Will You Be My Neighbour: the Survey Says….

Faithful readers of this blog will know that, just prior to the “Christmas of 2018” holiday season, my daughter Sophie and I delivered 34 handmade Christmas cards to our neighbours. The hope was that, by reaching out via a Christmas greeting, that some of the walls of isolation that currently exist on our street would come crumbling down. This post will provide you with the reaction our cards received. Do I have to keep my nose firmly in my own business, gazing downward as I stroll down the street or will I be swapping stories about the weather and calling my neighbours by name as our paths cross? Let’s find out, shall we?

Of the 34 cards we sent out, the MacInnes Family received one email reply, two visits at our door and a total of ten cards left in our mailbox. That works out to be a return rate of almost one-third. Not perfect but, not bad, either. Of the replies that we did receive, the response was overwhelmingly positive. Here are a few of the replies:

“What a lovely surprise to get your card. The colouring was beautiful, as were the nice holly drawings.” from Bonnie at #2.

“Thank you for your Christmas card. Best wishes for Christmas and the New Year.” from Marie and Amy (her black lab) at #19.

“Thank you very much for your Christmas wishes.” from Maureen and Gerry.

“Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a year filled with happiness in 2019.” from Faith and Mike at #4.

“Thank you for your cheerful Christmas card and wonderfully hand-decorated envelop. You touched us with your Christmas spirit. Much appreciated.” from Tom, Judi, Kyle and Dex the dog.

“We were so touched to receive your lovely card and to meet one of our neighbours in such a way. Thank you. (And, we loved the beautiful artwork on the envelop!) Wishing you all a very happy holiday season, a Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year.” from Todd, Lea, Sophie and Luke at #8.

“Thank you for thinking of us. Merry Christmas to you all.” from Brenda and Ed at #20.

“We hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and, of course, Go, Blue Jays, Go!” from Jen, Brian, Abby and Emma. *This family are all big Toronto Blue Jay baseball fans and are known for having Blue Jay pennants and flags in the front of their house.

“Thank you for your card! I love the envelop! I hope we get to meet each other in person. Have a peaceful and safe holiday and a year filled with laughter.” from Starr. Starr’s card came in a personally-decorated envelop too, as you can see, she has some talent.

We received a card from Bernice and Eric at #16, too. While their greeting inside the card simply wished us a Merry Christmas, what was noteworthy is that Bernice actually knocked at our door and delivered, not just a card but, also, Christmas sweetbread and a tray of maple fudge that her husband had made that day. Both were delicious! You can see them in the photo at the top of this post.

So, as first steps go, this journey toward knowing my neighbours has gotten off to a good start. We reached out and many reached back. To those who have welcomed our gesture, the next step is, obviously, to reinforce the positive response we received, with a follow-up reply in kind…..even if it is simply waving to them the next time we are out at the same time and calling them by name. As walls go up, one stone at a time, walls come down, one kind act at a time, too. That is what this experiment was all about. Does kindness and friendliness still matter in today’s world? I believe it does and our Christmas cards were an attempt to prove it true. To those who reached back toward me and my family, I am very appreciative and grateful. I am not expecting to become best friends with anyone but, one never knows what the future may hold. For now, I am happy to live in a neighbourhood where we treat each other kindly, where we watch out for each other’s well-being and where we can greet each other with a smile and a wave and say hello by name.


Will You Be My Neighbour: Part-II

I have always believed in the power of stories.

The handing down of traditions and the shaping of identities through the stories we tell is as universal a practise as there is on our planet. It helps others to know us better and it is a starting point for us to know ourselves.

For the sake of this post, I am not interested so much in the cultural stories of nations, clans or tribes. I am more interested in talking today about the autobiographies that we add to each day as we rise from our beds in the morning and begin interacting with our world.  We are the authors of our own life stories. Stories that are shaped by factors unique to each of us; such as finances, careers, romance, health, family and much more. We are the central characters in the drama that is our life and, as characters, we all have a name. My name is Tom. Pleased to meet you.

Just as there is power in stories, there is also power in knowing someone’s name. It is not without reason that one of the challenges that classroom teachers set for themselves on the first day of school is to learn to properly put names to the faces of all their students. “Sit down, Billy!” carries a lot more authoritative weight in those initial moments of a school year than does, “Sit down….you there!”   But, much more than that, for me, knowing someone’s name is the gateway to knowing their story. Knowing someone’s story is the gateway to understanding who a person is and how best to interact with them. When we understand the people around us, it is often easier to avoid unintentional insults such as the other day when two Jehovah’s Witnesses knocked at our door and my wife cheerfully wished them a Merry Christmas.

When I was still working as a classroom teacher, the names I knew and the stories I came to understand belonged to those I worked along side and to those students I taught and, by extension, their families. Now that I am retired, the people I am physically closest to are my neighbours. There are 32 houses on my street. I know the names of the folks in five of those houses. That’s it. Five out of thirty-two is a woefully inadequate number for someone, like me, who lives for stories. 

For those of you who are regular readers of this blog, you will note that knowing the names of my neighbours does not, automatically, allow me to know their stories, as was described in greater detail in the post about my next door neighbour, Chris, being a famous musician and me not having a clue. *(You can read that post here.)  It has been a month since I have learned about Chris’ true identity. My shock at not knowing he was famous has given way to greater state of embarrassment that I wasn’t a better neighbour. If I had taken a bit more time away from the isolating presence of my computer screen and invested a bit more time in having a conversation that extended beyond the superficial pleasantries of a wave and a smile as we mowed our lawns then, perhaps, I would have known how heavily the responsibilities of performing on a national stage weighed upon him. Perhaps, I could have found a kindred creative spirit. But, all of the maybes in the world can’t change the fact that I was probably playing Candy Crush or scrolling through my Twitter feed when Chris drove away from my neighbourhood for the final time. I know that we did not smile and wave, as he left, taking his stories with him. 

One of the reasons this incident bothers me so much is that being an inattentive neighbour is not how I was raised. I grew up on Cape Breton Island. As a child, our door was always open and neighbours would regularly “pay a call” and drop by unannounced. You never knew, from one day to the next, when someone would show up at your door and would end up sitting around our kitchen table. A hot cup of tea and a tray of sweets were always at the ready. People came to our house all the time and we went to theirs as well. That’s just how the times were then. Life seemed less structured and scheduled in many ways. But, it seems different now. 

Nowadays, instead of inviting others in, we often view our homes as being safe havens from the noisy world around us. We value our refuge. We retreat, willingly, into the welcoming worlds of our on-line relationships, basking in the warm glow of the red hearts and thumbs-up that grace our every utterance.

I am as guilty of this as the next person. So, as a result, I have begun what I can only term as a “social experiment” in my neighbourhood. As you may have read earlier this week, my daughter, Sophie and I, made Christmas cards for everyone in our neighbourhood.  I delivered them, half on Monday and the rest on Wednesday. I walked up 31 different driveways, most of which I was doing so for the first time, and placed the cards into each mailbox. 

I opted to deliver Christmas cards as my choice of interaction with my neighbours because it was Christmas, obviously but, as well, because the exchanging of cards at Christmas is something that I remember well from my youth. When I was growing up, it was not uncommon to receive over one hundred cards during the holidays. I can remember my mother hanging up string across our living room and using clothes pins to hold the cards on the line. Since many of my neighbours are older, my thinking was that they might be more receptive to a Christmas card than they would a knock on their door. So, I delivered our cards and now I am waiting.  I have had one response.

Not long after I delivered my final card on Wednesday, I found myself sitting in my living room, not surprisingly, scrolling through my social media feed. Suddenly, I heard footsteps crunching slowly up my driveway. I cannot see the driveway from where I was sitting so, I stopped and listened instead. The footsteps came up my walkway and then, slowly, up each step, one step at a time. This is great, I thought. I listened for the tell-tale groaning of the metal lid on our mailbox, expecting this visitor to be responding to our card with a card in reply. This is one of the hoped for outcomes of my experiment but, instead, there came a knock on my door. This is good, too, I thought. Maybe this person wants to say Thanks and to introduce themselves. This would be a welcomed outcome, too. As I approached the door, I could see his silhouette and I could tell he was holding a card in his hands. Oh, good! He is hand-delivering his card to us. This is awesome! So, I opened the door.

An elderly gentleman was standing there…….with our card to him in his hand!!!!  He looked down at the card and then up at me and said, “I think there has been some sort of mistake.” And he waved the card toward me. “I think this is yours,” he said.

I replied that it was no mistake and that this was a Christmas card for him and his family from me and my family. 

He seemed confused by it all. After a moment, he quietly said, “But, we don’t know you.”

I smiled and stepped forward, offering my hand for him to shake. I told him that getting to know each other was the whole point and told him that my name was Tom. Somewhat uncertainly, he shook my hand and told me his name was Dick.  I told Dick that it was nice to meet him and I wished him and his family a Merry Christmas. Hesitantly, he replied in kind and then said good-bye and turned and walked away, taking our card back with him.

I have not seen Dick since that day but, I am on the look-out for him each time I go outside now. Hopefully, the next time we do cross paths, he will recognize my face and I will his and we can exchange a greeting and we can say each other’s name. There is power in that. It is a first, small step toward creating a neighbourhood culture that is built upon an understanding of the autobiographies we are each writing.  

It remains to be seen how this will all play out. I am still hopeful of receiving a few cards. but, if nothing else, I have made an opening gesture. From now on, I have a social card to play. I can always say, “Hey, neighbour! I’m Tom. We are the ones who gave you the homemade Christmas card this year.” Hopefully, that will spark some recognition and open the door to an exchange of pleasantries. Pleasantries, being the building blocks of a foundation of friendship and all. It is a good thing. I will keep you all informed as to how it plays out. But, whatever happens, I want to move forward with my goal of being a better neighbour. I never want to return to a time when I didn’t know Dick. 😉


Will You be My Neighbour?

When my wife and I bought the house we are currently living in, we were enchanted by the neighbourhood. It was tree-lined, quiet and the neighbours all seemed friendly. It was, in real-estate terms, an established neighbourhood. Many of the homeowners were original to the neighbourhood when it was first built. Their families had grown up and moved away. So, when young newlyweds moved on the street, folks were genuinely happy at the prospect of children, once again, playing outside and riding bicycles up and down the street.

Not surprisingly, within a few years of living here, age began to catch up with our neighbours. One by one, either because of death or illness, several of our neighbours left our street and their homes went up for sale. Just as we did a few years prior, more young families moved in and the trend toward the neighbourhood becoming younger intensified. In fact, the house directly adjacent to us on our south side was sold. The day the new family moved in is where this story begins.

We were puttering around our yard when the new folks pulled into their driveway and began unloading their car. After giving them a few minutes, I went over an introduced myself and welcomed them to the neighbourhood. The man introduced himself as Chris and his wife, as Robin. They had one child; a son slightly older than my eldest daughter, Leah so, about nine or ten at the time. They seemed very friendly and went on to be excellent neighbours. We waved to each other whenever one of us was driving by. We helped shovel each other’s driveway in the winter and mowed grass for each other in the summer. Robin was a teacher, like Keri and myself so, we talked shop occasionally. Chris and I talked about yard things; for example, he admired a new shed that I had built and placed in my backyard. They minded their business and we stayed out of theirs. It was all lovely.

But, I discovered just the other day, that our neighbours had been keeping a secret. A fairly big secret, as it turns out. My mind is blown…still! I will share that secret with you now.

Chris and Robin separated a few years ago. That saddened us, as we liked them as a couple and as neighbours. Chris moved into an apartment across town. Robin and their son stayed next door. Because of custody-sharing arrangements, we still saw Chris frequently, coming and going with his son. He still waved and smiled at us. We still waved and smiled back.

When Chris wasn’t around, we noticed that his son was spending most of his time playing the drums. He had a full drum kit in the basement of their house and he played, day and night, for hours at a time. Fortunately for us, he was actually a talented young drummer so, it wasn’t excruciating to hear his beats seeping up out of the foundation of their house. It was almost the same style of drumming that you would associate with the heavy drum solos that rock drummers sometimes perform during concerts. At one point, the son drummed so much that we began to think that, perhaps, he was autistic, and was obsessively drumming for emotional reasons. But, truth be told, Robin and her son never bothered us so, we viewed his drumming as a small price to pay for having reliable neighbours beside us.

Eventually, Robin put the house up for sale. She and her son have moved out of the neighbourhood and we have not seen them nor Chris for several months now.

A new family moved next door. A husband and wife, with two small children. They have been wonderful neighbours, too. We are lucky. The woman, Leslie, is a teacher and happens to work at the same school as my wife, Keri, does. Occasionally, they drive to school and back together. This happened the other day. During the course of the drive, Leslie wondered if we found her children too noisy when they were playing in their backyard. Keri replied that they were fine especially compared to the little drummer boy we just had next door. Leslie replied that she wasn’t surprised that the boy played the drums because, when they first looked at the house when it was up for sale, they noticed that it was filled with rock n’ roll memorabilia. When they asked the sales agent about it, they were told that the memorabilia belonged to a gentleman named Christian Tanna, drummer and co-founding member of Canadian rock supergroup, I Mother Earth.  Leslie was surprised that we didn’t know this already.

What!!!!!??????   My friendly neighbour, Chris…….the smiling, wavy-haired Dad who I watched mow the lawn in grubby shirts….the guy who had shed-envy……..was actually Christian Tanna, drummer for I Mother Earth!!!!!   And he never said a single word about it. Not one. There was nothing about how he looked or how he conducted himself that would had given us any indication that we had a rock star for a neighbour.  Sometimes, you just never know what goes on behind the closed doors of the nice homes on your street.

Christian Tanna or, Chris as I call him, is the third from the left (in the blue tank top) and this is I Mother Earth at the end of one of their shows.  Now it makes sense that his son was such a prodigious drummer and that he had talent, too. I Mother Earth were really big in the 90s in Canada. I have to be honest and say that they weren’t my favourite band back then but, being equally honest, Chris is my favourite rock star neighbour!!!!

As I look at this photo, I am still shaking my head. Can’t believe that I didn’t know who was living in the house next door.