My Little Golden Book of Phobias

I'm not ignoring the hideous fuckery that is the current state of affairs. Another Black man murdered. A man pretty much like my neighbor who hosts barbeques for vets every summer and has a couple of grown kids and a sick sister and an amazing collection of restored cars and a pear tree in his yard that he lets me pick. A regular guy. A guy who drags his DJ stuff out to his porch and blasts Motown to the street on the weekends so we can dance. I've given him jam and fish and banana nut muffins. We talk about the world together and we do agree that we're scared of the virus and the president.

Or my next door neighbor who is Mexican and sold this house to me. He has a brother who lives two doors away and they have twin girls who were little kids when I moved in and now they're teens. He lives with his elderly parents but they're in Mexico and there until it's safe to come home. He owns a restaurant and he asked if I'd make masks for his workers so I did and he brought me burritos and enchiladas. I share jam and tomatoes and cucumbers with him and his family. And we talk in the street.

Or my neighbor a few doors down who has AIDS and had a heart attack a year ago and has a pacemaker. He's grown a long white beard and he looks like a skinny Santa. He has two big friendly dogs and his yard is immaculate. He's been shopping for me and bringing me the Sunday NYT after he's done with it. We have a divided road down here in the south end and usually the strip is mowed but not this year. The grass is up to my waist. But this neighbor got out his lawn mower and mowed at least a quarter of a mile by our houses. Looks great. He comes over and mows the tiny strip in front of my fence. Just because. I have baking tins to return to him on the counter. And he brings me warm cookies.

Next to him is a Chinese family and the grandma has been carrying around the newest member of the family in a sling on her back. Or she's pulling two young children in a red wagon down the street. They have chickens in their back yard.

Since the pandemic, we are friendlier and kinder to each other. We are keeping track of each other. We are watching a homeless encampment ebb and flow down the end of the street, wondering what to do about the ragged men and women who are sleeping in their broken down cars and RVs.

Sometimes I wish the president would disappear forever, I don't care how.

Sometimes I concentrate instead on the multitudes of kindnesses that I am so fortunate to enjoy from those directly around me.

Gratitude that we are all healthy right now. Compassion for those of us who are not healthy. Gratitude for a roof and food and family and love. Gratitude that it is raining and I don't need to water today. Gratitude for strawberries and the small shoots of the peas.

Despair and gratitude, coexisting in my heart.