Neighborly

(not the actual tamales. We ate them too fast! Image from here)

We live on a diverse street. White, black, brown. Wiccan, Christian, Crazy, Atheist, Political. It's quite the mix. When we first moved here, it was kind of intimidating. I mean, really, we didn't 'fit in'. In my short time on this earth, I've rarely met a stranger, but I often look for common ground before take a step toward that would-be friend. It's harder to find here and I've held back, searching for a way over the wide gulf that seems to separate our yards and hearts. (Cookies often help. And babies. And a friendly dog.)

However, a new family moved in and like any nosy neighbor, I watched them, wanting to meet them. I couldn't figure out the dynamic over there, across the street. Who was the mom? Which kids belonged with which adults? Do they speak my language? A place to begin came when the kids kicked their soccer ball up into the tree. I offered mine with the provision that it got returned to my porch at the end of the night. They shyly accepted about a month ago. Then the mom would wave and call 'Buenos Dias' as the kids walked to the bus. Then the children came to ask me a question and so the progression tumbled toward acquaintance. First with my dog, then with my baby, then with me.

Now, most afternoons, I watch a wild game of street soccer with Cora on my lap, swatting mosquitoes, and passing the baby to little girls eager to hold my girl who looks so big in their arms, tending to little wounds with my first aid supplies, and chatting in a hodge podge of Spanglish. I've talked with the mom, (there are actually two moms, and 8 children between them, but no husband or man around) and tonight she invited me into her kitchen and gave me a whole pile of homemade tamales to take home for our supper (which were A. Mazing. By the way). They invited us to a birthday party on Saturday. I think we'll go. I like being neighborly!