As a child of the military I haven’t had much opportunity to tap into that neighborhood feeling so many of you enjoyed while growing up. We moved regularly while the old man was active duty, and once he finally put down roots I stayed in the breeze, the proverbial bad seed. I’ve lived in something like 18 different towns, 10 states and two countries. Hell, I’ve lived in five different parts of Bibleburg between 1967 and right this minute.
But I feel at home where I am now, and it’s not a simple matter of nifty real estate. It’s about people. Community.
Folks around here help each other out. One of us gets sick, another cooks for her. When the patient is back on her feet, the chef scores a little gratis landscaping. Do a little light snow shoveling, you’re liable to get repaid with a platter of corned beef from one neighbor and some homegrown greens and tomatoes from another. That sort of thing. We stop what we’re doing right this minute to chat each other up. Sometimes this means blocking traffic. Nobody calls the cops, or even honks. Instead, they join right in.
John Crandall came home from the hospital today, and his wife, Kathy, had asked if I would help wheel him the final few meters. I agreed, but not without my own internal reservations. Some stairs were involved, and the last time I took the lead on hauling a wheeled something up a flight of stairs I blew out my back (large refrigerator, small college, not my neighborhood, a whole other story).
But a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, so when the Crandalls rolled past with a honk, I headed for the door — just in time to see one of the neighbors crossing the street toward me. In some areas this might be cause for concern, but here it was Will, a soccer fiend who dabbles in track, weight-lifting, cycling and good deeds, and just the kind of guy you want around in this situation. I’ve seen him drop whatever he was doing to help a neighbor carry some groceries at an age when many a kid wouldn’t drop the Xbox if it were on fire, sprouting tentacles and shrieking “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh C’thulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn,” and a year of college hasn’t done him any harm the way it did me.
Will’s mom, who does her own share of good works, apparently had suggested to Will that John and Kathy might need more than one portly, bald-headed tosspot to get the man into his house without further need for medical assistance. So we strolled over to the Crandalls, leveraged John up the walk and into his house without incident.
Kathy went for a fresh bushel of meds, Will and I hung around and chatted for a bit, the landscaper popped round to say hi, and then we all went back about our business. Will’s was something like running up the Incline, which recently killed a guy. Mine was grocery shopping. Easier on the legs, harder on the belly.
I suppose I should’ve taken a picture. But honestly, this sort of thing happens around here so often that it’s hardly newsworthy.
Mad Blog Media 
Patrick, I usually just lurk here, but since you brought up ‘da hood. I have to comment. You are so right, we live in the best neighborhood ever. I can’t tell you how many times I was late to work for stopping and chatting and holding up traffic. Like you said it can be an improptu gathering. If it weren’t pre 8am, the gathering may even move to someones house to share some wine or crack a beer. Also, in a time of need we all have the best neighbors that are quick to run and make sure everyone is comfortable.
Glad to hear John is home and on the mend.
How is your Vespa treating you?
It is nice to live in a community such as you described and I take it as proof that people are basically good that so many of us do get to live in communities like ours.
That you live in such a place and see it as good, is perhaps proof that your grumpy anarchist persona is just an act?
Hey, Tanya — I haven’t seen you in forever.
I’m not riding my Vespa (or my other two-wheelers) as much as I’d like because of the unseasonable weather, but I hope to get back after it now. I need to get a few weeks of healthy miles under my ever-expanding belt before Le Tour sticks a pump in my spokes. Hard to believe it’s less than three weeks away.
How’s your Vespa? And is that a new VW I see in your drive — a Silver Beetle? Forgive me the obscure pre-Beatles reference.
Ben, never fear. I’m evil through and through. My aura is so black that even black holes look at it and go, “Damn, that’s some black shit you got goin’ on there.” But every now and then someone sees me early in the morning, mimicking human behavior, before I wake up enough to remember who and what I’m supposed to be.
I’d venture a guess that the ‘hood is the way it is because of the location. I noticed a very similar situation in San Diego and when SacTown had two Air Force bases. Nowadays, you’d be lucky to not get stared down by some gangbangin’ hoodlum throwing gang signs. The Springs probably attracts a more community minded crowd than most other towns due to the Air Force.
Its probably true that neighbors would be neighborly to each other. Many neighbors, on the other hand, are more than happy to shoot anyone else from outside the hood. Many of the folks in this nation would help their neighbors but would lynch a wetback.
Hence the parable about the Good Samaritan, i.e., the idea that one’s neighbors we should love and care for are not just the folks from around the block.
The Vespa’s are good. The ET4 got a new battery this year and another little great tip from our ‘hood. Butch is willing to do some Vespa work…Instead of me having to drive east of union (Something I hate to do, and usually requires therapy afterwards, similar to a trip to Wal-mart) to fetch a battery at “Batteries plus”. Butch ordered one in, installed it, charged it and sent me on my merry way.
The silver Beatle is not mine, but another one of my posse that recently moved into ‘da hood (Royer to be exact) It is my goal to get all my girlfriends to move into our neighborhood, buy VW Beatles then I always have drinking buddies with stylish vehicles, that we don’t have to drive.
I need to stop by and visit you guys or feel free and stop by and share some vino (I always have some)…and I’ll fill you in on the rest, like last time I saw you I was on my new Kona..Yeah, lost that a week later in a nasty car accident on I-70 on the way to Moab (rolled two times in a Toyota and survived to tell about it)…I got an even better Kona through insurance after that mayhem.
Anyways…we need to catch up…See/talk to you soon.
Hey Pat, got you beat on the states/countries 47 states and 3 countries by the time I was 15. Registered for 4 schools in 8th grade and actually got to go to 2 of them. Dad worked for the spooks, running their communications, and we kept moving around to put out fires with the spooks 😛 Did you know there used to be a Naval Communication station in Nebraska? That one was for taking with the submarines in the Pacific, the one for the Atlantic subs was in Michigan, where there was at least some water deep enough to float a real ship and pretend we were in the real Navy. I was very glad when Dad retired…
And I have lived in my current ‘hood for 14 years now and still don’t know the neighbors’ names…