IT WILL BE THERE AGAIN TOMORROW

 16 of #100daychallenge

Did you ever notice that some days are better than others? And that a good day can get epically shitty in a short time? I managed to contain my rage and extreme bummer state by leaving, temporarily, the situation in order to complete a long-procrastinated errand. From there onto some therapeutic kibbitzing, a delish dinner, and some more kibbitzing. Top that off with a gin-and-tonic or two and I am ready to call it a day.

The day of destiny in the form of my agreement to teach yoga to Eric and The Domineers (thank KH for that nomenclature) had arrived. I seriously considered cancelling again, but I wondered if I were just procrastinating and making up reasons to not do it, so I pushed through. This is the living room transformed and ready for yoga students.

And here they are. The occasion was momentous enough for me to want to preserve it.

I didn't teach long or very much, maybe a half an hour. Mentally, I am bit yoga-rusty, much less teaching. There's a wavelength to get to that takes a different kind of attention. I wasn't sure any of us had it, or really how to one really relates to folks who are genuinely students, rather than classmates or strong-armed "volunteers". One concern was whether I could even control this group who can be strong-willed and rowdy.

As I have a tendency, known far and wide, to complicate + over I kept it really simple. Some basic breathing, some beginning instruction on alignment, a bit of neck stretching, head rolling, and shoulder shrugging, closing with a namaste and a walking meditation. Some of these folks have significant health problems (say wha?) and even getting them to walk for 10 minutes is big. They all seemed to love it. The most recalcitrant offered to have it at his house on Thursday. It was sweet. And interesting for me.

I was encouraged enough to call about a yoga gig at the local Senior Center for the future (no plans to re-open yet) and also to begin the process of teaching a class at the Town Hall Center. 

Then came the epically shitty part. Long time readers might dimly remember that, like billions of people before and after today, neighbors can be hard to get along with. The simple case here is that neighbors put in an NBA basketball net on the edge of their property so that it dips into our air space. Also, every time they shoot, that sound wave comes straight at us. It also bounces off their house. Now, they COULD HAVE put this infernal device on the other side of the driveway so that the sound mostly went in the other direction where no one has a living room and a 94-year old. But that might have wrecked the aesthetic? Or they are just inconsiderate?

Well, let's think about that. These folks had a rabid pitbull who ran out of their house, leapt up on my mother leaving the house to teach yoga, bit her, and then barked and lunged at her for 45 minutes. Janet went to the ER in an ambulance and had stitches. Being the fucking idiot passive person she is, she didn't press charges or even have the dog put to sleep. So, the dog was around to continue to barking continuously, sometimes up to 14 hours at a stretch. Barked at me in my backyard continuously when I gardened. Almost jumped over the cinder block fence to attack my mother so that she was afraid to be in the yard. And they yelled at me when I mentioned the barking AND THE BASKETBALL THUNDER.

I love the part where they swore to do anything for my mother after the dog incident. They never did anything. Are you surprised? 

And then there were the front yard parties they would have for 10 or 12 hours, complete with a bad mariachi band with an even worse tuba player, broadcast all of 20 feet through an amplification system that would make Prince suck. Should we mention that it is 1:00 in the morning and there is an elderly woman trying to sleep 15 feet away? No we are assholes.

Then when I started gardening on that side of my yard, things got stupider. They trampled my plants with their charging and frequently their basketball is left in my yard. And, the parents are now divorced with the mom living there. They don't give a shit about their neighbors even though they know this is a problem.

So ... the NBA approved basketball stand was bent. They hired someone to take it out and fix it. Sounds like the perfect time to move it, right? When I went to investigate, I was met with childish (teenagers) belligerence (though I likely had some of that myself). Stonewalled and essentially got the message that I should fuck off, it was their property. The parent was at work.

I wrote her and mentioned it was insane that they had not even approached us about this when there was an opportunity to make this better. That if it were a matter of money, we would have considered chipping in. But that's not how these people fly.

That's when I decided I needed to get away as I heard the welder re-installing the hated basketball net. 

Oh, did I mention there are several courts within two blocks of here. I can practically hear those courts.

Okay, this is pissing me off again, and that is not a good way to hit the hay, right?

STONE, PAPER, SCISSORS

Stone

     You put your hand on stone, for the coolness there,

      and how steady. It hasn’t the wit of water, but you trust

      it more. It will be there again tomorrow,

      earning its place by not being anything else.

      Remember the story of the bat?—hollering into

      a cave, “Anybody there?” and a big rock

      saying, “Nobody but me,” and the others, “But me,” “But me,”

      till the whole mountain had answered. That’s how rock is.

Paper

      Paper is always ready: “Where shall we go?”

      “Anywhere.” It will cover stone, but it has

      no principles. “You like melodrama?” “Sure.”

      “And how about dullness?” “Great!” “But what is your best

      friend?” “Well, I don’t know. . . “ it wanders on.

      It seems agreeable but it may be guiding

      you just by being flat and letting you

      relax all the time. But it can cover stone.

Scissors

      Scissors? That’s different. It breaks on rock,

      but it knows exactly where paper goes, and it bites

      right where paper is. “What is the worth

      of this story?” “Not much,” scissor says. And it closes

      it’s mouth on the truth, making it into many.

      Scissors, paper, stone — how are they like us?—

      what do they show? Each of them needs a friend.

— William Stafford, An Oregon Message, Harper and Row, New York, 1987

As Karen pointed out, my fury was hurt at being continually dismissed, disregarded, and treated as if my needs and thoughts were not worthy of even consideration. And that hurt goes deep. One might think they would be intelligent and observant to see that this was a moment to de-stress that situation, because you know it will come up again. 

Did I mention that it is against city ordinance and I could narc on them. I don't want to as that isn't nice, or even necessarily necessary if they would only move the damn basketball net. We really aren't of the same community and do not have the same values. If I can find the money, I will build a fence which will protect the plants some, but it won't help with the noise as I think 9 feet is not legal and it would take that to block the noise. Wish me luck.