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Once upon a time in a neighborhood far away, neighbors talked to each other and were friends.  Not neccessarly because of common interests, although sometimes those could be found.  Sometimes it was because the kids on the street were friends and therefore the parents ended up that way too in some shape or form. 

On holidays you would take a warm meal to the elderly couple just down a few houses, and make an effort to go visit them once a week because their own family lived too far away to visit often.  When a new neighbor moved in, you would go by that first week and introduce yourself and take over some type of baked good.  If you noticed your neighbors paper in their driveway for two days straight, you would go and pick it up for them and check to make sure they were okay.

Once upon a time there were neighbors.  The word meant something.  There were the sterotypes of course, but you were comforted in a good ole’ fashioned way of knowing they were still there no matter how annyoing or great they happened to be.

I have been lucky in my lifetime and had some great neighbors, some that have gone from just being neighbors that actually become friends who remained friends even after address changes. 

We still have yet to meet any of our neighbors.  Seriously.  There are little bits of information that we know about them only from observation, but aside from that – nothing.  It seems a little odd to go across the street, or to next door and introduce yourself as the new kids on the block.  I’m starting to wonder if that’s what we’re going to need to do.  It seems odd to share “space” on this bit of earth that we live on and not know the people who are around you.  Perhaps in the summer it will be different when it’s warmer out and there are community activities.

In the meantime I’m still waxing nostaligic about what it used to be like, back before our world become more corrupt and when “Wisteria Lane” had neighbors.

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