When we first moved into our home 16 years ago, we were shocked by how friendly and welcoming our new neighbor is…
We want it to be like Brooklyn—we will meet our fellow apartment residents in the end, after running into them enough time in the hall to the mail station, or take a minute to ask what kind of breed, their dogs, while riding the Elevator. In our suburban hood, we soon discovered that our new neighbors took a more positive approach. Seth, on the street, showed up at our doorstep with his son and a basket of apples from the local farmer’s market. (Every Saturday 8:00 a.m. to 2:00, he was sure that we know.) Lori, mom of four(at the time ages 7 to 13)leaning on her fence, and when we moved to the sofa and handed me a piece of her on the phone(“don’t ask me anything anytime,”she told me.) And Madeline, mother of two children in the middle, preschoolers across the street, knock on the door of the most surprising things: index cards, she had to draw the outline of the entire block, to determine which families lived in this house. Her note with a telephone number, name and age of child, small stars, indicating that the potential nanny. I still have that index card, although half of the information is no longer accurate. (Madeline’s house itself has been turned twice.) Obviously life develop just as quickly in the suburbs, because they are in the city.
I remembered all this last month when I heard what my friend(neighbor)filed a lawsuit against several new family in her small town: a bundle of local take-out menus tied up with a bow. (At least I think they tied up with a bow.) Obviously, in this age of seamless, anyone can visit the local restaurant menus with a single click. But I like the idea of people hand pick her favorite point for a new comer, and even circled the outstanding cuisine. How good? How are you guys? What is the best thing for you to do a new neighbor? Or a new neighbor did for you?
P. S. an easy way to make new friends and a restaurant surprised me also in consideration of ten years later.
(This post was originally in dinner: a love story, four years ago, the joint license.)