Like exotic animals in some far-flung zoo, I watch their behaviors, captivated, but completely unable to comprehend the actions. Each movement is a puzzle. Motivations? Wonders.
On mornings such as these, I feel a complete and utter detachment from my species.
It's not a judgement per se. Just a state of being.
And today that detachment was fostered by my once again magical dumpster.
Apparently someone was evicted recently...
I live in a nice neighborhood in a nice part of town with nice neighbors and a nice landlord. It's really nice.
Not cookie cutter, mind you. NICE.
But this morning, all of a neighbor's worldly goods languished by my magical dumpster.
One can tell much about a person by their worldly goods. The way I see it, the things a person chooses to surround his/herself with, in many ways speaks of that person's value system.
You can deduce so much from someone based on purchases or salvages. Based upon what is kept and what is thrown away.
And, my friends, I marveled this morning that my nice neighbor in a nice apartment in a nice community was living in squalor. Apparently of his/her own making.
I do not dust often enough. I would rather slaughter the innocent than have to hand wash my dishes just once more... but, my friends, I think it can safely be said that I maintain what I have.
I stil have clothes (and wear them!) from high school. I haven't had a new stick of furniture in years. My dishes date back to undergrad. I have pairs of socks that have lasted longer than poignant relationships.
I TAKE CARE OF WHAT I AM GIVEN.
It may not be much, but it's mine.
I like to be surrounded by nice (if not new) things.
My neighbor? Apparently not so.
The furniture was in ruins. Barely recognizable. Certainly not functional. And couldn't have been. Not for years.
There was a little pink couch. Tiny. Child-size. Hand embroidered with a tiny drawer for the keeping of a tot's most valuable possessions.
I would have cherished this. Loved it like The Bear Chair. This solitary piece of furniture - what stories wove themselves in with those little multi-colored flowers? And why were those memories so devalued as to rot long before their discard?
Without words, the wreckage by the MD spoke to me. It spoke to me of my difference. Of my separateness. It asked me - in the country blessed with the most by way of material wealth - why do some not see? Why do some not value? Why do some not cherish?
I do not judge my nice neighbor for eviction. I do not judge him or her for losing worldly goods. But I must admit I do not understand - and lack of understanding usually brings with it judgement - the carelessness and squalor with which said neighbor treated the blessings he/she had.
Because, rest assured my friends, if the nice day comes when my nice landlord has to put me out, my belongings will speak o a woman who valued vintage, family and old movies. And you best believe scavengers will be all over my shit!