A person can learn a lot about herself by the way she handles moving. Over these past few days of removing my belongings from one place and depositing them in another, several of the traits I like least about myself came marching along like those famous dwarfs carrying their going-to-work-tools.
As I jockeyed for a parking spot and unloaded the car several times, I bumped smack into new-neighborhood patterns and when I finally sat down, exhausted, in the one chair that wasn’t piled with stuff, here they came, all the Moving Dwarfs: Impatient. Tired. Fussy. Even a little bit Bossy. Oh and turning the corner right now, here comes Whiny.
On one my first trips from old house to new, I pulled up in front of this charming cottage in the canyon and a woman hurried toward me. She didn’t say hello. She said, “Are you moving in?” (Note for later reference; at no time did her conversation include the question “Do you need any help?”)
I smiled and said yes. She said, without a smile (and I’m putting this at the top of my list of things never to begin a sentence with) “Just so you know…” She went on to tell me not to park in that spot – ever – because someone two houses down likes to use it. Here’s another thing she said, and another way a person should never start a conversation with new neighbors: “Around here….”
I forget what rules of the neighborhood followed, but it doesn’t matter – the unwelcome was complete.
What followed was the worst of me. I responded crisply, with two words – “Duly noted” – and trudged on past her. Was that my grandmother’s voice I just heard coming out of my mouth? The voice that used to say “Don’t take that tone with me little missy.”
Now, days later, I remind myself that every neighborhood has at least one member of the greeting committee who lays down the rules. It’s just that I don’t respond well to that kind of hello. Instead of the me I like to think exists most of the time, the nice person who gives people the benefit of the doubt, I responded like one of the Moving Dwarfs listed above.
After a strong cup of coffee and a glance outside through one of the many windows that add to the charm of this cottage, I am a different Dwarf: Calm. Even Contented.
Outside my kitchen window, three giant redwood trees stand. I am awed by them and filled with gratitude knowing that while I go about my everyday duties, such beauty stands sentry nearby.
In front of the house, a pushy neighbor. In back, the reason I moved here.
Ó Anita Garner 2009
Congratulations on the successful move to a place you obviously love.
It’s a wonderful slice of life and a perfectly crafted fairy tale. It has dwarves, a wicked witch and a happy ending!
I guess I’ve always been a little too old and a bit too snippy to put up with that kind of greeting you were nailed with. I recall, several decades ago, receiving a similar greeting and suggestion as to “where I might park my own car” once finally settled in. I simply smiled, looked the fellow straight in the eye and suggested that “if he or the other neighbor had a problem with where I chose to park my vehicle in a tenant only parking lot — that the aggrieved person might consider choosing an alternative location just to the rear of the building. It was a much smaller space and a tighter fit … but I suggested that their seat covers would probably last longer as (in the smaller location) the Sun never shined. Or at least, hardly ever.
Funny. Never heard from him again. Always kind of wondered how those seat covers held up.
Morg