Dichotomy

Spring is an exciting time of newness and beauty. Its arrival kills and buries those cold and cloudy “winter blahs” that chase many of us into a dreadful state of mild depression. 4 years ago, when Robyn and I were getting ready to buy our home, Cedar Avenue was flanked by the white pedals of life. Any day now, the dormant row of pear trees that line our street will decide that spring is here, and winter a memory. One cannot drive down our stretch of road without admiring the sight.

These days, instead of spending springtime establishing gardens or rehabbing an old home (which the seller’s realtor advertised as a “hidden jewel” needing “TLC and elbow grease”, realtor-speak for “freaking disaster at a discount”), Robyn’s days are full of Toby. The weather has been cooperative for outdoor toddler entertaining these last few days, and most daylight hours have been spent in the front yard. Save the occasional fire engine, it’s a quiet street where lots of polite people walk their kids and dogs. The nuns across the street make for good neighbors, as they are quiet and non-controversial and have a few acres of greenspace to offer us all.

Last night, Tobe was peacefully sleeping, Robyn and I had already enjoyed our evening mocha lattes on the couch, I had already wasted enough time online (!), so we headed upstairs for bed. We were goofing around during the evening toothbrushing, as we typically do. Even though Pete Delkus has been gone for years, Robyn still insists I call him to get weather info, and I decided to open up all the windows when Pete’s lame replacement told me to expect an overnight low around 60.

As I opened our bedroom’s east window, I heard three gunshots (from within a stone’s throw, and keep in mind that I throw like a girl) and saw the red DeVille speed away to the west. Robyn and I spent the next hour watching the Cincinnati Police do their job. We sat in darkness on the front porch, talking about life and death and family and parenthood and community and our motives and how fired bullets all eventually hit something (even if ‘something’ is simply the ground).

I find it difficult to talk about my neighborhood without mentioning the dichotomy that it is. It is the peaceful, quiet, flowering, treelined street. It is also the street of hit-and-run traffic accidents, rape, domestic abuse, and gunfire. It is all of these things, all at once. And every time evenings like this occur, I feel the Spirit reminding me that packing up and moving to “safety” isn’t our lot in this world.