My house was robbed last night. We were all out, when my son got back home he found the back door kicked in, and found some laptops, a game system, and an acoustic guitar missing. It was worth a lot, for the people whose stuff was stolen, it was probably worth much more for those who took it. It was an obviously amateur job – they took cables but not speakers, dropped the controller of the game system in the back yard, and left lots of fingerprints and a shoe print on the door for the forensics guy. We can’t be sure they were the perpetrators, but a group of young men were reported loitering near the house some time before the robbery.
There were different responses from friends, acquaintances, and neighbors when they heard about it. Many were angry on my behalf, which I appreciated, but I didn’t feel particularly angry myself. I felt sad, that there are people who must overcome their better nature and do these things, who are in circumstances that make it necessary to take the risk that is surely involved in what they did. I got a lot of advice – about self-defense, alarm systems, someone even said “we are in a war”. It was unexpected. I was not delighted that my house was robbed, but I am glad that it was not the house of my ninety year old neighbor. I am glad that neither I, nor any of my children were home at the time of the break-in. I am glad that the cat was unharmed.
It’s normal to be angry, and feel threatened, and take unreasonable precautions after such a thing happens. But I feel I shouldn’t forget to ask why. Not why these particular people did this, but why anyone does. I just don’t think there are “evil” people out there who enjoy stealing and being criminals. There might be a few, of course – like those on Wall street. But for the most part, I have a feeling that people have to be desperate to do desperate things.
A couple of weeks ago, I turned on my porch lights at sundown as I usually do. I noticed that the light on one side didn’t come on. I assumed the bulb was fused, and went to take it out, when I saw that the light sconce was full of twigs and leaves. Over the next few days, a tiny brown bird was seen by everyone frantically flying back and forth with more twigs and leaves. I figured I could do without the porch light till she had moved out.
Nearing the end of my five mile walk through the green humid woods of Tallahassee, I noticed something on my sunglasses slightly obscuring my vision. I took them off and wiped them on my sweat-soaked t-shirt. Joe and I kept walking, the gang of children including my son running ahead of us appeared and disappeared among the trees, like woodland creatures. I had swum an hour that morning with another friend, done a respectable amount of editing, had my four-month teeth cleaning, and couldn’t refuse a long walk with my friend in my barefoot shoes. My t-shirt must have left a streak of sweat on my sunglasses, I thought, and I took them off an wiped them again. We kept walking. Five miles is a long distance, and after a swim and a dental visit, it can seem endless. Just as I said despairingly to Joe, “is this ever going to end?” we saw the park entrance at the end of the final stretch. I wiped my glasses one more time, without success. The right side was a blur. We herded the kids into the car, and as I began to drive, I realized that I had not just a blur, but no sight at all in my right eye. All I could see was a spiky neon sign in purples and blues on the periphery of my vision, and when I turned to take a better look, I couldn’t catch it, like some memory you can’t quite grasp. It was bright and clear as long as I didn’t try to look at it directly. It was very beautiful. It always is. I always wish it would last longer. It is my own private, tiny, exquisite hallucination.
