Block That Party!

Our little grouping of houses in the Wallingford neighborhood of Seattle (1986-2001) was casually & organically very friendly & supportive. The neighbors had keys to each other's homes & an updated phone list. We had an annual plant & seed exchange in the spring, a summer block party complete with a pet parade, & a progressive dinner party at the holidays. We were at home in our 700 square foot cottage surrounded by interesting, intriguing, ingenious neighbors. A most burdensome melancholy traveled with me when we moved to Portland. I would miss my neighbors.

I never tried to recreate the Seattle experience. Portland has a vibe all it's own & our block in the Kenton neighborhood is special in a way that I would not have expected. I have insinuated myself into the good graces of most of the neighbors by simply being cordial. We are the only gays on the block, but we are more diverse than Wallingford. Our block has married couples, singles, babies, a gentleman in his 90s who has lived in his home for 65 years, an African-American family & a large extended family of Laotians: grandparents, parents, kids. They grow their own crops in an elaborate garden. Yet, except for one single woman our age & with a similar disposition, we keep to ourselves. I say hello at every opportunity, & I know the names of the kids & the 14 dogs on the block, but we don't hang together.

The block party in full swing, 5pm

Yesterday marked the 8th annual Block Party for the 16 houses on our street & friends. The unofficial mayor of the block organizes this event each year in a manner that is slightly bullying. I was looked on with disapproval when I moved the barriers to get to my driveway returning from work, even when I was delivering a donation of bottled water & Coke.

This year's set up in front of Post Apocalyptic Bohemia

I don't much care for children & the block party was overflowing with screaming, sugar-hyped, spoiled squirts. Ignoring their own brood were the beer swilling parents. Our redneck neighbor Dan had invited every boorish bumpkin that could make the event. This crowd always feeds themselves from the large selection of potato & macaroni salads, chips & dips, hot dogs & burgers & beer from the keg. Then they retreat back to Dan's hovel, where there is often a deer or salmon carcass on his back patio, right next to the kiddy pool for his several children from a selection of different mothers.

This year the unofficial mayor had decided against a band (in the past the band has been set up in our driveway) in favor of showing a movie at dusk. She somehow thought I would be thrilled in her choice of Ghostbusters; who you gonna call? I didn't actually understand the correlation between dropping the band for a taste of cinema, but there is no sassing the mayor.

My plan of action, as it has been for past 8 block parties: go out to the street, walk around have a beer & be seen for a few minutes once an hour, making it appear that I am just making the party rounds.

"Have you seen Steve?"

"Yeah, he was just here... he is around, I just talked to him. But I never see his standoffish roommate."
Really, neighbor Dan refers to my husband as my roommate.

just one of the offerings

the usual good time on neighbor Dan's back patio

This year the scene was so alarming & appalling that I couldn't get it up to even fake it. I stayed inside. All afternoon & evening. Every now & then I would take a peek out the front window, only to witness a scene out of The Hills Have Eyes.  I was scared stiff to observe 3 squiggly headed barbarians pop over the garden wall, beer in plastic cups & chicken grease running down their considerable chins, exclaiming: "I don't get it. they got no lawn. It looks like some kinda jungle. Dan is right. That guy & his roommate are up to somethin' no good. Keep the kids away!"