Where Everyone Knows Your Name
I’ve always had the best neighbors. I was born into great neighbors. Like the kind of neighbors that set the bar so high that any potential neighbors are destined to fail. I spent major holidays with neighbors. I still spend major holidays with neighbors. So, when it came time to buy our first home, we stalked every potential neighborhood and watched the neighbors. We chose a neighborhood, a block, where we basically set-up shop (I’ve always wanted to be a P.I.) and watched the neighbors. (Word count on the word neighbor(s) so far, 8.)
It was a Sunday. We had a stroller and a dog, and they had a handshake and divulged important details about the reason behind moving. A toddler and a dog provide the perfect amount of cover for collecting evidence even on a dead-end street.
The worst part about any of our moves has always been leaving beloved neighbors behind. This move was the toughest yet, because we were leaving literally perfect next-door-neighbors behind. Like the friends for life neighbors, that only know you for two weeks, yet feed you upon bringing your newborn home, who save you during car troubles and walk you through your first skunking neighbor friends.
But we found it. The house. The location. The neighbors. And let me tell you, when you move hugely pregnant in the month of January, and not one, not two, but three different sets of neighbors leave freshly baked cookies on your porch, you’ve hit the jackpot. And it doesn’t even matter that a squirrel got to one of the batches before you did… we know how to share in this neighborhood.
I have kind next-door neighbors who look out for the girls. I have a next-door neighbor that does my hair and she and her husband are patient and lovely to our girls who have stalked them upon their arrival. I have a neighbor that made one of those initial batches of cookies who has set up a fund to help get me and the Mr. to Germany. I have a neighbor that had to give up her best friend that lived in my house, yet still shows me the way and has made me part of the hood. I have neighbors that let their daughter babysit our girls and always have the time and patience to offer us insight. I could keep going…
George collects the garbage. Rhonda drives the bus. Gayle delivers the mail. And everyone knows my name, well maybe not everyone.