We Don't Tell

 There was a concert at work the other day. A choir from the middle school and the band from the high school.  It was really really lovely.  I was greatly impressed by the band playing all the Christmas carols.  

After it was over I was in the dining room doing my job.  One of my resident friends came up and asked if I enjoyed the concert.  She said she did.  Told me how she played the clarinet in band and so did I.  I told how I quit band after I had a creepy teacher who I did not enjoy. He kind of took the joy out of the endeavor.  

My friend then proceeded to tell me about her band teacher giving her a ride that did not go as planned.  It wasn't quite a sexual assault, but it was close and definitely a testing of the waters.  She then told me of another time someone gave her a ride, and it would have been an assault, but she was able to grab him by his hair and didn't let go until he let her up.  When she was through with the story, she looked at me and said she has never told anyone about this in her entire life. She is in her 90s.  I just looked at her and said we don't tell.  Not at the time anyway.  

I think all women have some sort of me-too moment and we don't tell.  We are young, we are ashamed, we are scared.  I felt rather honored that she decided to share her story for the first time with me.  It started with a band concert. And ended with two women recognizing some truths we all hold.  

Ice

 I was asked again if I had seen all the ice agents around lately.  No, I have not. I had to admit that I never see them.  I probably would see them if they were actively arresting someone and there was a scene.  But I don't see their vehicles anywhere.  Part of this is because I don't go where they are.  From my understanding they are going to places like Home Depot and construction job sites.  The other part is white privilege.  I don't (yet) have to worry about them so they aren't on my radar.  

My friend was telling me how her mom is so scared and hasn't left the house in weeks.  She is no longer doing the things that make life enjoyable.  Her whole family is scared and living in that place.  I live with my own fears and overcome them to do things.  But my fears don't have real consequences.  My friend's parents have lived here in the US for over twenty years, and I assume they are working and not out committing crimes.  They are raising their family.  For over twenty years and now afraid to go outside.

My heart breaks for my friend and her family. I hope for karma for ice agents.  

That Corvette

 

Sharing the story of the corvette. So, Bill next door bought a corvette a few years ago. He kind of showed it off when he got it. Told me he would give me a ride someday. There were conditions though with the biggest one being it could not be raining. He drove it a bit on non-rainy days. The corvette lived in the garage which is a good place for it. About the time Bill died I found out that a guy he worked with, Craig, lives in the community I work at. So, Craig knew about the corvette. He came up to me this week and told me to tell Sue that he thought she should park it in the driveway for one rainy day. He knew the rules. I looked at him and said she did one better. She drove it in the rain. When I told her the story she asked if I said she had driven it in the rain. We all had a good laugh at it.

We were not being malicious. Just funny. Having rode in it with Sue, I understand Bill's reasoning. It is quite a car with a lot of power. Sometimes you have to find things to laugh about in times of grief. Bill is probably somewhere laughing at us and saying, "I told you so". And Craig didn't say drive it so he understood also but thought a little rain wouldn't hurt the car.

Keys

 

My parents bought their house in 1975.  We got new neighbors in 1976.  The adults became great friends.  They socialized quite a bit.  Mom and Dolores bowled league together.  It was a nice matchup in a time before people didn't spend time with their neighbors.  

Being such close neighbors, at some point they each had keys to the other's house.  Came in handy if anything happened or a pet needed feeding.  The neighbors' key was kept in our pewter cup on a windowsill and probably is still there. This is almost fifty years later.  

Mom's key came back this week.  Dolores was much more organized than my mom.  She labeled Mom's key.  Naturally neither key is any good anymore.  Lots of changes since then.  There have been at least three doorknob changes at Pat's house.  And Bill totally changed the door with a new doorknob. 

It's just a bit of history of a simpler time when neighbors cared about each other more.  I'm lucky to live in that same cul-de-sac and know all the neighbors. And blessed for the memory handed to me with Mom's key.  

RIP Bill

 It's kind of strange to think Bill is one of the people, not related to me, that I have known for so long. I met him when I was twelve years old and his family moved next door to mine.  He had just graduated high school when they moved from California to Washington.  

Life doing what it does means that our families still live next door to each other.  Pat has Mom's house and Bill had Dolores's house.  So, there has always been a neighbor connection. Since I moved back into Pat's house I have had many porch conversations with Bill.  Seems to be the place to talk.  When we were much younger, we talked on the electric box, so outside is kind of our thing.  We had a lot of commonalities and a lot of differences of opinion, but we were neighbors.  

Bill was a veteran who spent many years in the reserves after his military service.  He became a nurse and spent 33 years working for Multnomah County in the jail.  He was proud of his job.  He liked cars and guitars and music (obviously).  He always had a pet with the last one being Clint, a big grey cat.  

The funniest story I have is this.  Pat got a cat he named Keanu.  Keanu is indoor/outdoor.  After he was a full-grown cat, he started staying away for a couple of days at a time.  And then he would turn up.  And then he would do it again.  Over and over and over.  We just accepted it was part of Keanu's personality.  He needed more than one home.  One day Bill was out on the porch, and I asked if he seen our boy.  He got real sheepish and told me Keanu was in the house taking a nap on the couch and that Clint thinks Keanu is his little brother.  I'm like, okay then.  I almost offered to provide food but changed my mind. If Bill wanted his house to be one of Keanu's homes, he could be responsible for what Keanu ate at his house. Later I found out that his girlfriend Sue had told him he probably shouldn't be letting Keanu in, but he was sure it was fine.

Bill ended up in the hospital a couple of months ago and asked for me to feed Clint.  I hadn't seen Keanu in a couple of days, so I was sure he was in Bill's house.  Bill was pretty sure he wasn't but told me I could come to Sunnyside and get his key, but I would have to bring the key back.  I waited a day and was trying to figure out how to work it out, when Keanu came strutting up.  That is when I knew Keanu had at least three homes.  Silly boy.  I appreciated that Bill and Clint loved him almost as much as we did.  

So last week Bill called me to ask me to take care of Clint.  He was going to the hospital.  I had a feeling.  Was not overly surprised when Sue turned up a couple of days later and let us know that Bill had died.  Life throws curveballs like that.  Bill had just retired.  He was planning a trip back east after his planned surgery.  What I know is he is no longer in pain and can breathe.  

Good-bye my friend.  Light and love on the next part of the journey.