A Bomb Cyclone Lesson in Human Relations

My girlfriend's neighbor, two doors to the west, put in a new triple-car-wide driveway in Spring of 2018. It's big. And I surmised that he was pretty proud of it when, one Saturday a couple of weeks after the new concrete had set, about mid-morning, I saw him power-washing the thing, inch by precious inch, until it looked as good as the day he had it put in.

I was driving by on the way to her house when I noticed him scouring the driveway surface and the gutter and street in front of his house, to boot. Man, he really likes that driveway. And it would have been a mere curiosity had it not been for the fact that there was quite bit of dirt, grass and other debris leftover from his morning of diligent yard work, which he was washing away with the powerwasher. He had been at it, apparently for a couple of hours.

The result? Well, the driveway was spotless. But the spray job had formed a mighty muddy rivulet, which was now flowing down the gutter to the east and puddling up in the poorly designed low spot in front of my girlfriend's driveway. I pulled up to her house and jumped out to see an ever-widening and deepening stream of brown, thick goo.

To make matters worse, I had in my trunk my lawnmower and other tools necessary to do the badly needed yard work on my girlfriend's place. I'd been dreaming of getting this early spring ritual accomplished this very day. High on the list of jobs set for this Saturday morning was to clean up the remains of winter ravages (sand, road salt, bits of trash, etc.) in the stretch of gutter into which
my neighbor's brown soup of grass clipping, sand, road salt and who-knows-what was growing from a pond to a lake.

I was furious. Didn't he see what was happening? Why didn't he sweep this stuff up and put it in his trash barrel like a normal human being? Thanks a lot, pal. Oh, yeah, send it all down to me. Sure, I'll take care of it for you. I've got nothing better to do, I thought. I imagined striding firmly down the street to confront him. I'd tell him what-for. Yes, I would. I rehearsed one one-sided conversation after another. I, of course, came out on top each time. But my powerwashing neighbor, I saw as reality set in, was a good bit taller than me and outweighed me by 50-60 pounds.

So what did I do? I went inside and complained to my girlfriend. Yep, whined and moaned and talked real big for a few minutes, and then remembered what I already knew: I wasn't going to go down there to my neighbor's house. I wasn't going to confront him. I was going to eat it.

Anger turned to frustration. Frustration to the most icy and unwilling resignation. And then I got out my mower and tools and grudgingly mowed my girlfriend's lawn. I shook my head at the lake, and went back to trim. Finally, the work did it's work: I felt a bit better. Decided I couldn't do anything about what, by late afternoon, was just a big mud puddle.

A couple of days later, it dried up, and I cleaned it up. I'd like to say I had a good attitude. But I didn't. But I finally decided I should let it go. And eventually, I did.

Fast forward to Winter 2019. The "Bomb Cyclone" wind/snowstorm has hit, and I'm facing the prospect of shoveling snow from my girlfriend's one-car-wide driveway and the walk from the front door to the street and the walk along the front of the house. Problem? Well, I've got this sore foot. And, hate to admit it — I'm old. Shoveling snow used to be fun. Emphasis on the "used to be." Further, it's rained for a full day, and the rain beneath the thick blanket of heavy, wet snow has resulted in a six- or seven-inch thick, slush-foundation snow pack that has you dog tired after ten minutes.

My first trip out, I wisely start by clearing the driveway when it's covered with only two inches of snow. I'm figuring to handle this in several stages. But I poop out before I can get to the walks. Oh, well ... need to rest. I'll try again later. I promise. But, I oversleep. I get distracted (Sound familiar!)

I finally get back to it, don the winter gear again and grab my shovel. I have missed my chance to do a second layer. Lazy. Yeah, I know. And so here it is: All seven inches. Heavy, wet, and hard, hard, hard to move. I start on the driveway again, wondering how in the world I'm going to get past it to the walkways.

Guess what happens? I get down the driveway about halfway and—the front walk is clean as it can be. In fact, the front walkway on my whole side of the street is clean, even on the houses that show no other shoveling. I take a look around and, sure enough, the same is true on the other side of the street. And is that my irritating driveway power-washing neighbor quietly putting away that snazzy, new-looking snowblower into his garage, two doors to the west?

The memory of that Fall day comes back. The anger. The frustration. I feel foolish. But more than that, I feel immensely grateful. First, for the fact that I did not stride down to his house that sunny afternoon in Fall 2018 and take him to task for spoiling my Saturday yard maintenance plans. Second, for saving my back and, third, for restoring my faith in human nature. The guy did every one of his neighbors' front walks. And, yeah, he might have been kinda proud of his new snowblower, but so what? He used that snowblower he was proud of to help his neighbors. Nobody asked him to. Nobody expected it. He just stepped up and did it. Including angry, frustrated, bad-attitude me.

What occurred to me last was most important. I wondered if he'd have cleaned my walkway if I'd have confronted him that day in Spring 2018? If I'd have given full vent to my frustration?

It occurred to me that it's possible, despite his apparent insensitivity that day (just one day out of many) that, on most other days, he's a kind, thoughtful individual. A man devoted to family, friends and considerate of strangers. That most days he's a guy who would go out of his way for a neighbor. That my first and only previous experience of him was an aberration, an anomaly. That I had unfairly characterized a man's whole life on the basis of one unfortunate experience. That it's possible, in fact, that he's a better man than I am. That he would, indeed, have cleaned my walk, even if I had confronted him.

And it occurred to me that I needed to stride on down to his house and thank him for plowing the snow off my girlfriend's front walk.