Wednesday, February 16, 2011

The Deaf Man

I am a big fan of Evan Hunter a/k/a Ed McBain, and his 87th Precinct books. Anyone who knows the series knows that Steve Carella's nemesis of sorts is the deaf man. And it appears that I, too, have a deaf man nemesis.

The Deaf Man has a house that is literally falling down around his head. And he is literally deaf. From what I can tell, he has lived in the house all his life. His parents lived there, he grew up there, and he lives there now. I think he may have siblings, but I don't know where they are. He is older than I, I believe, so he probably had little formal education. My friend who is a deaf ed teacher tells me that he probably doesn't have a vocabulary much past third or fourth grade, because "back in the old days," schools didn't provide an education for deaf people.

He is my nemesis because I don't know what to do about him and his house. The law says that he has to bring his house up to code, but the City is now saying that the house is uninhabitable. That means that the house, the one with trees and bushes growing up through the porch roof, the one with holes in the roof, the one with plants climbing up the walls so that the house looks like an apparition in a Disney movie, will be condemned and torn down. And that will leave the deaf man homeless.

Services for senior citizens in the county will provide him with a place to live, but he is not a social being. I don't know if he has ever held a job. He does not drive. He dons heavy down-filled, shearling-lined clothing and goggles and rides a bicycle all over town. I don't know if he has meaningful exchanges with anyone. When we mention finding a new place to live, he becomes not only defensive, but belligerent.

I don't know where he eats. I don't know if his place has running water. All I know is that this is his home, and it is the only place he knows and has ever lived. Senior services cannot take the place of the comfort, safety, and familiarity of home.

And so, he stands in front of me, defiant, angry, and I know, frightened. All he has is endangered. The life he knows teeters on the edge. What next?

The deaf man.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

White outside

Just when I thought winter was on its last legs toward a slow crawl toward spring - after all, February is only 28 days - we were hit with what is, for me, the storm of my life so far. I believe the ground is covered with at least 18 inches of pure white snow. Our driveway is lost, as is the sidewalk leading to the front door.

I hope that Mr. Bentley, who is a consistent defendant but not a "frequent flier," will show up today to help Max shovel. I have no idea where we will put the snow, but the most difficult and most important place to clear is where the driveway meets the street. The snowplow does its job, but leaves a HUGE pile of snow that no car in this garage can get over. As long as that ridge is there, no one in this house is going anywhere. Period.

This will be my third consecutive day of slugdom. Yesterday, I made cookies and took a short nap and watched the snow pouring down and sat in a leather chair by the fire and watched the fire burn, watched Law and Order - you get the idea. Today will have to be a little more productive so that I can come back to life as life comes back to me. I plan to clean the house a little, make sure that I have all my papers graded, and do some planning for Max's 60th birthday, which arrives one week before Emily's graduation.

I wonder if I will be tired of the solitude and of these four walls by the end of today. Probably not. They are more attractive than the alternative, which is to be out. Yesterday, as I was trying to go to the store early in the morning, I became stuck in the snow on the highway twice. I was pretty terrified, as only a couple of people stopped to help and the tail end of the car kept sweeping over into the next lane, where 18-wheelers were barreling toward me. They, of course, cannot stop quick in an emergency, and I hoped to stay out of their way. It was not such a good thing.

Off to downstairs to build yet another fire with wonderful firewood, and to begin to enjoy another day of doing nothing.