Neighbors

They had three boys under the age of seven. Their mini van had New Mexico plates which were never changed to the Grand Canyon state. They arrived in early October, just weeks before Halloween. I first noticed the New Mexico plates as I just moved here a year ago from the Land of Enchantment and missed it terribly. It felt a little more like home to have neighbors who had breathed the same air. The second was definitely the children. There were virtually no children in the apartment complex and it was so wonderful to hear the sounds of small voices again. And a new brother or sister was definitely on the way. I knew when they moved in, I would have to buy Halloween candy this year.

Apartment complexes are a little like airports and train stations. They are not built for permanence. The pulse is one of comings and goings. A bridge between places. And as Marge Percy wrote in the 70's you cannot plant potatoes on a bridge. So in the last sixteen months I have seen many comings and goings and very little planting.

The young African American couple who lived in the apartment prior to the family had dreams of owning a home and moved on. They took with them what little diversity was present and of course, their cat, who used to sit in the window and watch the comings and goings. They also took their beautiful dark-skinned angels that graced their window sill. It was as if we were all blessed by them.

Then the new family arrived and I came to see that we shared more than having lived in the Land of Enchantment. We both loved Halloween -- little children dressed in their fantasy outfits experiencing the moment of magic when candy actually dropped into those little ghost-covered plastic bags. We were the only apartments whose occupants chose to carry heavy real live Christmas trees from tree lot to car, then from the garage -- not necessarily close to our door -- up two flights of stairs and into apartments a wee bit small for anything that stood six feet tall with branches encompassing more than half the dining room.

Tonight, it is silent outside my walkway and I am once again reminded that apartment complexes do not lend themselves to hellos and collective moments. We come and go as if these temporary homes were islands unto themselves. We don't congregate on our patios in hopes of catching sight of a familiar face or hearing a friendly voice. We live behind gates with multiple locks and we feel safer that way. We don't rely on one another for a cup of sugar, let alone a sense of community. It really does not surprise me that the family moved on. One can't put roots down here. There is no fertile ground on which to grow.

I don't know where the family went and I am especially sad that I won't know if it was a little brother or sister who will join them. I am sad to know there will be no more good mornings or Merry Christmas, or hear little voices tentatively saying, " Trick or Treat" at my door.

However, today is the vernal equinox, a time of new beginnings, a time of plantings. My patio garden is in full bloom rich in color -- purples, yellows, and deep reds. I live on the second story and the gray concrete patio floor is warm beneath my feet. The only soil is that which fills the window boxes and my pots. The kind you carry in. I just signed my lease for another year. I wonder who I will call neighbor and if they too, will bring their own soil.

The Urban Lanscape

It was a quiet morning with little distraction on the drive downtown to the heart of Phoenix where I work. I live in the land of Lexus, Porche, Audi, and the occasional Bentley. My car, sixteen years old, oxidized from the desert sun, purrs along with 330,000 plus miles. At first, I felt uneasy, as if I stood out and perhaps did not belong in this particular auto landscape. I sensed an "attitude." It actually was in the Trader Joe's parking lot that I first encountered the "attitude." A bleached blond in her Lexus convertible was going to cruise through a stop sign as I was invisible although almost half-way through the intersection. I hit the horn and she stopped. Her mouth open, incredulous, that I would not give way. I realized at that moment there was more to cars in the area where I live, than transportation.

I have moved here from off the grid. Living at 7,000 feet in the high mountain desert with only the sound of coyotes and the ravens to wake me in the morning and an occasional deer to bar my path out to the highway. I was not accustomed to the human element. I would so love to meet her on my old turf, but we all know that isn't going to happen as there is no one to "see" you out there, at least in the human form.

Today as I drove to my office six stories above downtown Phoenix, I encountered the complexity of the urban landscape. There was a silver Jaguar in front of me changing lanes at random and suddenly out of the driver's side window was tossed a plastic water bottle. I remember it as it was aimed at my car and rolled under my wheels. Somehow I never connected littering and Jaguars in the same breath. The water was of the fancy high-end variety I noticed as I watched it roll across the street in my rear view mirror.

I drive through many varied neighborhoods on my way to the downtown ASU campus. I prefer the surface streets as I feel more connected to my surroundings. At thirty-five to forty miles per hour, I can feel the streets beneath me and hear the varied noises of urban life. I become a part of the commute, not just someone passing through. A few minutes later, I was on a neatly lined street with medical buildings and churches and a community center, when I encountered two men and their shopping cart. I suspect it was filled with their life. Whatever treasures they keep were neatly wrapped and bundled. One man was carefully buttoning his shirt and making sure all was tucked in as they waited at the crosswalk. They stood there with dignity, heads held high and smiled gently at one another.

In the space of ten minutes on my morning commute, preconceptions were suddenly shattered. And as we all know, preconceptions can easily turn into prejudice if hardened over time. It can creep in unnoticed. I had no idea that I was using an economic barometer to judge my neighbors. I have chafed at being a part of this urban landscape since I arrived sixteen months ago, but I sense there are many more moments waiting for me to reflect upon. And as much as I hate to admit it, I sense I have much more to learn about the human spirit on my morning commute and in my foray into this new and unknown territory.

Time

Sunday morning in the high desert. It is quiet with only an occasional urban landscape sound filtering through the patio abloom with flowers. Today is the first day of daylight savings time. The Sun doesn't know that it is now one hour ahead of yesterday. It rises and sets as it always does. I like it that the Sun doesn't know how we try to manipulate its arc in the heavens. I fortunately live in a state that keeps its own time and I am grateful.

Time is such an illusive phenomena. Jeremy Rifkin wrote in the 80's that as members of the nano second culture we will be the first culture to have a time reference beneath our ability to perceive. Given that nano seconds equal 1 billionth of a second , makes sitting at a traffic light for 90 seconds seem like forever. When driving and I am often being cut off (usually by some big SUV that equates size with ownership) I am reminded that we do not know how to operate with such a time reference. Our reference to time is so fast, we cannot relate to the mundane with ease. We forget the basics of "space/time courtsey." How do we maneuver in traffic? How do we wait in line? Even online dating: connection to another takes only the click of the mouse, available 24/7. What happened to courtship and chance encounters?

I am not sure fast equates with anything other than fast. I know the time it takes the sun to set or rise has not changed. I know the tides ebb and flow with a rhythm that has been forever. So why is it that man wants to manipulate the hours of day light? Energy conservation -- that can happen by living "green." If you are serious, don't dabble with the sunlight, buy a hybrid, use solar energy, and build with eco-friendly materials. Think adobe. I am aware of the exceptions. Those living on the farthest reaches of our eastern seaboard, welcome it...but somehow that argument doesn't hold for the rest of the country.

I say honor time for what it is and that includes the nano-second culture. Enjoy the seasons and all that comes with it. Don't short change mother nature by the use of a clock. She has been around for a long time and she probably has a grip on what is in our best interests no matter what time man wants the clock to say.