I moved into my neighborhood about nine months ago and I have yet to really meet a neighbor. It’s spring, and the ‘hood is bustling, and I’m shouting “Hi!” and “Hello!” with good response, but not getting much further. Fuzzy neighbors are slippery like that.
I call them fuzzy because I’m near-sighted and I rarely wear my glasses if I’m not driving or watching The Real Housewives of anywhere in this country. So, the people could be giving me dirty looks, could be smiling, could be talking to me on line in the grocery store, but I’d never know it unless I started wearing my glasses. Up close, they’d be people with faces, instead of fuzzy neighbors from afar. However, up close seems like a thousand miles away–quite a journey–and I’m ready to take the first step.
Truth be told, I was mad at all of them for months. I really love my new home and I pictured my neighbors approaching me–all giddy and glee–with welcome baskets and Real Housewives conversation. Never happened. The most dialogue I got was when the next door neighbor asked me to stop allowing my dogs to go to the bathroom in his yard. He was right, that happened. In my defense, that was after he neglected to bring me a goody basket or even come out and say “hey” when we were moving in. You saw me moving in! I know you did, you big being of fuzz.
So, lately I’ve been having a few conversations with my friends (of which I have MAN-Y–and good ones too, fuzzy neighbors) about my neighborhood. And someone made the most enlightening statement, “To have good neighbors, you have to be a good neighbor.” Aha! I will no longer let the dogs loose in the yard, because they don’t behave and tend to roam off wherever they want, which happens to be just across the imaginary–but very real–border between my neighbor’s house and mine. I’ve started taking those dogs on more walks, AND I bring plenty of poo bags. With that, I feel that I am becoming more neighbor-licious every day.
Therefore, I am going to meet you now, fuzzy neighbors, whether you like it or not. You may be wondering, “who is that woman who keeps waving at me when she drives past my house?” Or, “Who keeps shouting ‘hello’ at us from two blocks down the street?” Or, “What’s that lady doing on our lawn?” She is me. And I was simply admiring your tulips–what a good year for them, wouldn’t you say? Next time, come out and greet me. I’m not crazy. I’m just so darn good-neighborly.