Come visit my neighborhood

Lily B. Clayton Elementary School

across the street from my house

Picture by Polly Hooper

Several years ago, my younger son who lives in a big house in a suburb north of Dallas, said to me, “I want to live in a neighborhood like you do.” I do live in a neighborhood, with all that implies, the kind Mr. Rogers meant when he asked, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” The houses are old (mine was built in 1922) and probably the red brick bungalow dominates, but we have two-story houses and even a McMansion or two with zero lot line (working to stop that trend); our houses also come in tan brick, stucco, painted brick, some with arched windows and vaulted ceilings, others with tall ceilings and crown molding.. But they all have charm. We always hope add-ons will be done tastefully to fit in with the décor; similarly, we hope each home owner will maintain his or her property to the level of the neighborhood.

From my front porch

Tall trees arch over our streets, forming a canopy that seems to shelter us. When I sit on my front porch, I can block out traffic and pretend I’m in a tree house, surrounded by oaks, crape myrtle, pecan, the great elm in front of my house (which is very old and worries me every time we have a storm). And I can listen to a railroad train a couple of blocks away—many would complain about that but I love trains and find the sound comforting.

We have an active, even pro-active neighborhood association with monthly meetings and a monthly neighborhood newsletter. Recently a national chain has started producing a slick magazine for the neighborhood, but I’m prejudiced—I like our traditional newsletter (maybe because I’m about to become editor). Our neighborhood association deals with the issues of buildings that don’t fit into the neighborhood “style,” from an office complex on the edge of the neighborhood to contemporary houses built in the middle, or the narrowing of the main road that runs through the neighborhood, a commuter route for many in our city, and the zoo, which is on the edge of our neighborhood. It sponsors everything from Easter parades and ice cream socials to Christmas gift baskets for shut-ins and the elderly. We also have a busy email list where people post about lost dogs and cats and stray dogs seen wandering. Neighbors looking after neighbors.

I live across the street from an elementary school, the building so old and beautiful that it’s on one or the other register of historic places, with its art deco touches and a goldfish pond in one of the basement kindergarten rooms. That school anchors the neighborhood and is the focus for many activities. I am lucky that grandson Jacob goes to school there. Every day I walk across the street to get him, and we spend our afternoons together doing homework.

My house in the snow

Photo by Susan Halbower

It’s the kind of neighborhood where a small group gathers each Tuesday night at the local café for supper. I love it for the camaraderie and because Tuesday night is meatloaf night.  A few years ago, when we had a heavy, wet snow, my neighbor across the street sent her teenage son to shovel my walk. When I tried to pay him, he said, “Oh, no, thank you. This is what neighbors do for each other.”

Last night my grandson and his playmates “discovered” a hole in my fence where my dog could escape. One of the little boys’ fathers came promptly to fix it, saying the boys hadn’t just discovered the hole—they made it and then tried to block it when they (probably Jacob) realized that Sophie might get away.

So, thank you Berkeley and Margaret Johnson and son Atticus and Jason Brown who mended the fence and Mary Dulle who encouraged me to go to dinner (and made me newsletter editor) and the Barrs and the Harrals and Lyn and others who join us on Tuesday night. And thank you to Jay and Susan, Greg and Jaimie, terrific neighbors who kind of watch after me. I can’t think of a better place to live.

My Kelly O’Connell Mysteries are set in a neighborhood, but it is not Berkeley—it’s Fairmount, which is just adjacent to us. But in writing of that neighborhood and the community spirit, I very much had Berkeley in mind. The houses in Fairmount are a bit older, with lots of Craftsman homes, and the streets are wonderful and wide, like they used to make them. But Fairmount and Berkeley share many characteristics.

Nope, I don’t want to live in a development or a high-rise or a condo in assisted living. When people ask if I’m considering selling, I say, “No. Not until my kids make me.”

A happy halloween to all

Since I no longer have kids at home--haven't for almost twenty years--I've let Halloween go. It's not much fun to do by yourself--or that's my excuse. Some years when the Frisco girls were young I went there to see them in their costumes; some years I've turned out all the lights and hibernated; for a few years the Texas Book Festival was on Halloween, and I was in Austin. We had a wonderful time--Melinda, KK, and I gave out treats in Megan's  yard while she and B took the boys down the street. But the last couple of years, I have a new tradition, thanks to my good neighbors, Susan and Jay. They enjoy Halloween--Jay particularly likes greeting each child, commenting on his or her costume, joking with the parents. He sits on their front steps with an enormous bowl of candy at his feet and doles it out. Susan has made delicious stew both years, so I simply put the dogs up, turn out all my lights, and go next door.
Kids come to our neighborhood by the thousands (almost literally)--the sidewalks are crowded, the streets are full of parked cars and some cruising slowly. Even after dark, the steady parade continues. I saw the biggest van I've ever seen across the street tonight. It's not a particularly rich neighborhood but as Jay says it's "Halloween friendly": the houses are close together and not set too far back from the street, and the residents (except me) open up their hearts, buy tons of candy, and turn on their lights. All of the children and their parents who came up the walk tonight were exceedingly polite, full of "thank you" and "Happy Halloween." At least half the parents were in costume, and some came carrying babes in arms sound asleep--hmmm, wonder who would eat that candy? I hope not the baby. In all the constant two-hour stream, we saw only one neighbor.
At eight o 'clock, Jay and Susan ran out of candy and turned out the lights. Jay walked me home since my house was so dark. But I am grateful to them for sharing the evening with me--it's not much fun to hide in your house with the lights out. And I'm grateful for the stew--I'd been wondering what to have for supper and was definitely in need of comfort food. Susan sent a goodly serving of it home with me for supper tomorrow night.
Other than that, it was a busy day--an appoinmtment with the audiologist at 8:15. Note to self: do not make such early appointments again. Quick run to the grocery and to drop off some books; then the podiatrist and on to the pet store, where I bought the rapidly growing Miss Sophie a larger crate, this time one of the open ones. I had thought I'd have to call Jay and ask him to get it out of the car and assemble it--but I did it all myself. Quite proud, if I do say so. But it was the easiest assembly I've ever seen. Sophie went in it for the first time readily and seems to like it. I think she likes seeing the world, and now I can drop treats to her through the top. It actually will be easier to travel with than the other one. This one collapses neatly, and Sophie now rides in the car with a harness attached to a seat belt.

The Old Neighborhood Grill

Somehow I ate two meals at the Old Neighborhood Grill today. The Grill is about two blocks from my house, a concrete block building that years ago was Rick's Locker Room which always looked dark and smoky to me and I avoided it. For several years now it's been the Grill under Peter's ownership--in the mornings and at noon he is there to greet everyone personally, and he seems to know a lot of us.
This morning I went for breakfast with the Book Ladies, a group of women whose careers have involved books--authors, librarians, booksellers, and a few readers. We've been meeting for probably twenty years now, and our numbers are dwindling--people retiring and moving away, we've lost a few to death including one of my dearest friends, and then there are some who don't want to get up that early or come that far. But we still have a core--six of us this morning, one out because of illness. Sometimes we talk books, a lot of the time we talk politics--we are all liberals and without meaning to drove off the one conservative who used to join us. And sometime we talk about aging, health, grandchildren, traffic, what have you, and books never come up. Peter knows we meet on the second Tuesday of the month at 8 a.m., and he always has a big table waiting for us. Breakfasts at the grill are wonderful, particularly the hash browns if you ask for them extra crispy. But I confine myself to one egg over easy and a piece of wheat toast. The oatmeal is pretty good too. A nice way to start the day even if a bit early for me.
On Tuesdy nights some of my Berkeley neighbors gather at the Grill for dinner, and Joe and Mary Dulle have been kind enough to pick me up a couple of nights to join them. Tonight my mind was on a turkey burger--and it was as good as I anticipated. I had no sides with it--no fries or beans or whatever. Conversation ranged from family get-togethers to cooking--Mary's nephew who is in training at Central Market, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, joined us, so it was fun to hear his tales of food. I didn't catch much of the neighborhood news from the other end of the table, but it was fine to enjoy a good dinner and visit with people, both some I knew and some I didn't. I do live in a great neighborhood--wait! Have I said that before?
Tomorrow, ice and snow and probably a housebound day again. Sunday, when I went out for the first time in six days, I realized that I felt like an invalid emerging from a long seclusion--a bit tentative about being out in the world. By yesterday and today I was scooting around the streets and in and out of stores like always. Now we have to start all over again. It's supposed to be horrendously cold tomorrow and Thursday, but  sunny on Thursday, and thaw Friday. Good thing, because all my chickens are coming home again Sat. Meantime I have lots of work on my desk, and a day at home will be good for me.

The Berkeley neighborhood in Fort Worth

Today, I filled my garbage carts about noon, but when I went to take them down to the curb around two, they were already there. I waved at the school crossing guard and shouted my thanks, and he waved back. Tomorrow, even before I'm out of bed, he'll have one of the carts back up by the side of my house. I never asked him. He saw me with a cart one day and said, "Let me do this for you." I hope he does it out of the goodness of his heart and not because he thinks I'm a little old lady with a cane, but either way I'm grateful. And he's a nice, nice man.
And Jay came over tonight to show me where the cartridges are on the printer/scanner/fax he handed down to me. Then he went in to check the commode that runs if you use it and decided he needs to get a new something or other for it. And we spent a long time at the side fence discussing what to do with the barren spot between our houses, the way he and Greg were going to take out some junk trees and put in a drip system for whatever ends up planted there. (Not sure Greg knows about this!)
I live in a neighborhood where I feel well taken care of, and it's a good feeling. I also try to take care of my neighbors, though I'm better at feeding them than caretaking (they're all a lot younger!).
Our neighborhood newsletter came out today, complete with a full page feature on Cooking My Way through Life with Kids and Books, including the ubiquitous Doris casserole (I really must develop another signature dish!). But also in the newsletter was a note about the class that Elizabeth and I will be facilitating in May (okay, she's Beth to the rest of the world but she will always be Elizabeth to me). It's called Writing Your Life Story and springs out of the Story Circle Network (call it up on Google) and Susan Wittig Albert's  Writing From Life. I've taught noncredit classes from that book before at TCU but this time I'm going to teach at my home, with pot-luck food and wine. It's a class for non-writers who want to tell their life story--for themselves, for family and friends, for the world at large. I've already had one inquiry from a neighbor I've not yet met. If you're interested, email me at j.alter@tcu.edu.
Yes, Berkeley is a nice neighborhood to live in. Jordan said the other day, "I want to live in this neighborhood." Of course, she'd have to pay more for less space, and it's too soon for them to do that, but I do hope someday they will move close. We have an active neighborhood association, guardian patrol service, a strong voice in civic matters to protect our neighborhood--and lots of activities, mostly for families with young children. It's a great place.