Last night we hosted our 2nd Annual Halloween Open Yard Party for the people on our street. Last year I transformed the shaded side of the house into a 17 x 40 foot outdoor entertainment area. (The gravel saga is for another day, but here's the quote, Hubby in a shocked tone as he stares at the pile in our front yard: "12 tons of gravel!! I thought you meant 2 tons!") Fire Bowl (Target, $100), smoky wood from trimmed trees ($0), s'mores ($10), no one catching fire (priceless).
At one point in the conversation, R, a black truck driver is discussing Chico sticks with S, a black speech therapist, while A, a white Verizon manager, and M, a black teacher swap stoop-cleaning stories. In Baltimore, famous for row homes, the front steps, or stoop, are made from white marble. A grew up in Greektown, and M grew up in East Baltimore, but each of them had to go out once a month with bleach and a scrub brush to clean those steps til they shone. Jrex is the only Asian on the street. In the midst of a discussion of spoon bread and cooking fads, I mentioned that my Mom loved cooking with her wok and we had chopstick eating contests growing up. That launched a whole discussion about how hard they were to use and did Jrex grow up using them. Before that moment, it felt like they'd all thought of him as just another white guy. All of a sudden he transformed into an exotic stranger: he grew up eating with chopsticks! The exotic concept for me was the image of a Saturday morning ritual where doors pour forth little kids with scrub brushes to kneel before marble stoops.
Our street is also home to a plumber, a special ed teacher, a postman, a couple nurse practitioners, a building contractor, an oncologist, a graphic designer (me!), and a Renaissance instrument maker. When I pass out invitations to events, I use it as an excuse to knock on neighbors doors to meet them. I've had tours of many of the houses on the street. I LOVE to see how people use their spaces, so I always enjoy excuses for that. I grew up on a block with an electric company, an abandoned building, an old people's home, two schools, and a church, so I never really had neighbors. I love being the nosy woman down the street... Watch out, it's all a ploy to satisfy my desire to collect random factoids and stories! It's not just your imagination, you ARE being used in my nefarious plot.
Perhaps that's the fun of reading people's blogs: a chance to collect random neighbors all over the world.
3 comments:
A-hum, no neighbors on your street? You knocking on doors reminds me so much of your mom! Do you remember going to hotels with her, 6 kids in tow, and she would ask to see the Presidential Suite; and they'd let us all check it out? And did you mention "The Church of the Open Door" across the street - the one with the locked iron grate across it, yet?
I thought YOU were the one that got us into the hotel! I loved those nights. No neighbors was on Sycamore. We only had the family across the street who would steal our car batteries. And then the Treadwells. But the story was more dramatic with the contrast...
I think they stole our gas, too.
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