Welcome to My Neighborhood
by Bella Rum
It’s early Saturday morning; it’s still dark outside. I like this time of day. The sun will creep over the rooftop of the house across the street in a couple of hours. We got a nice, deep snow last week, not like one of those pitiful snows of only a few inches where the kids are determined to make snowmen, but they end up with bits of dirt and grass sticking through, spoiling their frosty-white skins. No, this was a deeply satisfying snow, but it’s all gone now. Snows don’t last long around here anymore.
I think we have a neighbor who’s trying to befriend us. He came down to help H shovel the driveway. H met him a few months ago. We have one of those aggregate driveways. It has several long cracks. It looks like a once beautiful, elderly lady with too much makeup that’s begun to crack. H noticed this guy had the same issues with his driveway, but it had been repaired, and looked great. One day, when H saw him in his front yard, he stopped to ask him about it. He told H that he had repaired it himself. H had been talking about whether to repair ours, hire someone to repair it or get a new driveway. The neighbor offered to help H do ours. Is that nice or what?
We haven’t met many of our neighbors. We’ve said hello to a couple of people we saw while walking. I’ve actually stopped my car to introduce myself to people who were working in their yards or taking their trash out to the curb. It’s a lovely community, but aloof. It’s small, and I think it would have helped tremendously if the developers had included a club house in the plans, a place people could come together, could rent for parties and receptions, form gardening and book clubs, etc. Such an oversight. It could have changed the vibe around here.
When we dropped off our things at Goodwill, H wanted to go inside and look around. He found a bike ($10.00), in excellent condition, for the youngest grand, equipped with training wheels and a basket. It’s a pretty little thing: pink and blue and white. Not a scratch on it.