The Featured Image is a memory marker. I shall explain. The grass on this property is rarely overgrown like this. But the woman responsible for tending things has lost the privilege of doing so. For reasons of protected privacy, I choose not to show the building.
One of my neighbors is in the process of losing her home. Supposedly she will be duly compensated, but what she wants is to stay in the neighborhood she knows and loves, living out her life in a house her grandmother once owned.
Yeah, she is a local, living in a generational home built in the late-nineteenth century. She graduated from San Diego High School—many decades before our daughter did. Residents of her vintage are jewels, and too few remain in University Heights. Their homes are sought by real estate developers and other property hawks.
As I understand, sometime during the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns, her roof started leaking but she couldn’t get it repaired. Do you remember supply shortages that jacked up the price of lumber or the difficulty hiring contractors (pandemic restrictions being one reason)?
One day, plastic sheaths covered about one-third of the roof. She found a temporary solution that become quasi-permanent. I suspect, but don’t know, that the lady falls into a category not uncommon among older homeowners: She possessed an extremely valuable asset but otherwise had limited income. Meaning: She couldn’t afford the roof repair—nor others.
One day last year, she came home to find a group of people on the front lawn. They were from the city. Somebody had complained about the roof and overall condition of the building. The house was condemned, and she essentially was barred from living there—all leading up to a forced sale. Her home was essentially taken away, although she is supposed to receive proceeds from the sale.
I have visited with my neighbor in better times and these worse ones, although she is pensive now. Crisis came to her because somebody wanted to profit from her house, and this is constructed speculation on my part as a journalist accustomed to putting together pieces of information to solve a puzzle; she said nothing; I go by my observations and from talking to other people nearby. The person(s) who complained to the city protect their property values from her ramshackle, which admittedly is a bit rundown for a street where every other property is tasteful and tidy. Other parties profit from the sale, whether by selling or redeveloping the property.
I will miss this fine lady. We first met in September 2019, when I stopped to ask about her Tuxedo, Kitty. Sadly, Kitty disappeared two years later. Around the same time, some other oddities occurred that I surmised to be too coincidental to be unrelated. I remember telling my wife that circumstances stank of intimidation, like someone wanted her to move (e.g., sell the house). That’s where we are in March 2024: Reluctant sale.
In happier times, June 2023, I photographed a rabbit on the lady’s lawn. For today’s overgrowth, I used Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra. Vitals: f/2.4, ISO 50, 1/3600 sec, 70mm (film equivalent); 1:43 p.m. PST.
Her name is deliberately withheld.