Love the Lord your God and love your neighbors as yourself.
This is pretty easy to do because I’ve always had great
neighbors.
My earliest positive neighbor experiences in life were
growing up on Chatham Cir in Buffalo Grove, IL.
We lived on a half-cul de sac. We spent countless hours
playing softball or kick-the-can with all the neighborhood kids. Our parents
would sit on the front porch watching us ride our bikes in circles, while they gossiped
and chain-smoked. We didn’t just have two parents we had 8-10. Suzie and Ziggy,
Janie and John were my parent’s closest Chatham Cir friends. Bowling leagues
and BBQ’s and endless events filled our lives as they interacted year
around. I watched them celebrate big events like Christmas with neighborhood
themed decorations, or birthdays with banners and balloons in front of each others houses. They were young
married adults learning how to do suburban life together in the 70's.
Susie Holbach and Debbie Motto were my first neighborhood friends. (I don't have any pictures of us as children, only high schoolers) Debbie was a few years older than me. Because of her, I stole my mom’s cigarettes.
I learn how to be cool in 3rd grade as Debbie taught me to inhale
and blow smoke rings. After 3 weeks, I felt guilty for stealing and innately
knew that smoking was stupid and bad for my health. Never inhaled again. Well…not cigarettes.
Susie Holbach was my dearest friend on Chatham Cir. Out
numbered by the amount of boys in the neighborhood, we’d go off and play
‘house’ or make up dances while singing over and over the ‘5th
Dimension’s: Save The Country (which, OMG that song totally explains where my
hippy-thinking comes from!). Not having a sister growing up, Susie was the
person I wanted to spend my winter days playing dress up with, and my summer days sunning myself on the pool deck or
front lawn. While all the adults were experiencing big issues in their personal lives, we kept on playing. That's what kids do. Life was idealistically simple in our hood. Some days I wish someone would just tell me to go play outside and don't come home until the lamp post comes on.
When Rich and I got married, we moved to Country Fair
Village in Grayslake. It was a nice, safe apartment complex. Our kids would romp on the playground, tennis courts, or splash in the pool. Within weeks, a sense of community developed with my CFV neighbors.
Pam Stoy was the beautiful single woman who lived across the
hall. At 4 years old, Kevin had a crush on her and would tell me when “Pam’s
home.” Pam was a domestic goddess. She could cook, sew, and her home always
smelled like flowers. She was shy at first, wondering what to do with the crazy
young mom and all the kids who were running in and out of the hallways. Her
wicked sense of humor made us fast friends. We soon learned that we weren’t so
different. We spent time taking long walks (while I’d kick stones). In your
20’s, you’re coming to grips with your own dysfunctions. We were honest about
our own flaws and wondered why nobody else could see theirs and admit it too.
Laughing at it all kept us close. She was so kind to my son and stepchildren. I
thought if I died, Rich should marry Pam because she was much more together
than I was and could make meals that had flavor.
Rich Aikman was raising his little girl all by himself. He
was a biker dude who liked fixing cars. Kevin came home one day with baby
carrots. I asked him where he got them and he pointed me to the muscle guy in
the Harley t-shirt. I honestly had judged him out of hand, thinking he was
probably an ex-con engaged in something illegal. I decided we needed to be friends
if he was going to be feeding my kid carrots. He was harmless—a teddy bear. The
kids loved Neighbor Rich, and he was like a big brother to me. I loved Nicole
and treated her like a daughter too. There were other neighbors like the Pelars
and the Williams who made life wonderful for us the 5 years we lived in Grayslake.
Moving to Crystal Lake, once again, I got good neighbor
Karma.
The day we moved in it was a March snowstorm. Our new
neighbor, Randy Jones walked over, introduced himself and then gave us an extra
snow shovel. There would be many a snowstorm that Randy snowplowed us out of (usually while Rich was out of town). Randy, whom we affectionately think is a cross between Fred
Flintstone, Jim Belushi, and Tim the Tool Man. He's is a mans-man. His wife, Mary
Ellen, and their son’s Brad and Andrew make up Randy’s world. He’s a big softie
who loves who he loves and hate who he hates. If they are Fred and Wilma, we
are Barney and Betty. Randy has helped
us so many times I can’t even count anymore. “Randy, can you help with the
broken garage door? Um, Do you know why this tree is dying? Can you help Rich
not kill himself moving this piece of furniture?” Since I’m no domestic
goddess, I’ve never borrowed any cooking utensils from Mary Ellen. Neither one
of us could care less about cooking. Pour us a glass of wine, bring out the
hummus and veggies and she and I can sit all night and gab about life.
The longer we’ve known Randy and Mary Ellen, the more we
realize that we are different in some aspects. It turns out that’s not a bad
thing. It’s actually American. We have learned to accept each other’s political
and religious differences with respect and humor. He plants Romney signs in my front lawn, and I dress his dogs up with Obama scarves. All's fair in love and politics.
They say fences make great neighbors. For the first few
years after we moved in, as neighbors we walked over to each other’s property
to chat and shoot the breeze, and often share a meal. Then Randy and Mary Ellen
got a new dog. They said they were going to put up a fence. I was sad that
there was now going to be a wooden boundary between us. When the fence was put
up, Randy made an unspoken gesture of friendship. He put a gate in the middle
of the lot line, on our side, so we could still walk over and visit whenever we
wanted.
In the summer time we sit around the fire, watch 4th
of July parades together, BBQ, and go listen to local music together. A few
years ago we started having Soup Sundays during the long winter months. We keep
it simple: a few homemade soups are made (Randy makes the best soup) someone
brings bread, and someone brings dessert. There is always wine. Susan (who
lives on the other side of Randy) and Steve and Jamela (who live on the other
side of us), and Randy, Mary Ellen, and their boys, Brad and Andrew all join us.
We break bread, laugh, and catch up.
I know people come and go in our lives. People move away and
go on to live in other places. We no longer live in the day and age where
people live in the same home for 40 years. I know what I have right now with
all my wonderful neighbors will change. I’m still friends and in touch with all
of my past neighbors, and trust that the ones I have now will go from being
neighbors to life long friends.
