My racist, sadistic neighbor

For the past few weeks, my sadistic neighbor has been taping sheets of newspaper to her front window. I imagine the intent is to help the neighborhood birds build nests.

Instead, I’ve been listening to a robin try to fly through the non-papered part of her window for days. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Bird poo now stains her front porch. I think the bird must have brain damage by now.

I say sadistic, and should probably elaborate. My neighbor is the personification of the Hallmark Shoebox lady, complete with cataract glasses and froofy dog. I had a feeling she would be interesting when my first conversation with her involved her telling me about the occasional black people that come through the neighborhood and how she called the police.

Racist elderly people. There’s not much that you can do but plaster on a fake smile and look for the nearest exit.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

This neighbor accused me of trying to kill her dog one winter. I had salted my icy sidewalks (mostly for fear of her falling and getting hurt). She said if I used salt again, she would call the police.

This neighbor said the trees in my yard were blocking the sun from her tree. When the time of year allowed for it, I had the tree trimmed by a guy who shimmies up trees with just some climbing equipment. She spent the afternoon yelling at the guy while he was dangling 30-40 feet from the ground with a chainsaw.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

When this woman speaks to you and she’s angry, she starts at 10, no build up. You open the door (the first mistake) and find her already mid-sentence yelling. Your day is ruined thereafter. You can't shake the conversation. It's like a verbal concussion - you are disoriented and confused. When she did it to Fiancé, I wrote the neighbor a letter letting her know that if she had any further concerns, to put it in writing and to deal with me and that I no longer wished to speak to her.

She said the letter gave her a good laugh.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

In the tree out front, there are four baby squirrels learning how to climb and jump. A rabbit has taken up residence in our front yard. Our yard is a sanctuary. Her yard is a study in inducing brain-injured birds.

Fiancé and I are trying to find the open window to a new life since none of the doors seem to be opening. We keep banging our heads against the window. Over and over again. Hoping for this next job to call, for the next application to be the last one needed. Every day we feel a bit stupider for believing things could maybe work out. That she could find a position that covers healthcare. That we could escape Fargo.

Fiancé nailed an interview with a non-profit company. Absolutely perfect for the job. She even sent a hand-written thank you note. She was passed over and given no reason for it.

I tried calling for some counseling to help navigate the stress of a wedding, unemployment, finances, unsupportive parents (Fiancé’s mother was thrilled she didn’t get the job) and trying to move. They scheduled me for six weeks from now. Six weeks.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

But then you wonder what might be beyond the window. If we did get through, things might be just as miserable.

The bird needs to figure out that what he needs is right there, that the newspaper will work wonders in building a nest if only he would grab it and go. Forget about what is beyond the window.

I don’t know what that means for us, what we are missing in our quest for a better life. Often these things are only known in hindsight. For instance, my brother-in-law lost his job after 7 loyal and wonderful years with the company. He searched for six months to find a position somewhere. Because of that, he was able to be home to support their newborn baby that had a lot of birth complications. He got hired soon after at a place just across the street from their home. The universe knew he needed to be home for the baby until it was better. But it sucked horribly for him for the months trying to find work while the due date loomed.

I hope we figure it out soon. My head is getting very sore.