Love Thy Neighbor

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 3^rd 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 ‘5^th 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 4^th 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.