After shooing the kids out the door to begin another school year, this sight greeted me:
Sigh. Our neighbors are moving. Again.
The house to our right has gone through three owners in the ten years we’ve been here.
The first owners built the house. I loved Mary; she is a coluratura soprano and we spent many happy hours in my foyer with her singing and me playing piano. She was funny and smart, and we shared life’s joys and struggles. She and Dan didn’t have kids, so she loved mine.
But in 2008, they got divorced. He didn’t want such a big house, and she couldn’t afford it herself. They hurriedly moved out, and I remember Mary coming over and asking if I wanted all the stuff in the fridge.
Ummm … sure. Most of it was fancy schmancy stuff we’d never eat, but it did prompt my husband to drag our old fridge from the garage into the laundry room, where it’s remained ever since — the better to store the stuff in. Every time I pulled out some unusual spice, I’d think of Mary and remember good times.
The next owners were worlds apart from Dan and Mary. They were Jerry and Stacy, from Indianapolis. They had three girls like we did, and had lived all over the world as Stacy followed her high-powered career arc. Jerry was Mr. Mom, and we bonded at the bus stop. He could discuss art, music, you name it — and he was hilarious.
My girls loved their girls; my littlest got over her fear of water while taking lessons from Molly in their pool. They put in that pool and a circular drive and completely re-did the basement, and I was glad that they’d be staying here awhile.
At least, I thought so. Just over two years later, they announced that they’d be moving to New Jersey.
But off they went, first asking if we’d like … yep, the contents of their fridge.
And thus, I became once again the proud owner of all types of exotic foods. Looking in the fridge just now, I find quite a bit still there.
I see that it expired in 2008. I guess I need to throw it out. But I kind of hate to.
The house was next purchased by a family we knew through our 4-H club. When the girls saw them touring the house, we were all so excited. “I’m going to pray that they move in!” one of my daughters announced, and we told this to Jean, the family’s mom. She was so touched (they don’t attend church), that I like to think that we prompted them to buy the house (with a little divine guidance, perhaps).
We knew that Jean and her family would be here forever. Her three kids all knew ours, and they’d lived in this area all their lives.
So when they told us a few months ago that they, too, were moving to Indianapolis, I couldn’t believe it.
But the moving van is here today. I need to run errands, but I feel like I need to wait a little while. Jean may need somewhere to bring the contents of her fridge.