LOVE THY NEIGHBOR!

By

Gerry Niskern

I’ve lived in l8 neighborhoods, give or take a few. The one thing I’ve learned is that neighbors are a luck of the draw.  When Ken and I bought our first house, we assumed our neighbors would be around our age. We visualized new friends and great parties. Wrong!

Our’s was the first house built in the subdivision.  We watched in dismay as people old enough to be our grandparents moved in all around us. Turned out, their idea of Happy Hour wasn’t sharing parenting woes and the sound of  babies crying. Our entertainment instead was listening to  the Italian couple across the street arguing every night, even above the noise of the evaporative cooler and the TV. Seems  there was a question of what she did while he was overseas fighting in WWII that still needed to be settled.

Our next house had a big yard and we put in the only pool  in the area. Some preteens weren’t happy about that and decided to throw several buckets of paint into the water one night. It took a ton of Pot Ash to clear that up.

Don’t get me wrong. Some neighbors have been great!. I still remember the warm feeling of welcome when a couple from Alabama welcomed us to our new place in California with a wonderful chicken dinner. They introduced us to Shakey’s Pizza and shared lots of good times.

Once in another house the people next door regularly called the police when our two sons and friends were practicing with their band in the garage. Their children asked us quite frequently why we didn’t go to  church.

We lived in a condo in Costa Mesa once and the elderly lady above us rearranged her furniture every night. Another Senior stood and stared at our picture window for l5 minutes at a time. We weren’t sure, but thought she was the same woman.

For twenty-five years we lived on the side of the North Phoenix Mountain and had a fantastic view of the valley. I’ll admit we were kind of smug and  didn’t really worry about neighbors. Except for one.He lived down below and  stood in is garage and stared at his huge tool box for hours on end; not working, just staring. Turns out he wasn’t the one we should have been worried about. One evening the police set of a couple of percussion bombs that shook the neighborhood and raided the house next to him. They picked up several druggies. You never know.

I’m in another home now. I’m the new kid on the block. I’m very slowly meeting everyone; they are all super busy. Someone just bought the house across the street. When I came home yesterday a skip loader was hauling dirt out of their back yard. Seems they are building a pool.

I think it is  time to introduce myself.