Tag Archive for: Neighbors

Fences
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by Saralyn Richard

 

Do good fences make good neighbors? In the past few months, I’ve gained new neighbors on either side of my house. There’s a brand-spanking-new fence between my yard and that of the neighbor to the north. There’s no fence between my yard and that of the neighbor to the south. I love both sets of neighbors. We’ve shared lots of visits in our front yards, several barbecues and parties, baked goods, pets, children, home improvement advice, and more. They may be pine, and I, apple orchard, but I enjoy spending time with them and being part of their community.

Robert Frost’s MENDING WALL is one of my favorite poems. His last line is the source for my opening question. I find a lot of wisdom in this poem:

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

The same analogy applies to my relationships with fellow authors in The Stiletto Gang. I may be police procedural and they cozy writers, but we have much in common, and we can help each other every time we meet to walk the line and re-build the wall (which might just be the website). I’m grateful for my neighbors, my Stiletto Gang colleagues, and everyone who reads this post. May all your walls be mended, and may all your neighbors be good.

Galveston Author Saralyn Richard

Award-winning author and educator, Saralyn Richard writes about people in settings as diverse as elite country manor houses and disadvantaged urban high schools. She loves beaches, reading, sheepdogs, the arts, libraries, parties, nature, cooking, and connecting with readers.

Visit Saralyn and subscribe to her monthly newsletter here, or on her Amazon page here.

 

Neighbors and Critique Partners

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By: Donnell Ann Bell

Hello! I am the newest member of the Stiletto Gang, and as a mystery writer and a woman who loves shoes, I will do my best to fit in. I
wrote an article for Stiletto Gang way back in the day https://donnellannbell.com/characters/
 Call me biased, but I still think it’s relevant.

Much has changed since that article, however. I’ve
written more books, I’ve relocated from Colorado Springs, Colorado to Las
Cruces, New Mexico, and with the exception of COVID-19, so far so good. This
city, thirty minutes from El Paso, Texas, has an amazing culture and some of
the kindest people I’ve ever met. Imagine (pre-COVID by the way), walking into
the grocery store when somebody sneezes, and from every surrounding aisle,
people shout, “God bless you.” Also, while I may miss Colorado’s green, you
can’t beat New Mexico’s sunsets.

Land of Enchantment’s Sunset 

One of the hardest things about leaving Colorado after
thirty-plus years was saying goodbye to lifetime friendships. Las Cruces has a
way to go to compete, but my next-door neighbor is working hard at making the
list. She arrived on my doorstep with cookies (my downfall), and our friendship
quickly became reciprocal. Like me, she has a creative side. Where I write, she
paints.  

Tuscany Village by Carol Oxford 

One of the things I love about my new home is my front courtyard. But it was kind of sparse, so I went to work decorating. I found this adorable chihuahua and put him just out my front door. Wouldn’t you know it, though, my artistic neighbor pointed out something was missing.

Every chihuahua needs …
… a friend

One person I didn’t have to say goodbye to although we live
1,882 miles apart is my critique partner, Lois Winston, who I’d met online,
then in person on a transport van that delivered us to a conference. We’ve
exchanged chapters and brainstormed for years. We walk while we talk (because
we’re notorious multitaskers), and I can’t tell you how many “aha” moments we’ve
had via our treks.

I’m also close to Stiletto Gang member Cathy Perkins. She’s
a great conference roommate, by the way (Portland as I recall), and she and her
husband have visited Las Cruces. She’s a major talent, and one day I hope to
see her gorgeous home in the Pacific Northwest. 

Donnell, Cathy & spouses

That’s basically my introductory blog in a multi-cracked
nutshell. Looking forward to sharing thoughts, ideas and hopefully a little
laughter.

 Do you have a
neighbor you love and/or a valued critique partner? In my opinion, they make
the world a whole lot brighter.

About  Donnell’s latest book: A cold case
heats up when a 9-1-1 call puts police at a Denver murder scene pointing
investigators to the abduction of a Colorado teenager fourteen years before.
The connection? A calling card—a single black pearl—is found on the newest victim. Is the murder
a copycat? Or has a twisted serial killer, thought dead or in prison, returned
to kill again?

The hunt for a multi-state killer is
on and brings together an unexpected team: a Denver Major Crimes police
lieutenant; an FBI special agent who investigated the previous murders, a
rookie FBI agent with a specialty in psychology; and the only living victim of
the Black Pearl Killer is now a cop.

For Special
Agent Brian DiPietro, the case is an opportunity to find answers. For Officer Allison
Shannon, the case will force her to face down the town that blamed her for
surviving when another did not. And for both DiPietro and Shannon, it’s a
chance to find closure to questions that have tormented them both for years.


Bio: Donnell Ann Bell gave up her nonfiction career in
newspapers and magazines because she was obsessed with the idea she could write
a mystery or thriller. An award-winning author, including the 2020 Colorado
Book Award finalist for her latest release Black Pearl, A Cold Case Suspense,
Donnell’s other books have included Buried Agendas, Betrayed, Deadly Recall and
The Past Came Hunting, all of which have been Amazon bestsellers. Currently
she’s writing Book Two of her Cold Case series. For further information or buy information, please go to www.donnellannbell.com
 

 

 

 

A Note from an Old Neighbor

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I loved the old house the moment I saw it. There was an elegance to it. It had, as the realtor reminded me, “good bones,” despite the old-fashioned kitchen and bathrooms that we had no money to update. But it had seven bedrooms, a Palladium window on the landing of a staircase that would have enchanted Scarlet O’Hara, and a back stairway from the attic down to the kitchen (for the maids who undoubtedly lived in the attic when the house was first built). It was way too big for our family of three, soon to be four, but I loved it.

It wasn’t until we had moved in, however, that I learned what I really loved about this old house – the neighbors that came with it. Right next door was a sweet retired couple, Jean and Raymond. He had been the librarian of the Divinity School, and in a cruel twist of fate, had developed macular degeneration. By the time we knew them, he could no longer read. But his wife, a kind, gentle lady who did beautiful cross-stitchery, could. I can still hear her reading to him as they sat on their enclosed screen porch, throughout the spring and summer months. When I had the baby I was carrying when we first moved in, she made totally impractical, but absolutely gorgeous cross-stitched bibs. I still have them. And for the “big brother,” she made a tin of chocolate chip cookies on which she had written, “Charlie’s Cookies.” I still have that too.

Next to them lived another lovely couple, Kathleen and Achille. He was the assistant superintendent of schools, while she taught hospitalized children. They had five kids of their own, but all were grown except the youngest son, who was a senior in high school. They were devout Catholics. She attended Mass every morning, but never failed to send me a Rosh Hashonah card, even after we moved out of state. Christmas in their own home was a wonderful mix of faith, traditions, and just plain fun. They collected crèches and every surface in the house, during the season, was covered with manger scenes, large and small. My favorite, and I think theirs too, was the one their son had made when he was a preschooler: the three kings were Fisher Price little people and the animals around the baby Jesus were from the Fisher Price barn set. Achille was a master baker and spent one afternoon teaching me the rudimentary basics of cake decorating. On the dining room table at Christmas would be a gingerbread sleigh that he had made, filled with home-made gingerbread men, women, and children. It was a family comfortable in and comforted by their faith.

We moved oh too soon, but kept in touch with annual cards that would bring each of us up-to-date on the families. Kathleen was the one who told me in her annual Rosh Hashonah card about the passing of Jean and Raymond. I learned of Kathleen’s death when Achille sent me the annual card, saying he wanted to honor Kathleen’s tradition of staying in touch. His card was late arriving last year, but when it did, I learned that he had cancer, had had seven operations that year, but still wanted to wish me and mine the very best. When the card didn’t arrive this year, I feared that the tradition had ended. Today I learned that Achille had passed away in the spring.

I only knew these four remarkable individuals for a few years, but they left a lasting impression on me. They taught me about grace in the face of adversity; of generous spirits and genuine kindness. And I know that my life has been richer because I was blessed to have known them all. Rest in peace – and thank you.

Marian

_________________

Evelyn David’s new e-book series is debuting another volume of the Brianna Sullivan Mysteries today. The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah is a novella featuring “Brianna” the psychic who planned to travel the U.S. in her motor home. Instead she’s gotten stuck in Lottawatah, Oklahoma dealing with ghosts, murder, and a local detective who may or may not be the one to keep her tied down. Available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Read more about the series and our other books at http://www.evelyndavid.com/.

Good Fences

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I would never just walk into someone’s house. Even if I’d known them for years. I do not take an open or unlocked door as an invitation to enter without permission. But that’s not the case for many – especially in Oklahoma. To counter this, I keep my doors locked – all the time. I’d lock the gates to my backyard if I could, but with no alley, meter readers etc, need access.

My house sits on a long narrow lot, surrounded by smaller square lots. Which means instead of one house on my left, one to my right, and one behind me – I have two on my right, two on my left, and one way, way out back. In other words – I’m surrounded by lots of people.

To counter the feeling that anytime I step outside someone is watching, I’ve planted shrubs and trees and other thick foliage along the four foot chain-link fence that borders my backyard. You’d think this would be enough to ensure my privacy. But it seems like whenever I’m mowing, weeding, or doing anything outside, I have company. Kids who want to sell me candy or magazine subscriptions for their latest school fund raising project, strangers wanting to use the phone, strangers wanting me to pay them to mow my yard, strangers inviting me to their church, and neighbors just wanting to chat as I lug in my groceries.

I’m not a person who likes to chat. I don’t want to know everyone’s business. I’d probably be very happy living in the country with no neighbors playing loud music late on Sunday nights (what reasonable person parties on Sunday nights anyway?); no neighbors using power equipment outside at 8 am on Saturdays; and no neighbors having abusive midnight conversations with their soon to be ex-spouses as they make their way from slamming front door to slamming car door (note: if you’re leaving forever, for heaven’s sake just do it and shut up about it.)

My day job requires me to talk to all kinds of people all day long. Sometimes I spend most of the day on the telephone dealing with problems. I’ve done this for more than 25 years. I only have so much goodwill to give each day. When I come home, I want to do the Greta Garbo thing – I want to be alone.

I treasure my privacy. I want to come home, roll up the drawbridge, and keep the world out. To achieve this, I try not to engage my neighbors in idle conversation. I wave from a distance and hope they do the same. Usually it works, but not always. I had one senior citizen neighbor who insisted on getting my mail out of my mailbox and holding it for me when I was travelling. Sometimes he did it when I was just late getting home from work for the day. This necessitated me checking with him whenever I returned to see if he had any of my mail. I finally got a locking mailbox and that solved one problem.

Now the neighbor to the right of me has moved out. He was one of my favorite neighbors. In twenty years, we’d only had three or four conversations: once when he broke my bathroom window with a rock from his riding lawn mover; once when he cut a tree down and it landed on my fence; once when I found a dying kitten in my backyard (since he had cats, I thought it was one of his. It wasn’t but he took it anyway) and once when he let me know he was moving. Even with the accidents, he was my idea of a good neighbor.

New people are in the process of moving in. If I was a better person, I’d bake some cookies and take them over, but I wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea. Best to start the way I want to go on.

I’ll smile and wave at them as I fill my moat and feed the alligators. Hopefully, they’ll get the message.

Robert Frost had it right. Good fences make good neighbors.

Any neighbor stories you want to share?

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com