I chatted briefly with a couple on my walking route as we passed a gorgeous house listed at 1.5 million dollars, not unusual in that area these days. I noted that my parents paid $11,000 in 1962 for our ancestral manor, a few blocks away. Of course, my dad was probably making less than ten grand a year at the time, and a loaf of bread cost a quarter. Different times.

As I walked the block I grew up on a few minutes later, I could name every family in every house, circa 1966 - a couple of school mates, a few old folks, some little kids, and Mrs. Blake, next door to my friend, Janet. For a time, Mrs. Blake's greaser grandson lived in her basement. He was a throwback, even in the mid- 60's, sporting a D.A., with a pack of smokes rolled into the sleeve of his white t-shirt, creating a sonic boom each time he gunned his souped up, finned vehicle in the driveway.

I didn't know it until later, but creepy Ronald, probably in his early 20's, was exposing himself to my friend, 14 at the oldest, from his basement room on hot summer nights, as she hung out of her upstairs window to talk. Very creepy. Come to think of it, other than immediate family, my first exposures, as it were, to male anatomy was from perverts - in the park, behind a chain link fence, in their living room window or a parked car, or walking by on the street near Lloyd Center. Yes, a sickness, and a rude awakening for the 9, 12 and 15 year old girl that I was. I'm very fortunate that's all it was, but yes, Me Too.

But back to the neighborhood. In those days, we hung out with the kids on our block with very little overlap, riding bikes, playing army (as in, who "died" the best from the sniper's shot, rolling and clutching our pretend wounds), holding a circus in the backyard, selling lemonade or playing baseball with water meter covers as 1st and 3rd base. In those days, it mortified me to be sent to bed while my friend (and her older brother's cute buddies) played H-O-R-S-E at their basketball hoop (nowadays I rather enjoy hitting the pillow when the summer sky is just starting to darken). I run into a few of those former neighbors these days, though no ongoing connection. What we have in common is our street, our upbringing, our own historical sense of place - the Thom's plum trees, the huge oak that toppled in the Columbus Day storm, Mrs. Clark's hilled yard, the five block walk to school (and, creepy Ronald). 

The street where we live now has started to feel like a neighborhood, with a couple of elders (including us), two rentals with decent (i.e. quiet) folks, and a smattering of young families. I walk with the neighbor across the street, and share gardening talk with one of the young guys next door. Even the fellow who sparred with my spouse about parking spots is friendly, as are the parents and grandma of the cute little boys further down the block. Would I seek any of them out were we, or they, to move? Probably not. Kind of like workplace friendships for me - specific to time and place. We aren't people who would normally mix, save our present circumstance.

I'm thinking of all of those mini-relationships - the early morning clerk at the grocery store who validates my coupons (expired or not), the duplex dwellers a few blocks away, preparing for their bike commute as I stroll by at first light, the front desk person at my gym, our mail carrier. Kind of like our meeting acquaintances, lightly bound by time and place, yet enriching my life and experience. These have been a lifeline during the pandemic - connection, six feet apart and masked. I was unmasked at the gym this morning, for the first time in over a year. It felt good, but a little odd. Coming out of lock-down times will likely feel as strange as going in to it did.

I bought myself a collapsible clothes-line dryer and have thoroughly enjoyed the few loads I've now hung out in the spring sun. Hanging laundry epitomizes what I appreciate about being retired - the time to shake out, drape, check and re-check, inhale the fresh smell, fold and put away. Yes, I often have plans and still keep a To-Do list, but many days are filled with small chores, reading in the middle of the day, spontaneously biking to meet a friend. I'm loving it, and, would not have just a year or two earlier. I loved working too - the structure, the sense of purpose, the varied yet manageable days, my co-workers... Over the past few years, I fell out of and then back in love with my job, and when it was time to go, I could not have worked a day longer. What this says to me, me who wants to know what's coming next, is to trust in divine timing. Not as in "god" but in the natural flow of life unfolding, despite my efforts to manage or control. When I look back over the years thus far, even the crunchy parts were a necessary part of the whole (and might've been less crunchy if I could've relaxed into the change).

I had an unexpected flashback driving into downtown for my weekend walking group. Taking the freeway curve onto the Morrison Bridge, I had a visceral memory of heading towards the restaurant where my ex-con, soon-to-be lover, methamphetamine dealer worked as a dishwasher, picking up a gram or whatever amount he had, from a side door in the fence. Speaking of change - what a journey this has been, from the woman who'd do just about anything for the next high, consequences be damned, to living with integrity. It is good to sometimes be reminded.

Thinking of coming out of the pandemic-time, have there been changes to friendships and connections? Which have you let go of, and which do you look forward to reigniting?  I hear many say that they've appreciated the quiet of this past year, while missing loved ones. What have you appreciated, and what has been especially tough? How will you re-enter public spaces - gently or diving in? What can you do to more thoroughly trust the process?