It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood
I came home the other day to find a letter in my mailbox. Not from the postman, but folded and placed carefully in with the other notices and bills. It was from the lady across the street.
A beautiful day for a neighborWould you be mine? Could you be mine?
The contents of the letter were a reiteration of her complaints about my wife's and my participation in this year's National Night Out. For a more than a decade now, the families on our street have been gathering every first Tuesday in August to meet, greet, and eat.
It's a neighborly day in this beautywoodA neighborly day for a beautyWould you be mine? Could you be mine?
COVID put a little dent in our routine, but my wife and a few neighbors gathered on opposite corners to share a meal and holler at one another from a safe distance. The next year, we were right back at it.
I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like youI've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you
The lady across the street has anxiously tried to catch up, to be a part of the team. She has made fliers and taped them up around the street. She has offered up her portable fire pit. She is also one of the stops on our cat's path when he gets out of the house.
So, let's make the most of this beautiful daySince we're together, we might as well sayWould you be mine? Could you be mine?Won't you be my neighbor?
This year, in a rush to get things ready for the big night, I carried some of our deck chairs and our charcoal grill out to the street, and started a fire to be ready when folks started to show up. Little did I know that I was stepping on toes. Apparently the lady across the street felt it was her "job" to provide the grill, as well as to drive her car out to block traffic. We didn't know how great was our offense until my wife received a voice mail indicating that not only were her feelings hurt, but the lady across the street in plain but colorful language let us know that she no longer wanted to be part of this affair that had left her so badly maligned.
Won't you please, won't you please?Please, won't you be my neighbor?
At the time, we felt that time might heal those wounds, especially when she refused to accept any or all apologies from my wife. Sorry for the misunderstanding, we really hope that you'll reconsider. Weeks passed, and then I found the letter, addressed to my wife by name and "husband." So the husband walked across the street and knocked on her door. I waited while she fussed with the great many locks on her front door. When she called out, "Who is it?" I answered "Dave." Not "husband."
Neighbors are people who are close to usAnd friends are people who are close to our heartsI like to think of you as my neighbor and my friend
The conversation went about as well as the rest of the interactions surrounding this odd feud. I apologized to her and said that I hoped that she might reconsider, especially since we value her friendship and contributions so very much. She took the time to talk to me, but let me know in no uncertain terms where I could go and she was finished with us. When I got back home, my wife let me know that a few other neighbors had received similar letters of discontent.
Then I sat down on the bench, put on my sneakers and cardigan and went back to my reality.
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