Bob Christen recently wrote about the
deserted streets in the leafy suburbs of
The house next door to me may appear dormant on Monday through Friday since Mom and Dad leave pretty early for work, taking turns dropping their two-year-old son at day care. But every evening around six there is a lot of activity on that end of the block, as the other young parents arrive home, their gang of two to four-year-olds grab their big wheels, and it's party time down on the cul-de-sac. I can hear them laughing and calling after their children sometimes past eight o'clock. A couple of the Moms will deliver a second or third child over the course of the summer. I often walk through this group in the evenings, marveling at the parents' energy after having worked all day and the children's sheer delight with summer street life.
The house across the street is much like mine.
There are two teen-age boys, Mom, Dad, a dog, and a couple of cats. That was until about two months ago, when
Mom and Dad arrived home from
The house on the other side of mine holds Mr. and Mrs. Senior Citizen and their fifteen- year-old dog. The dog has had a series of ailments in the last year, but her biggest handicap is that she is blind. Every morning and every evening Mr. Senior Citizen slowly walks her around the block, always counterclockwise so the dog knows the way. This man always has a smile for you that really says he is happy to see you. If you stop to chat, he never complains about anything but is a patient listener to whatever is new in your life. He always tells you what nice kids you have, and when asked how his dog is doing, he says "Fine, she's just fine."
My