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Archives from 2002-2006

My mom’s birthday is Monday, July 30, and my aunt wrote a lovely post in her honor. Will you guys please break all the records of blog-commenting, and visit From the Back Nine in order to wish my mom a happy birthday?

July 27, 2007

Earlier today our next door neighbor stopped by, pounding at my front door for several minutes while I completely ignored her, assuming it was just the contractors working on the addition (they had been whacking various things with hammers all afternoon). When I finally came out to see what all the ruckus was, she told me she just wanted to let me know they were having a party on Saturday night. I immediately started brainstorming excuses as to why I would be unable to attend, such as a chronic case of housemaid’s knee in addition to inflammation of the blowhole, but as it turned out she only wanted to inform me of the event so I wouldn’t call the cops.

“There might be some noise until around 11 or so,” she said. “One year someone called the police, can you imagine?”

As a matter of fact, I could imagine, because she is the very same person who called the cops a few years ago to complain that Dog was barking, which she later explained as “paranoia” because she was alone in her house and thought maybe Dog was barking at an intruder. Which Dog would only do if said intruder was dressed in a squirrel costume, but I guess she didn’t know that.

“Boy,” I said. “That’s just crazy, you’d think a neighbor would call you before just calling the police over something like that.” My ham-handed attempt at a lecture utterly failed, though, because she agreed wholeheartedly, shaking her head in disbelief.

Other than Clueless McCopperton, we don’t really know any of our neighbors, which I think is a bummer. I mean, we’re on a friendly-wave basis with a few, but that’s about it. The surrounding blocks are a grab-bag, demographically speaking, and I haven’t seen a lot of people our age or people with little kids. It makes me wonder what things will be like when Riley’s a little older—I hope we unearth some playmates within walking distance. Some of my favorite memories of growing up in Virginia have to do with playing outside with nearby kids, even including that one time I plummeted out of my friend Stacy’s weeping willow tree smack onto a picnic table.

Both JB and I are kind of socially impaired, which makes it hard to meet new people. But my feeling is that people in this area aren’t as friendly as people in, say, a Fannie Flagg book—everyone seems happy to stick to their own yard, their own business. Which is how I feel 99% of the time myself. Except I’d like Riley to feel exactly as if he was living in a Fannie Flagg book, you know what I mean?

What about you, do you know know your neighbors?

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