Flats, Tenants, Condos - little communities

Last night I took my trash out and smelled the aromas of India filling my hallway. Not my favorite, but aromas nonetheless. I ran into my 1980s rocker upstairs neighbor who is writing a novel and we proceeded to discuss possible online publishing companies that cater to the masses.

I took a walk.

New aromas fill the hallway of a food I can't yet place, but was pleasant to the nostrils. A dog barked. A baby cried. The kid upstairs decided that his home was a track and that he was going to run on it.

I went to bed, late.

5:15 a.m. the shower upstairs starts, the hurried mother starts arousing her son and obviously couldn't figure out what to wear with the number of visits to the closet in heavy footsteps.

The birds are chirping now.

More hurriedness above. Below, the baby must have been crying because the bathroom fan is now on and I can hear the noise coming up through my bathroom. Bathrooms echo, which is really weird if you think about it.

I get up, two hours earlier than I had intended. Yes, I typically wake at 5:15 a.m. No, I didn't sleep well last night (sleep apnea) and yes, I went to bed way too late. Conan O'Brien is only kind of funny, but Bruno showing up on stage hurried me in the direction of the bedroom.

So, here I am. It's now 6:14 a.m. and I'm writing blog entries about little unimportant parts of life. I want to go back to bed, but part of me had a flashback to history as I've seen it in movies and read in books.

In the early days of this country, and still a few places now, people were stacked on top of each other. In small dirty apartments, in flats, in sublet spaces of multi-unit housing and even dugout spots in the ground between formal dwellings. In my mind, I see New York City with its massive immigrant populations so grateful to be in a new country, though facing horrible living conditions. The people were literally living on top of each other, both from a building perspective (high rise) and within each unit (bunk beds, spaces on floors, closets, etc.). All for "the American dream."

From the books (which I can't remember right now) and the movies (again, no recollection of titles in my current state of mind), these were grubby days of working in the clothing factories and meat packing plants. Or, if a child, working 15 hour days in the underground coal mines before the child labor laws took effect. The photography of life then looks a little bleak, but the same depictions convey a strong sense of community.

Waking up today, it put me back in time...or at least how I imagine life in New York, Chicago or Philadelphia in the late 1800s/early 1900s era. I'd probably wake up early to birds (typical), hear someone on a creaky cot above get up to start their day at the garment factory. Aromas of mush, a sausage or other unidentified meat (literally), would float through the broken windows and instigate an intense yearning to have a morsel. Outside the train would be heard in the distance and early risers (mothers perhaps) might be hanging up intensely scrubbed washboard cleaned clothing on an outside line high above the ground 10 floors below. No modesty here - all clothing exposed to all 10 floors of tenants and ...if the clothing drops, it's a long way down to recover.

Without going into further explanation, but hoping the ambiance is established, it is clear that there was a rhythm and pattern to lives back then as there is now. People knew their patterns then as we do now. I would be disturbed if the neighbor's dog barked all night because that is not a norm. Or, if I didn't hear a lot of footsteps above at 5:15 a.m. every morning. If strong smoking smells came from my hallway, I'd wonder who was visiting. If I suddenly found roaches or big spiders, I'd get a little suspicious of what was happening to my dwelling (I'm probably going to jinx myself now).

The point is that I'm in a little community and I just don't know it. We have patterns, unstated standards for cleanliness, and neighborly boundaries. We all have our rituals, habits and work patterns. We know if something is different, though not often what or why.

It's 6:30 a.m. now. The noise upstairs has ceased because she does leave at 6:30 a.m. every weekday morning. I know this only because I haven't carpooled as much lately and am often here at 6:30 a.m. now. I've broken my ritual of leaving at 5:45 a.m. Has anyone noticed?

My thoughts are entirely too deep and fairly unrelated to what I'm supposed to be accomplishing today.

But, I am wide awake and that is a pattern that would probably be good on this Wednesday morning.

Off to work I go...and flashes of the past are already behind me...at least until I smell some bacon and eggs in the hallway.

Keepin Up with the Jones

This evening we went on an exercise walk and as we were coming up the stairs the new neighbor started to talk to us. She was really nice and invited us up to her condo. It was beautiful! New paint, new carpet, new appliances, really nice furniture, everything spotless and in place. We felt a little gross being all sweaty and everything. Her son even had a nicer tv in his room than I have in my living room (mine is a $100 20 something inch "tube" tv that has lasted me seven years so far. There was no clutter at all and everything looked well organized and brand spankin new. We enjoyed talking to her and I said I'd invite her to my place in a few days.

Well, we both came down to my place afterwards and both started laughing at the same time. It was a nervous laugh. My furniture looks so college dorm after seeing that living room. I started to bionic clean my house afterwards in the hopes that it would somehow come out looking picture perfect like the home above me.

It didn't work.

Ah-well, my little place has character. It shows that someone lives here. It shows that projects are being worked on, that a gadget girl is trying out technology, and that Goodwill may get a visit soon (hence the pile of stuff by the front door). I've got clutter even though I scan everything into the computer. I sit on a couch I bought six years ago and should probably give to a family of boys for their basement family room. My 2nd bedroom is halfway painted because I didn't have the stamina or the interest in finishing the job. My treadmill is the center attraction of my living room along with the massive (and cluttered) bookshelf that spans an entire wall.

Well, this lady isn't going to be "keepin up with the Joneses" any too soon. But, this lady will hopefully do some other meaningful things. My home won't make it into a Martha Stewart (or preferably a Frank Lloyd Wright) magazine, but it is home after all.