This is the neighborhood I live in.
My friend Judy, Dale, and I are sitting on the front stoop, enjoying the bright sunshine, breezes, and staggeringly blue sky. Have you ever noticed that no one ever looks at their watch or worries about chores or to-do lists when they're sitting on a front stoop, talking and having a drink? It is one of life's great mysteries, and should be indulged in regularly for the upkeep of one's soul.
Anyway, Judy and I have just returned from a bike ride. My upstairs neighbor is in the driveway, working on his truck. As we are sitting, we watch an elderly woman, walking her shitzu, approach our driveway and stop. She calls to Rodger, and the dog perks up hearing his name. Rodger calls hello, then she turns to us. We introduce ourselves as the new tenants, and she points to another three-family home two houses down from us, and says, "I'm Mrs. Kelly, and I've lived in that house right over there for 55 years."
Sometimes, life really is that simple and beautiful. For many years, I've questioned why I've stayed in this town I've lived my whole life in. Today was not one of those days.
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