I have not written much of the difficulties of the man next door, the man who is in his sixth year of a death sentence from doctors who told him he would supposedly have five years. His sorties into the yard are few and far between and a stark contrast to the displays of anger, venom, and American bully hatred that he has spewed at us for the past few years. We have lived here for thirty-two years next to him and his family and it was only in the past several that we became a bully-target, the focus of his anger at a poorly spent life and multiple problems and disappointments in every arena. At one time, when we were still involved in neighborly banter, he reminded me that I would get the same problems that he experienced when my kids were older. Recently, despite my telling him that women were equal, he told us that we did not have permission to talk to his wife. At the present time, his two remaining children will talk to us and his wife might, but only on the sly. The American bully-pulpit is where he is sitting, he represents that part of America that sees MAGA as its mantra. The confederate flag he once hoisted in his yard and then the Betsy Ross flag, are emblems of his disenfranchisement. His cameras, signs of inherent paranoia, are all over his house, yet for once, pretty much not focused on us.
This morning, we heard his sounds as he walked around for a short bit, before the heat sets in, cleaning, something that MK pointed out to me. I realized that cleaning is one thing he really does well and it seems to be that even in the state he is in, he needs to do it. It is symbolic of the fact that despite an unwillingess to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ that he needs to clean as if he were cleaning up the dirt and negativity of his life. His gasping and coughing sounds were juxtaposed with a neighborhood child talking loudly. Yesterday, that child’s drum set would have normally caused malbor to call the police, but he was safely ensconced in his house where he spends most of his time hooked up to an oxygen tank, and probably heard nothing.
I cannot help but believe that had we not had an illegal election in which the loser took the spoils, where the Russians tampered with the system, that our neighbor would not have metamorphosed into the nasty example he has become. Our daily lives are marred by a shooting here and a shooting there, making us almost behave as if it were normalcy, which it is anything but.
Well, we have put up our wall, a good and actually necessary fence that separates us and allows us to enjoy our outdoor room once again. We believe that Stewie is safe from the death threats spewed by the malbor. There had been a fence, but malbor tore it down in a frenzy and burned it in his backyard firepit, treated wood and all. Our village officials have all but abandoned us to our difficulties with cameras and the mayor gave us lip service by telling us she would see what she could do only to do nothing. Only one of the village trustees, Barbara Struthers, even contacted me. She did it via phone telling me to file a civil suit as it would be « worth the $1200 in cost . » I told her that my lawyer told me something far different in cost and she said, « Well, find another lawyer! » The three people copied on my e-mail to the mayor never contacted me. This is life in the Trumpian era. Our elected officials have a new way of behaving, and it is far from the way it should be. They no longer feel the need to be responsible.
Meanwhile, thank goodness, we are having a quiet, lovely breakfast al fresco, biding away our time until we get back to a life where we try to improve our environment, stop trying to build walls, embrace our immigrants, push toward more, not less equality for all, work toward a solution to the healthcare debacle, and educate the entire country.
I am an entitled white, and despite all of my cathartic complaints, life is good.