Forever Neighbors

 It’s funny how life works out. Whether you believe in cosmic chance or divine appointments, there are times in your life where you find yourself in the right place at the right time. Such was the case around 13 years ago when the house next door became vacant close to the time when we were about to become empty-nesters. When you live in the suburbs you don’t get to choose your neighbors so when someone moves out there’s always the possibility that the people who move in wind up being a family full of tuba-playing narcissists. So when the house went up for sale Pam and I were nervous.

We both hoped that a young family with kids would move in rather than an older couple…er, like us. I mean, I’ve got nothing against the elderly, in fact I hope to be one some day. It’s just that having children around brings life. It also brings noise, chaos and a yard full of toys, but that’s part of the grand bargain. So we prayed that God would send us a young family with kids who could help us deal with having just spent the last 25 years of our lives raising our own, then watching them grow up and move away. We got exactly what we prayed for…and last night the doorbell rang and there they all were standing on our walk telling us that they had just put a contract in on a house and would be moving a few miles away. The Mom told us that the three kids would only sign on to the move if their parents promised to have us over for dinner at least once a month! 

When they moved in they had a a toddler and Mom was pregnant. Now that toddler is damn near as tall as I am and he has two sisters. We have watched them grow up. It has been a joy and an adventure. One of them fell out of a second story window, there have been multiple broken bones and tons of noise. We went through COVID as neighbors. They looked after Lucy a thousand times for us over the years. We have filled their house with trinkets from Maine, bought every single thing the kids have sold over the years from lemonade to raffle tickets. We’ve watched each of the kids change over the years both physically and emotionally. Each of them have developed unique personalities. We’ve also watched their parents navigate the impossible job of parenthood, from wide-eyed terror to fierce confidence. The fact that they are moving is perfectly predictable and proper. They need space not just for their kids but for their friends. Mom very much wants to be that house where everybody hangs out, just like we had for years before they all grew up and disappeared.

Before I became an actual grandparent last June, I had been honing my Pop-skills with the three goofballs who lived next door. I have enjoyed every minute of it. But now they will be moving out soon and Pam and I will be bracing for whoever replaces them. But on some level nobody ever could. 

I’ve always loved the expression used to describe when a family adopts a pet from an animal shelter. It is said that the dog or cat has found their “forever home.” Well, when The Garlands moved in 13 years ago we didn’t know it at the time but we found our “forever neighbors.” 

The address doesn’t matter…

My Encounter With a Gas Pump

 I have spoken many times in this space about my cluelessness about how much things cost. For one thing most of the buying of things required for daily life in the Dunnevant household is done by Pam. But I do my share of grocery shopping while she is away and I never notice the price of anything. I just put it in the cart and pay for it at the register. End of story.

But the other day I had a moment. I had not bought gas since returning from the Columbia trip and my dashboard was hitting me with lots of flashing red lights and pictures of near empty tanks with the words WARNING: LOW FUEL LEVELS. So I pulled in to a Shell station on Patterson Avenue. I flashed my debit card and selected regular. Then, as is my custom, I busied myself with cleaning the windshield and gathering up trash to throw away. Then I heard the familiar click informing me that the fueling was over. It was then that I removed the nozzle and put it back in place. I almost missed it, but something made me glance up at the meter where I was confronted with the picture which accompanies this post.

First of all, you will notice that I pushed this particular tank to the brink. It’s never wise to drive around with less than a half gallon of gas in your tank! But the top number grabbed my attention. $83.41…for gas. If you do the math that comes out to $4.25 per gallon. Yes, I’m aware that the price is currently inflated due to Straight of Hormuz difficulties, and could just as suddenly drop back down to previous levels when an end to hostilities can be found. But…man-o-man.

I can remember like it was yesterday the very first time I drove my 1966 VW beetle to the Gulf station across the street from the ball field at Hunton Baptist church to fill up the tank myself, with my own money. I was 16 years old or so and feeling free as a bird in the heady days of first responsibilities. My old Beetle had a 10 gallon tank and it was close to stomp empty (clearly an inbred character flaw). I filled it up to the brim, put the nozzle back in place and walked into the store, reached into my wallet and gave Mr. Higgins a fresh, clean five dollar bill. He gave me change back. It was .36 a gallon.

Before we get all nostalgic, I should point out that 1972 was the last year of the cheap gas era since 1973 would produce the Arab Oil Embargo and the rest is horrifying history. Still, if you were to adjust that .36 per gallon price for 52 years of inflation, in today’s money that would be $2.60 a gallon—which, I should point out isn’t far from where gas was priced before the current war with Iran. So…not bad.

Still, it was a bit shocking to see that $83.41 price staring back to me. I looked at that number and thought about a young couple with a kid or two just getting started and wondered how this would hit them? Then I thought about older folks less fortunate than me. What other necessities will they have to forego to fill up their tanks?

While the cost of things might be an irritant to me, it’s make or break for a lot of other folks. We all need to keep that in mind as we go about our daily routines. Keep your eyes open for people who might be struggling. If you are in a position to help, do so with wisdom and discretion.

A Rough Ten Days

 The last ten days have been a lot.

Last week Pam and I went down to spend a week with our grandson and his parents. While we were there we had to take him to the Pediatrician three times. He began breaking out with what first looked like a rash, then perhaps chicken pox, mostly on his back and the top of his head. While none of this is life threatening, it is still a helpless feeling when one so small and innocent has any kind of health concern. Since this is the first time it has happened to him and me, it kind of breaks my heart.

To add insult to injury, towards the end of the week three of the four adults in the house came down with strep throat. For cosmic reasons that defy all notions of fairness, I somehow dodged the bullet. We drove back home last Saturday and “rested” for 48 hours, then Pam headed back down on Monday to keep him at home this week until he turns the corner and these rashes get under control. I am here in Short Pump, holding down the fort preparing for the arrival of Patrick and Sarah from Tennessee this Saturday for one night, hand off their sweet pup Frisco and then fly to London for an long-planned vacation. Pam hopes to arrive back home before they arrive.

The only good thing about Silas’ situation is that so far these rashes have not changed his behavior and outlook on life. The boy has been his adorable, laughing, adventurous, playful self through it all, gobbling up everything on his plate, crawling everywhere, and babbling on like nothing whatsoever is wrong. Still, I can hardly stand to look at the photographs of the rash on his back. I want to take them away. I want them to be on my back and not his.

It’s the exact same feeling I used to get whenever Kaitlin or Patrick got sick when they were little. I always feel like it is monstrously unfair when children get sick. They don’t understand what’s happening and you can’t explain it to them. You just have to die inside a bit while giving them their medicine…and you do a lot of praying.

I have been a Christian for over 50 years and in all that time I have always struggled praying for myself. Asking God for help with personal issues always felt too much like whining, especially since what I was praying about was usually the result of my own stupidity or hubris. But whenever one of my kids got sick I had no problem storming heaven’s gate. With Silas it’s at a totally different level. Let’s just say that over the last 48 hours or so, God and I have been on a first name basis.