2001 will be known as the year of changes and transitions.

In a very short time, we celebrated the births, deaths and other life-altering events of those close to us, or close to our loved ones. We've had turmoil in the workplace, as we've watched the economy swing with the installation of a new presidential cabinet (which finally got established). We've been inconvenienced by the "current" energy crisis de jour; first it was a water shortage, then gasoline shortage, then electricity shortage and a natural gas shortage (too bad we couldn't just hook up the gas lines to Congress, but I digress)...

Although you would never know what type of fireman he was, because of the condition of the outside of his home, our neighbor, John, was a retired fireman. We did see representatives of the fire department outside his property about 3 years ago, taking pictures of the ivy that formed a perfect 15 foot wall around his property, with the exception of the green garage door, which was still visible from the street. I wondered how someone who had spent a career fighting fires and making places safe to live in, could himself, live in what appeared to be a firetrap. So, every once in awhile, we would see John outside, trimming and cutting back the growth on or around his house - probably to fight off the interloping fire department until another public nuisance complaint was made.

For the past 5 years that we've lived across the street from his home, we've only referred to his place as "The Enchanted Forest", because aside from his garage door, you couldn't see anything except ivy, and the tops of trees that grew behind his ivy. Birds would flock in and out and on top of his foliage, and we would delight at listening to the mockingbirds as they serenaded us from the tops of his evergreen trees. It was almost as though we had no one living across the street from us, even though we saw his truck parked in the front of his home, or sometimes even perilously positioned in the driveway - how he got his trucked backed into the driveway, we'll never know....

We found out during the December holidays, that John had become very ill, apparently had been ill for quite some time, and was not expected to live much longer. His daughter had taken him to her home to live out his final days. I felt badly, not knowing that he even had a daughter, or the two sons from whom he was estranged. I never knew that he had been married, or whatever happened to his wife; did she pass away and he just gave up on caring about their home? Or did she leave him, because he just gave up on caring for their home? The last we had heard about John, from another neighbor, is that he had hoped to live long enough to make it into the year 2001.

I found out early last week, before my quick jaunt to Chicago, that John had passed away sometime during the second week of January. His house seemed to be silent to me and even the birds didn't seem to be flocking to his home, perhaps out of respect for his life. Then one evening, I came home from work and there were garbage cans placed at the street. I would get the scoop from another neighbor that the garage was full of old bottles and newspapers, floor to rafters. John's daughter had arranged for a cleaning crew to arrive shortly to clear out the home. No word about a funeral service, or if his sons would come by to help straighten out his affects.

One day last week , I drove up and there were bright orange traffic cones blocking off an area as big as a parking place in front of John's home. The next day I pulled up to find visible to the street, the front of a house, where the Enchanted Forest used to be. It was as though our neighborhood got a bit fuller, and we were in awe to see a whole other house, directly across the street from our house!

Over these past few days, and countless truckloads of green debris and garbage later, we have seen the evolution of John's property from a wild, jungle-like lot, to a single-family home on a good-sized lot. Just amazing! Granted, the ivy that was pulled off of the property, caused extensive damage. Nothing good can remain when a home needed to be "weed-whacked" with machetes and axes. I will be sad if the home is razed, even though I know another home would pop up nearly overnight - especially in this area. I will be sad because I feel as though I lost something that I never even knew was there -- until after it had fallen into such disrepair and neglect that it could not be saved and was taken away.

I feel sad because I never got to meet and know John, until after he had fallen into such disrepair and neglect that he could not be saved, and he died. It's funny to think of the things that are right in front of you and you don't even see them.

Anyway, this note is for John. I hope you're happy and not suffering wherever you are. I'll put extra seed in our birdfeeders, so that your birds will know you've not forgotten them, even though their "homes" were cleared away from the front, sides and back of your home.

I promise to go outside and wave at your home when the last truckload of stuff is carted away. I promise to wave when the "for sale" sign goes up, or your home is razed.