How Close Is Next Door?

We live in a close-knit neighborhood on Treeline Street among friends. I say "close-knit" because it takes about ten seconds to walk next door to Crawford’s house on one side and ten to reach Dietz’s on the other . . . ten to Helen’s across the street and ten to Diana’s and the Nielsen’s, who live kitty-corner. The Wongs, O’Connors and Moores live a few steps further. We live on the same street, but in different worlds. You can do that in the 21st Century.

Last week, I baked cookies and divided them up for some of my neighbors because it’s been several months . . . well, maybe a year . . . since I’ve seen most of them.

I found out some new stuff. Crawfords are planning a trip to Bosnia to visit their son, Christian, who serves as a medic in the military. Eleanor O’Connor continues to inspire her art students, and Ed is trying to get rid of a lingering cough. Diana’s mom is well enough to manage the activities of two pre-teens, who each grew at least six inches last year. When I tried to deliver Helen’s cookies, she wasn’t home, and the cookies looked good. We ate them. Mexican wedding cakes, you know. Irresistible.

My next-door neighbors live further than my email and phone friends in Tennessee, Colorado, Utah and West Virginia. Still . . . I’m glad I baked cookies, opened my front door and walked a few steps to knock on their doors. For the record, I plan to bake again real soon so I’ll have an excuse to visit Helen, the Dietz’s and some of the others. Because next-door is a good place for close friends to live.