On Wednesday there was a buzz in the air. You could hear it at work, on the radio, on the TV, it was everywhere. For the first time this winter, there was talk of inclement weather. This possible frozen precipitation had the DOT out salting the roads and it encouraged my job to send out a reminder about our inclement weather policy.

Daniel and I carpool to work nearly every day. Wednesday was no different. Somewhere between 4:30PM and 5:30PM, one of us will IM the other one with something like "ready?" or "when do you want to leave?". This is usually followed by "Now-ish" or "Give me a minute." Well, Wednesday was different in this respect. Daniel sent me a message a little after five asking, "Are we staying overnight just in case it's too dangerous to drive in to work in the morning?" to which my response was, "No because I don't have my sled with me."1

In the car, on the drive home, Daniel and I reminisced about the great snows of the late eighties and early nineties, when we were young and free of responsibilities. Days when snow meant staying home from school and playing in the winter wonderland. We talked about the times when it would be so bad that the road was a sheet of ice, primed for some sledding.

This got me to thinking about the neighborhood that I grew up in. On those days when everyone was snowed in and couldn't go to work, we would all hang out in the street. I'm not talking about just us kids. Our parents would come out, too. I remember once someone used their metal trash can and started a fire in it. We'd all play outside, while our parents would huddle together and talk. On occasion, one of the dads would "show us how it's done" and take a trip down the hill. I just remember that there was community in our neighborhood.

It could've been that we had all moved in at the same time. We all moved in when the subdivision was first built. It could've been that our parents all had something in common, us. Most of the people that lived in the neighborhood were families with young children. I can't say for sure what it was, but in those days it seemed like everyone knew everyone.2

Now, my thinking shifts to my neighborhood. Outside of the people that I knew before they moved into the neighborhood, I don't know anyone. We've lived there for almost a year and a half. I've met the girl next door, Martha, but only in passing. It makes me wonder why. I could come up with a million reasons, but they'd probably sound more like excuses. When it comes down to it. I just haven't tried to meet any of my neighbors.

When Daniel dropped me off in front of my house on Wednesday, Martha's man3 was pulling the trash can to the curb. I gave him the standard "what's up?" head raise and said "how's it going?". Of course, I wasn't really asking how he was doing, I was more acknowledging that I could see him and knew that he could see me and to avoid seeming rude, I'll say something and continue to walk into my house. This has happened a few times, but this time was different.

I followed up my standard acknowledgment of his existence with, "Hey, what's your name?" I found out that his name is Travis. I also found out that he is Martha's fiance. They are engaged, but have not decided when they want to get married, yet. He catches flack from his folks about this.

I don't feel like after this one brief conversation that Travis and I are best buds or anything, but I do think this interaction opens the door to more conversations in the future. However, I hear it's supposed to snow on Saturday and if I plan for us to stand in the road drinking hot chocolate while we sled, I better get on the ball developing our relationship.

Do any of you have any great snow stories?

1. back There are some hills here on campus that would be awesome for sledding.


2. back In those days, our parents would also get together and have "deck parties". I'd refer to them now as keggers. Everyone in the neighborhood would come over to one house and hang out. There'd be food, music, and booze. You didn't have to worry about your neighbors calling the cops because all your neighbors were there.


3. back He gets this title because I know neither his name or his relationship to Martha.

Labels: community