I have some very good neighbors. That is not always the case.
But my neighbors are the best.
I have lived by these neighbors for over ten years, and they have seen my kids grow up and a few of them get married.
These neighbors have never complained about a trash can left out a few days or the many projects that my research oriented husband has built in our drive way.
They are accepting, tolerant, and kind. They are my friends.
Sandie has two kids, still elementary age, and I guess actually, I am the old timer on the block, with five kids, four of which are 19 and older, and now only the 13 year old is home. We crammed all five kids in this house, which was kind of tight, even though it has four bedrooms. This is one of those California tract homes, not much square footage, and the laundry room is really the hallway to the garage.
Sandie has the same model, and she is always upgrading in some new way that expresses her individuality. Last week, as I was working in my garden, I could hear her working on a project in her garage. She had decided to save some money by distressing a large piece of hardwood that will be added to her living room. She had this big chain and she was flogging the wood in her open garage.
She often brings me chocolate and seems to know when I am in need.
I always know I can call her if I need a ride, or need an egg and a cup of sugar on Sunday (our Sabbath).
She is a good soul and tolerant of the five kids that have spilled out of my home here–not to mention my german shepherd that runs over to tease her little pooch.
My neighbor on the other side is Diane. She and her husband moved in shortly after we did. They did not have any kids, but enjoyed being friendly and talking with all of mine.
Husband, Lars would often hand out stuff from his work to my youngest son. And Diane would let him wander in her garage and look around when he was about four years old. Being a school teacher, she would share books and writing ideas with him. Lars passed away one night, and I was glad we were there for her. He was still young, in his 30’s.
She knocked on our door late one night–two or three in the morning–scared that her husband had died in his sleep. That was a sad event. But she has recovered, and has a smile back on her face. Sometimes I do not see her for weeks, but I can always call her.
She shares her thoughts about life, and her faith in God has often helped me. I can share my beliefs as a Mormon, and she can add truths as a Catholic.
And she seems to know when I need a prayer thrown this way.
Prayers, chocolate, and kindness.
I got the luck of the draw this time.
Another good movie on neighbors: The Burbs
