Tonight I did up a flyer for all my neighbors for a potluck, welcoming the new folks and as a sort of farewell to me/us, though Bryan is already gone and won’t be back. I keep encountering sadnesses I hadn’t banked on; little things that I overlooked on the “Things I’ll Miss” list.
I made enough copies of the flyer to either stick one under each door or tape it on the outside (some have better weather stripping than others), so everyone knew they were welcome. As I trooped around the side to John’s place I remembered the January night when Andre and I waded in thigh deep snow from our front door to his, falling in it as we went, so he’d have safe passage to the impromptu dinner I’d made. I flumped in a drift as soft as a down comforter and laughed as I brushed it off in the odd orangey light of the snowstorm, one of the few we had, and at that, not much to write home about.
This building has been a true community, a “dorm for grownups”, as I’ve described it to new folks. The shared soup, jumpstarts, emergency rides to work, bull sessions in the hallway, and summer afternoon siestas on the porch have bound this ever-evolving family together. It is that family, that never feeling alone that has made it possible for me to endure three months of separation from Bryan as I prepare for this move. Some of them say I had something to do with pulling them all together. But that’s a choice anyone can make; not to live in isolation. It’s a habit of saying “Why not?” more often than “Gee, I wish…”. Its as easy as knocking on a door with a container of soup. Love never returns void.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
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3 comments:
That post left me a bit sad.
But it was nice; very nice.
I don't know, I am just starting to be okay with the fact that part of 'Living Juicy' is letting go of those people and moments in time that make life wonderful. Their rarity and brevity is part of their value.
Wish that was how my first apartment had been. Instead of "Gee, why not.." it was more like, "Gee, I hope my neighbors downstairs stop yelling at each other and the kids on the bottom floor stop smoking pot so they don't set the place on fire." Ah...and as I think back to those wonderful days in the apartment on Spring Street in little ole' Sayre, Pa., I think about the night I had to call the police because the tiny little blond downstairs kept throwing herself against the door and screaming "Michaaaaaael! Miiiiiiiccchhhaaael! Let me in!" over and over again in between the thumps of her body on the wood door and in that lovely drunken melody only the expert drinker can have just before she slid down the door one last time in an exhausted heap and began to whimper like a puppy whose had his favorite bone taken from it (no pun intended.) Well, anyhow...not all of us can have those flowerly sweet memories like Kim, eh?
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