Life is a series of relationships.  Having a life is maintaining the delicate balance of those relationships. 

For example: the relationship with my brother balances itself out between the spurts of hour long conversations and the weeks without communication, the relationship with my father balances itself out by alternating phone calls to and from each other, the relationship with my mother… well that’s another story altogether!

The connection I’m aiming to balance at the moment is that between my neighbor and I. Some neighbors feel an immediate connection to you.  At first glance this may seem harmonious and welcoming, but before you know it you’re helping your neighbor with her compression socks or solely decorating their Christmas tree. Some neighbors decide to keep their association a bit more removed, mostly by refusing to wave or walking quickly by with a bowed head, that would make any Southern Baptist swoon, in an effort to avoid eye contact. The perfect neighborly relationship lies somewhere in the middle of those two extremes.

When I moved last year, I purposefully made an effort to be friendly, yet not encroach to any and all of my neighbors. The street and it’s in habitants were nice enough, but very few chose to introduce themselves (a sentiment I wholeheartedly understand). One neighbor who my boyfriend, Adam, and I did have to pleasure of meeting right off the bat was Todd. He uses the empty lot next to our house to run a community garden and acts as our nearby handyman. Adam works mostly out of the state, and so I end up calling Handyman Todd to install/repair things around the house that I cannot remedy myself. Ergo, Handyman Todd and I have had several conversations and, I felt, gotten to know each other pretty well.

Admittedly, Adam and Handyman Todd had a more obvious bond. They both are/were in the same field of business, they both enjoy fixing things that are broken, they both have a penis… Much more clear lines with which to relate to each other. I, on the other hand, made an effort to interact by baking holiday cookies, sending rawhide bones for his dog, and making note of his birthday.  But I digress.

The association between our house and his was quite symbiotic and friendly. I’m not sure when or why it happened but I began to notice a shift in our neighborly exchanges. Handyman Todd would often address Adam about household questions without acknowledging my presence. If I was alone in the yard, Handyman Todd would whistle (Here, Fido!) to get my attention, or just spontaneously start an exchange with such a distance that I often did not realize I was engaged until much later on. I told Adam how this was a bit odd, and we both decided that the confirmed bachelor did not interact with women on a regular basis. We also surmised that perhaps his obvious religious ties did not share a level of tolerance for our cohabitating without being, as Handyman Todd put it: “Man and wife”.

Then, while innocently watering my yard one day, it all became clear. In an attempt to introduce me to a garden regular, Handyman Todd asked my name. That was it! He had forgotten my name. Innocent enough! I never remembered names correctly for the first several meetings of new friends. So what if he remembered “Adam” and not “Jenna”. In all fairness, “Adam” has been around much longer than “Jenna”. Well that was that!

Until a few weeks later when my dad and step-mother came to visit… I was introducing them to the ever present Handyman Todd, slaving away in the community garden. Adam was out of town for work, which made the following exchange even more odd. Handyman Todd explained that he barely knew me, but that I was certainly lucky to have a man like Adam. Adam was so great. Adam was something! Then he called my dad by the wrong name, ignored my step-mom altogether, and referred to me as Glenda.

Are there ever any positive neighborhood relationships anymore? It’s all roses and window-sill pies until the property line comes into question! Did the next door neighbor friendship die out with bridge games and bomb shelters? Is the boy next door always leaving the garbage can on my side of the alley on purpose? Or have I moved on to being jaded in so many aspects that bad neighbors fall into the same category as shunned ex boyfriends? In any instance, I seem to have a case of the hermit and Mrs. Kravitz.