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So we went "running" today... [for "running" read "walking at a swift pace because to go any faster would cause a mutiny in the fat areas of my body, and mutinous fat is not a sight you want to see..."] and it made me realize something-- I miss living in a neighborhood.
I live kind of out in the country... our nearest neighbors are at least a full city block away from our house, unless you count cows and horses... In fact, we've all planted hedges and trees as a barrier between our houses, so that even the light from our respective spots won't intrude on other people's property. Well... actually, our house doesn't have spots, it has one messed-up porchlight, which is a whole other problem. [Especially if I'm getting out of the car at night after seeing some messed up scary movie in which some idiot chick tries to get into some spooky house at night and is totally attacked by some totally implausible but oh-so-disturbing monster of the week... gah... Where are my keys? What was that noise? Who's there??? Run! RUN!!!]
It would be strange to be able to go out for a walk or a bike ride and see neighbors... One of the last times I rode a bike down our dirt road at home, our neighbor didn't recognize me and my friends and snarled at us that "This ain't no public road!" from his dusty white pickup. Sure, I could jog down the lane at home, surrounded by a cloud of red dust, under the watchful eyes of neighborly cows... but somehow it's different when you can run along a paved populated road and check out Mrs. Smith's hydrangeas, and Mr. Davis's impatiens, and little Timmy Johnson out on his swing, and see that, once again, the Stevenses' cat is out under the old magnolia tree...
I guess what I really miss, and what draws me to perhaps living in a tiny house with no back yard crammed up next to nosy, noisy neighbors, is the sense of community I felt while jogging. People waved... people jogged... people walked their dogs... and some part of me just wanted to stay.
I live kind of out in the country... our nearest neighbors are at least a full city block away from our house, unless you count cows and horses... In fact, we've all planted hedges and trees as a barrier between our houses, so that even the light from our respective spots won't intrude on other people's property. Well... actually, our house doesn't have spots, it has one messed-up porchlight, which is a whole other problem. [Especially if I'm getting out of the car at night after seeing some messed up scary movie in which some idiot chick tries to get into some spooky house at night and is totally attacked by some totally implausible but oh-so-disturbing monster of the week... gah... Where are my keys? What was that noise? Who's there??? Run! RUN!!!]
It would be strange to be able to go out for a walk or a bike ride and see neighbors... One of the last times I rode a bike down our dirt road at home, our neighbor didn't recognize me and my friends and snarled at us that "This ain't no public road!" from his dusty white pickup. Sure, I could jog down the lane at home, surrounded by a cloud of red dust, under the watchful eyes of neighborly cows... but somehow it's different when you can run along a paved populated road and check out Mrs. Smith's hydrangeas, and Mr. Davis's impatiens, and little Timmy Johnson out on his swing, and see that, once again, the Stevenses' cat is out under the old magnolia tree...
I guess what I really miss, and what draws me to perhaps living in a tiny house with no back yard crammed up next to nosy, noisy neighbors, is the sense of community I felt while jogging. People waved... people jogged... people walked their dogs... and some part of me just wanted to stay.
