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July 26, 2009

Neighbors

While I grew up in suburbia, my house was not located in a development. There were many benefits to this but one thing lacking were other kids- aside from my immediate neighbors, there weren't many other playmates to be found. As a result, my neighbor and I made friends with other adults in the neighborhood. We hung around hoping to talk with people and eagerly awaited the offer to come inside their kitchens or play on their lawns. I like to think that this was my earliest experience of wanting to see what the insides of other people's houses looked like. That never dissipated.

I really hadn't given much thought to this part of my childhood until recently. Buying this house thrust us into a new form of domesticity that neither Lex nor I were completely prepared for. I get anxious and jealous when our neighbors fix up their front properties and want to fix ours. We suddenly are worried about the condition of our front and back stoops. We also have little neighbors.

The previous owners of our home began the tradition of talking to and playing ball with the kids next door over our shared fence. We've tried to continue it, having brief conversations with the six and eight year old, letting them reach through the chain link to ring Alexis' bike bell or sneak a leaf of our basil or mint. They are extremely interested in our cats (You have four? I want to see the fat one? Which one is Irving? Why does the little one live upstairs?). Now, after only a few weeks, we know their birthdays (and their mother's), they can recite our future kid's due date and they've already had a chance to check out our house and chase and scare the living daylights out of our feline brood. Mostly, though, they are obsessed with Alexis. When they see me outside they demand to know where he is (Why is he still at work? Tell him to come home.). He throws balls back and forth and talks to them about Star Wars through the fence. I usually listen to their conversations from the kitchen and smile.

This summer has been so different for us-- a combination of nesting frenzy and backyard relaxation, a near constant evaluation and reevaluation of who we are and where we're going, all the while preparing for an amazing, ever more tangible life change. It's the little moments, like the smell of fresh tomatoes and basil intermingling with the sounds of soccer balls bouncing on the pavement and Alexis and the neighborhood kids outside, that remind me how wonderful the evolution of adulthood really is.

It makes my favorite Mark Strand poem all the more relevant.

The Good Life

You stand at the window.
There is a glass cloud in the shape of a heart.
There are the wind's sighs that are like caves in your speech.
You are the ghost in the tree outside.

The street is quiet.
The weather, like tomorrow, like your life,
is partially here, partially up in the air.
There is nothing that you can do.

The good life gives no warning.
It weathers the climates of despair
and appears, on foot, unrecognized, offering nothing,
and you are there.

Posted by callalillie at July 26, 2009 7:55 PM | Home

COMMENTS

Posted by: Nicole at July 27, 2009 11:33 AM