A relationship.
When it started, a brief introduction and occasional wave satisfied a good-neighbor status. She snow-blowed her own driveway, trapped opossum in her backyard (among other things) and knew the history of our hood. Independent. She's a self-proclaimed Original Settler, after all, moving into the builder's model home in 1959.
Ten years after our first hello, her needs have changed. And so have ours.
It's not just the friendly emails we share. It's more. The news about her grown kids, the visits from ours. The genuine interest in her well-being. The exchange about neighborhood happenings. Most fascinating, the stories: families who used to inhabit these homes, the children that played in her back yard sandbox, the empty lot baseball games, the way things used to be. What I wouldn't give to see photos of those people in these houses.
Today Morgan and Andrew received valentines from our favorite neighbor. Sweet, handpicked cards with endearing notes to them about their helpfulness with her garbage and recycling bins. And tonight they returned their love with sweet, hand-picked cards and endearing notes professing their affection and love.
Love is a relationship. And this is one I'm so glad we have.
