Being neighborly

Just before 1 a.m. this morning a very loud siren and voice went off in my apartment, informing me that there had been a fire emergency in the building and that I was to evacuate immediately.  It repeated over and over again. I struggled to pull myself out of a deep sleep.  Not likely that this was a fire drill at 1 a.m., so I'd better treat this seriously...as soon as I could wake up.

We were in the middle of a winter storm, so if I was going to be outside for a while, I should dress for it.  Problem is that we haven't really had winter weather, and I moved last winter. I had to hunt for gloves and boots.  I never found a hat, which I haven't worn since I moved. Purse and checkbook.  As I was about to leave the apartment, I remembered the fire preparation information I received recently had informed me that I should close interior doors before leaving.  (I forgot the part about leaving my apartment unlocked.)

After traipsing down several flights of stairs and a hall to the lobby, my neighbors and I were told we could stay inside.  The source of the alarm couldn't be found.  Shortly afterward, the fire truck and firemen arrived.  We could stay inside, but we couldn't go back to bed until the building had been cleared. 

There we stood and sat in the lobby.  Very old people, babies, and almost every combination in between: a microcosm of the city under one roof. A few of the older residents chatted, but most of us didn't really know each other.  While I would like to meet my neighbors, doing so in the middle of the night, when I am half asleep and in my pajamas wasn't exactly when I wanted to reach and touch someone. For almost an hour, we waited, and I pondered that I've lived here just over a year and could only spot four people that I vaguely knew.

I don't know if it has been the places I've lived over the last 20 years, or if times have been changing, but each place I've lived, I've usually known only one or two neighbors--very unlike when I'd been a child and young adult when we knew everyone in the neighborhood.  There was a time in my twenties when all the couples in our neighborhood would gravitate to someone's front porch late Saturday afternoon for popcorn, chips, and libations. 

In the lovely home and neighborhood in which I lived in North Carolina, I recalled reflecting that many of my neighbors had automatic garage door openers and managed to escape any contact with the rest of us by opening and closing the door without even getting out of the car.

So, today, I decided to be neighborly.  I'd baked a cake yesterday.  I cut portions and put on paper plates, covered with Saran Wrap, and rang door bells.  Today I played The Grocery Store Game (12/1/13) with my neighbors.  I had met them, but mostly just speaking in the hall or at the door.  Today, I went in for brief visits and actually started to get to know them. There is something about crossing into someone's home that is intimate: there is a sense that you know something about them from the artwork and furniture that they've chosen.  As I head to bed this evening, I feel the warmth of my neighbors in my heart as I go to bed.