People adamantly profess that they are not a bi-product of Western society and culture; a consumer’s culture to be sure. They say they are able to see things for what they really are; unbefuddled. They sigh loudly as they chase the naked kids around after a bath, mopping up the wet Pergo flooring in the process. They proclaim to each other over the nightly news how they need open air and freedom because it makes them sound intelligent and in need of something they are missing; fresh mountain air and the bald eagles!
Missing something they are deeply aware of and used to, that is. As if at some point in their life, because of their education, adherence to a strict work ethic, and playing by the rules, they were thrust into this hay-day experience against their will but it’s worth trying to maintain because of the kids. And now we enter another parallel theme: leverage! Yet they squander their entire life hot on the heels of an ideology brought to them by the television that pits them against their family because of black vs white or blue vs red. And in 45 years the kids will be on the internet searching for A Place For Mom!
One can only imagine some hot blonde who doesn’t belong shackled to the kitchen stove but she stays home all day. Then around 2:45 she will drive for 6 minutes in a $70,000 SUV to go pick up the kids from their Montessori, or some otherwise private school, and take them to get chicken nuggets. This will culminate the busiest part of her day, except on Tuesday’s when she drops them off at Mimi’s house while the Mexican house cleaners come and sweep and mop and stack everything on the counter in neat little piles which takes about 2 hours at a rate of $300. “Mom went to get her nails done, she’ll be right back,” says Mimi to the little children.
And oh how that neutral gray million dollar home with the white trim surrounded by traffic on all four sides at the end of a cul-de-sac and all its orange flowers in those tall white flower pots adjacent the front door (because mom is a real go-getter and orange was this year’s theme) surrounded by all those white neighbors will sparkle. Look at those clouds!
As I look up the word gray to study more deeply the atrocity of this color I am reminded of the theme for my next piece; Mr Gray: The Faceless Man. And look! Speaking of faceless men there’s dad after a long hard day as a tradesman, with his gray beard and suntan, who still has to take out the trash because it’s too heavy for mom because it is full of all those wet coffee grounds. Lest we forget those fingernails! The epitome of a woman who doesn’t belong in the kitchen!
Cul-de-sac: a French word that means “bottom of the sac,” which resembles a Southern saying, “bottom of the barrel.” It’s a dead-end street that provides a “sense of community and safety,” says Sheila, the blonde realtor.
I couldn’t imagine a worse life. I lived in a “sac” for almost seven years. I grew up dirt poor in the swamps of Mississippi where, occasionally, we had to eat dry dog food because we had no food for ourselves. I moved to Colorado at the age of 33 and was abruptly thrown into the cul-de-sac lifestyle. I should be so fortunate!
And if you listen carefully you can hear the wind blow and your heartbeat behind your left ear as you quietly say, “no, we can’t do that. We have neighbors!” Neighbors with dogs barking day and night, someone cutting grass or blowing leaves all hours of every day, and garbage trucks beeping as they try to turn around in this tight knit little community. There are even those two-seater airplanes circling above your house. Round and round they go as people log their 40-60 hours of flight time so they can secure their private pilot’s license. And then the day arrives when they drive back home to their blond wife in the cul-de-sac with another badge of honor- a pilot with a license and no plane and nowhere to go! But can’t afford to pay more than $50 for someone to cut their grass. “Will you edge the flowerbeds, too?”
Thankfully those $600 a month HOA dues make sure everything is running smooth while dad is away getting his pilot’s license. Several white people walking around taking pictures of your house and your automobiles, your fence and your shingles, to make sure everyone is living up to the most high of white standards. And if not? It’s a “nasty-gram” in the mail! Complete with photos of your dirty deeds that are counter to the white way of life here in the cul-de-sac! “We have proof!” It won’t be much longer before they put the star of David over your door because you were caught by HOA drones watching forbidden channels on the television!
Lo! how those good ole days will be missed. (I laugh.) You know the days where we could safely leave our front door open and stand their ready to grab the mail while the mail carrier was just pulling away? And that tall wave from one white man to the other. Not the typical hand wave either but the type that airs out the armpit! “Everything’s all white here!” But with all the riffraff these days. Just can’t be too careful.
And the trash can race! It’s held weekly and everyone participates. The goal? To see who can bring in the trash first as opposed to last. “Don’t forget tomorrow is recycling!” mom tells dad who just came in from work as she sits on the couch watching Blippi with the kids. Mom just isn’t sure how that strawberry jelly got all over the countertops. Damn house cleaners! Probably infiltrated from Venezuela. They don’t even speaka English!
The cul-de-sac. It’s not just a place, it’s a mentality. It is absolutely the most anxiety producing environment and the farthest thing from freedom and independence I ever experienced in my life. Not to mention the two neighbors who hate each other because their mailboxes are not painted the same color or because supporting the thin blue line has somehow become racist. Or what about the one who thinks that Fauci put snake venom in all those shots? Well, at least he was busy! The dead end indeed; the cul-de-sac of all that is beautiful in life.
Or maybe you were made for the cul-de-sac with those stupid signs in the yard that show someone who lives there just graduated from first grade when in all reality it is just a way to show the neighbors that you spent fifty thousand dollars on your first graders education. Excelerrated English here we come! But you can’t afford to pay a painter to stain your dead fence!
Or perhaps you like living in an area that has so many blue and yellow flags showing unyielding support for the Ukraine that the “sac” looks more like a movie shoot for some foreign film than a quiet place seeping with serenity. Perhaps this is you. Married to the blonde who eats yogurt and calls the “master” bedroom the “primary” bedroom because she is so woke. And she will cry out from her primary bedroom “what a great name for a kid, Carter! And I like this one, too, Ash!” I can only hope that the neighbor’s seven thousand dollar labradoodle bites your neutral kids in the ass! A loss of focus chasing unrealistic Western ideals has led everyone into a blind pouch!
And what about me?
I just need three things: My dog, quietness, and Microsoft Word.
Round and back around through that little ticky tacky levitt town. an insightful observation of modern society. Here I am car-less in the jungle, with wild little feet scrambling up trees and feel like I'm missing nothing of that world.