have been simple in the beginning becomes more difficult with time? No way to be the welcoming woman with a basket of cookies now. Sigh.
It’s hard to reach out.
Easier on the internet where the people are invisible, and you can simply turn them off when they annoy you.
People annoy me. Ahem.
But real-life people and relationships are important.
You know that as well as I do.
Love to you, babe.
Much love.
Kris
Christina?
It does sometimes feel like the world has gotten less friendly.
The economy, the housing crisis, hard times . . . makes people withdraw.
At least, that has been my experience.
Or maybe that’s just me.
Ahem.
I so thought I answered this comment, Karen.
My apologies.
What I meant to say was that I too am surprised at how it’s the little moments that matter. We all know to be prepared for the big moments, but the little moments are sneaky.
Yeah.
Fuck.
And here you thought she had just moved away…
Damn it.
And? Lindsey’s link made Randall and I both laugh.
Just wanted you to know…
Heh.
Stasha -
Sigh.
As for the link, though?
So much giggling.
Hee hee!
Assumptions will get you every time. Yes they will.
Yes, but . . .
I can’t go through life as though every person’s demands of my time and attention might be the last time that person ever asks for my time and attention.
I would have no life left of my own to live.
Sigh.
True, but assumptions about intent are the real problem, especially when someone ascribes intent to a guileless act. Just sayin’
We’re still talking about my post, correct?
Hmmmm.
OK, perhaps I let my focus wander a bit. My apologies. And you may remember I was guilt-stricken about failing to follow through on something I’d promised a terribly sick friend. Fortunately, your post then motivated me to act. She’s still hanging on. Barely.
As usual, you force us to look in the mirror. Not pleasant.
I am so happy to hear that you followed through with your friend.
A regret you will not have to shoulder now.
I am sorry about your friend.
I am happy you reached out to her.
Love.
Oh no :(
I hate moments like these. When you realize you could have been the last bit of comfort to someone and didn’t take the time.
She was right though. About you.
Amy -
I am sure that she sought comfort with friends and family.
I am sure she did.
But I will always wonder what she wanted to tell me.
Sigh.
i just showed lindsey’s link to my best friends 15 year old twin girls. they were horrified at my giggling. lol.
regret is hard, but hindsight is sometimes so much clearer….sometimes not, but in this case, yes.
i would also be wondering what she had to say…..but i am glad she told you what she did, because she was right!
Sarah -
The dog is so funny! Love that.
My neighbor was a lovely woman. Not a close friend, but a lovely woman. I will always regret not coming down off of the roof. I knew she wanted to talk, but I assumed there would be other less inconvenient opportunities.
That she said what she said? Her words have stayed with me.
Yeah.
You did make her feel better. She enjoyed watching you live your life. You were a reality show for her. What she would have given to be up on that ladder….but she so called you a bitch under her breath as she went inside. But, that’s ok too. Made her feel better about herself.
Ka -
The thought that she called me a bitch under her breath as she went inside?
That has made me all happy.
Thank you!
I occasionally look back and wish I could have some do-overs for moments that may not have been my best. But then, I’m given another day to try!
Great post. Like you!
Reena -
Thanks, you.
Yes, the do-overs are never really do-overs . . . just lessons learned and carried forward.
Exactly.
oh man. that sucks. so sad, except what can you do? life rolls us over sometimes.
I am really bad at being friends with my neighbors. friendship with neighbors is complicated because it crosses into my privacy. get friendly and all of a sudden they’re popping over to chat and I just hate feeling cornered when I’m at home and feeling antisocial. *sigh* neighbors.
Me too!
I tried in this new neighborhood of ours, but really? I like my privacy a lot. I prefer my friends to come from outside of the houses I can see from my front door.
That’s weird, right?
Mark says that’s weird.
Totally not weird. I hate people in my house. My partner thinks it is so funny. She didn’t come to my house for a very long time when we started dating. My home is my zone. I don’t let people into my home easily. I am not friendly to anyone in my neighborhood. I’ve lived here for 7 and a half years. I can’t tell you the name of one person in my neighborhood. Not even the racist bigot asshole who lives next door that I loathe. My partner is way friendly. She’s always chatting with people randomly in our neighborhood. She won’t hang out with them but she’ll chat with them outside. I pretend like they don’t exist.
Lindsay?
My neighbors read this blog on at least an occasional basis . . . snort!
But yes!
Mark chats with the neighbors when he sees them.
The girls run from house to house and children run in and out of my house constantly.
But my grown-up neighbors?
For the most part, I pretend that they don’t exist.
They are lovely.
But I like my space.
Hi, neighbors!
it’s not weird. I’m exactly the same way. they must be boundaries. people can’t just stop by willy nilly. at least my friends call first.
Exactly!
I am not a drop-in kind of woman.
At all.
There was no way for you to know how this story was going to unfold, the sad direction it would take. Regret and sadness are understandable. Your story is a poignant life lesson and reminder for all of us. We just never know………….
PS. Thank you for my “face”.
Ellen -
If I was given the opportunity to live that moment again without knowledge?
I would decide as I did in that moment.
I so would . . . the gutters need cleaning and there will be time to talk later.
Sigh.
You just never know.
I think we can all learn from this piece, Kris. How little energy it takes to be thoughtful. How it’s just as easy to say a couple kind words as it is to blow someone off. How a tiny bit of effort on our part can truly make a difference to someone else.
Don’t beat yourself up about it. We’ve all done the very same thing, we’ve just been lucky enough to get a second chance.
Chris -
Yes . . . to all of what you said. I should have been kinder. I should have been more patient. I should have taken the time to talk.
But how many times in our lives are we asked to pause?
And how many times do we actually pause?
Sigh.
Anyway.
Much love to you, empathetic one.
Much love.
Kris
And back at you.
Life can be a bummer when you stop to think about some things. We just need to live and learn. Too many stories about “I wish I’d made amends with my father before he passed away.”
Sigh.
Chris?
I wish I could fix the pain I hear in your words.
I so wish that.
Me
Also?
I sent you a Twitter DM.
Well damn! That really blows. I try to live my life without regret, but it’s inevitable. And that really blows.
I know, right?
No one gets it right all the time.
And sometimes the time you get it wrong?
Is the last time.
And that blows.
Regret is a fucker, and knocks you down when you least expect it. Thankfully I have few of them.
I’ve been fortunate to have made some wonderful friendships from neighbours of past homes, but I tend to be like you. I keep to myself, and it was only through the persistence of my friends (former neighbours) that I got to know them. I’m glad I did.
But moving to LA and starting all over again? I still keep to myself.
Sigh.
Regret is a motherfucker, and I also have few regrets.
A few, though.
Sigh.
I’m convinced that regret is one of the worst feelings.
Although you didn’t come down to hear her, sometimes it’s really just the saying it that matters.
Maybe she just needed to tell you. Perhaps she didn’t need much more than that.
Nichole -
Thanks for that.
That’s what I would like to believe.
So thank you.