The Dichotomy of our Neighborhood

On most days, I love our neighborhood. It's a wonderful ethnic and social mix of people; Matt and I are definitely minorities on our block. And I love all the kids and (most of) the dogs. Yesterday, as I was walking to our house, one of my favorite little kids said, "Do you live in the house with the brick on the front?" I told her I did, and she stopped short and said with a hushed amazement in her voice, "So...you live in...Barley's house?" Again, I told her I did, and she asked if Barley could come out and play.

A few weeks ago, that same girl came to our door with her little sister. I thought they were selling something for school, and I was more than ready to buy some popcorn, wrapping paper, magazines...whatever they were selling, really. Instead, she handed me this piece of paper:

As I was reading it, she said, "Will you do your part to help save the polar bears?" As a person who tried to start my own recycling campaign in our neighborhood when I was her age, I enthusiastically agreed. Since that day, I've kept her note on our fridge, and I've seen her picking up trash throughout the neighborhood. Kids like her give me hope that all will not be lost in future generations.

On other days, I don't love our neighborhood so much. For the last week, two perfectly good couches sat on the curb. They were in such good shape, in fact, that another neighbor poked her head out when Matt and I were walking by to ask if we would help her carry them inside. She acted like she was joking, but, in retrospect, I think she may have been serious. Yesterday morning, our garbage collectors loaded those two perfectly good couches into the back of their truck and crushed them down. Why our neighbors didn't offer the couches for free on Craig's List instead of sending them to a landfill is beyond me.

Unfortunately, this isn't the first time that a perfectly good piece of furniture has been left on the curb. We also see litter and food scraps strewn about, both of which were most likely dragged out of garbage bags by the stray cats that other neighbors feed with plates of take-out food. Matt's Buick had a dirty diaper under it for far longer than I care to remember.

I suppose it often takes a great need for change to inspire those with a conscience to take action. Maybe our young neighbor will win accolades for her environmental activism one day. She'll only have her wasteful neighbors to thank.