Zen in the 21st Century

Nearly completed modern house next door.

Mornings are getting colder, dipping toward the 40s. The swimming buoys are gone. The angle of the sun is changing, staying closer to the horizon. Next door to our 1940s post-war bungalow home, construction of two, yes two, 21st Century Modern homes is nearing completion. 

We have referred to the two-and-a-half-story high structures as the Trump Towers, the Hotel and most recently the Monsters. They are a curiosity on our street when walkers pass by. Sometimes a car will slow down and someone will open their window and snap a photo.

"Is that a hotel?" is the question most often heard. Others include:

"What is that?"

"How many units are there?"

"I feel sorry for you."

"I said a prayer for you."

"It's good you guys are so mellow. If I lived next door I would be going out of my mind."

During construction

As much as the building next to us has blocked the eastern sky from our view, we feel fortunate that our southern exposure has not been lost. Most of the day our home is not shaded. Our backyard feels more like an enclosed courtyard. We have enjoyed more than 30 years of comfortable living in our house that is less than a block from the ocean. It seems ungrateful to complain.

Change is inevitable. Santa Cruz has been known for its small cottages, 19th century Victorians, craftsman houses, and vernacular styles blending shingles and stucco. The 21st century has introduced a bold modernism of rectangular shapes, floor-to-ceiling windows, hidden decks and obtuse dimensions.

We have become acquainted with the site manager, a friendly guy, employed by the owner who is a developer from Palo Alto. The site manager oversees the various contractors involved in building the enormous complex of two large houses each with a detached living unit in back. Very little open space remains.

"It's not my style of architecture," says the site manager. Maybe he's embarrassed. He says people have asked about the plans, indicating that they would like to have similar style home built. It's the latest thing. Silicon Valley is moving in from over the hill.

The median price of a home in our once sleepy middle-class neighborhood is more than $1 million. I've heard that the place next door will go for about $4 million. We bought our house in 1990, right after the Loma Prieta Earthquake -- when some houses in town were destroyed. We paid $300,000 for our two-bedroom, one-bath house which had lost its chimney. We've since added space, a second bathroom and remodeled our kitchen.

Our house appears rather meek and unsubstantial on our block of mostly two-story structures.

In an earlier post (Tender Goodbye 7/19), I talked about the house next door on a spacious lot with fruit trees and gardens. It was a  one-story Spanish Revival style with a long front porch built in 1938. It was demolished in order to build the two towers. The elderly couple who had been our neighbors both passed away and their family inherited the property which is 113-ft wide.

Dutra House built in 1938, before demolition

We wrote a nice letter to the family asking if they would sell us a 10-ft strip of the property so that we would have more space for our driveway and possibly enlarge our one-car garage. They declined, feeling that would lessen the value of their lot, which they intended to sell.

The standard parcel size for a home on our block is 50-ft wide. I pointed out that they could sell a 10-ft strip to us and still have lot (100-ft wide) that could be subdivided into two parcels.

"The lot wouldn't be worth as much," said the head of the family.

"We will pay you. Name a price."

"Sorry."

They sold the lot for $2.2 million. The new owner was an engineer for Instagram, a friendly guy. I approached him with our offer to purchase 10-feet of the property. He, too, declined. He said he wanted to build his dream house on the lot. A few months later I learned that he sold the lot to someone else for $2.4 million.

When I asked him what happened, he said,"It was going to cost me so much time and money. And I found a house in Marin County that was perfect, so I bought that one."

We composed a letter to the next owner -- the Palo Alto developer -- asking if we might purchase 10-feet of his new lot.

"No," he said, "My architect needs all of the space for our project."

I have learned over the years to detach and let go of things that pester the mind, especially things over which I have no control. I have embraced a form of Zen Buddhism that focuses on the present, not the past or the future, but what is now, this moment.

People will be people. Our culture has many problems. The three poisons of the mind are greed, anger and delusion. Let them go.

I love my home, my family and the life I have been given. Perhaps I will learn to love the big houses next door. Presently, I can still hear the fog horn and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin on a cold morning in fall.

Now for some primal screaming!