There Goes the Neighborhood

We moved into our new home about a month ago.

It's not that far from where we used to live.

But it's not where we used to live.

Which is probably... 

definitely...

...a good thing.

Brand new area.

Brand new street.

And brand new start.

Now we loved where we use to live.

And we loved our old neighbors.

But like the ghosts of girlfriends past, that is the past.

The present is all about starting life all over again.

At least for me.

And so far, so good.

One of our first days here, we got a visit from one of our new neighbors.

They brought a Bundt Cake from the local bakery.

The next day, another neighbor said hello.

And they brought us...

Another Bundt Cake.

From that same local bakery.

It’s a good thing we like bakeries.

And it's a good thing we like Bundt Cakes.

Plus, it's the thought that counts.

And from my seat, them was some very nice thoughts.

The fat-fest continued this past weekend.

Saturday another neighbor brought something called a "Magic Cookie Bar”.

Homemade.

Allrecipes.com defines this magical mystery bar as:

“An old fashioned favorite. Chocolate chips, nuts and coconut are set in a caramelized layer on top of a graham cracker crust."

Considering my self-imposed diet, all I could do was sniff.

And that sniff still cost me 300 calories.

That was Saturday.

Sunday these diet saboteurs struck again.

This time it was another neighbor.

With brownies.

Also homemade.

With a thick fudge frosting.

Little did I know we had moved in with the Ace of Cakes.

But thankfully I stayed strong.

Do you know how delicious a peeled grapefruit is?

I do.

When we moved here, I had a pretty good idea we would like the neighborhood.

But you never know about the neighbors.

Well this was a great start.

One by one our neighbors have come by.

Bringing dessert.

And a bucket of new info on our new home.

Like the pack of coyotes we can hear from our back yard.

And the snow that doesn’t ever melt on our driveway.

Because we are facing the wrong direction.

You know, all the things the realtor forgot to mention.

But the good news is, we still love it here.

And we certainly like the people.

The people in our neighborhood seem to have a lot in common.

2.4 kids per house.

With a dog.

Or two.

A cedar fence.

Brown.

No white pickets here.

And I have a direct connection with the neighbor across the street.

As I was leaving the driveway the other day, he was taking out the trash.

I stopped to say hello.

And within seconds I got a scoop.

A scoop of info, not a scoop of trash.

He told me that he’s been home for the last two years.

Like me.

Following a company merger.

Like me.

And he’s had a hard time finding a new gig.

Like me.

Then he told me that he's embarrassed.

Embarrassed to admit that he really enjoys being at home.

He enjoys doing the laundry.

And the shopping.

And the cooking.

And taking the kids to school.

Just like me.

I could tell from his reaction.

And the smile on his face.

That he was very excited to have a brother in arm's reach.

Right across the street.

During the last few years of life without a job, I have felt a lot of emotions.

But I don’t remember feeling embarrassed for taking good care of my family.

And neither does he.

Anymore.