Feeling at peace in our neighborhood is something we all strive for. When we believe we have achieved it, we don’t want things to change.

However, time has a way of modifying a community’s dynamic. What it was, is no longer what it is, as you will experience . . .

On The Street Where We Live

“I have often walked down our street before,
And my path, has always filled with neighbors I adore.
Each time my emotions soar,
As enchantment pours out of every door.
I feel at peace, knowing I'm on the street where we live.

“Oh, the towering feeling just to know my neighbors are near.

The overpowering feeling that any second they might appear.

And when they do, they stop and share their stories with me.
There's nowhere else on earth I’d rather be.
I feel at peace, knowing I'm on the street where we live.

“Let time go by, it doesn’t bother me.
I won't care, for I have friends to see.

If things can just remain the same for all eternity,

This would be the only place I’d ever want to be.

I feel at peace, knowing I'm on the street where we live.”

     “Jerry, who are you talking to? Are you on the phone? I can hear you from the living room.”

     “No, I’m not talking to anybody.”

     “Are you talking to yourself again? You know that bothers me. It gets pretty eerie sometimes.”

     “If I want to talk to myself, I’ll talk to myself. But that’s not what I’m doing now.”

     Penny poked her face into the den. I turned away from my iMac and saw her shaking her head. She had a strange look on her face and I couldn’t imagine why.

     “Okay, you’re writing another one of your crazy stories for your blog and reading it out loud. I get it.”

     “Well, almost.”

     “So, fill me in on the rest.”

     “You know the song “On the Street Where You Live,” from the musical, My Fair Lady?”

     “Yeah, I love the song.”

     “I’ve been rewriting it so it applies to our block.”

     “How so?”

     She walked over, stood next to me, and focused her attention on the computer screen, where I’d written the new lyrics for the song. Then she smiled.

     “I like it, but . . .”

     “But what?”

     “Our street’s changing. When we moved in most of our neighbors were under seventy. The energy on the block was overpowering. Now we’re old, or . . . dead.”

     “I know. But if we don’t hold onto something, we have nothing.”

     “Then let’s plan something and get the whole block involved.”

     “Not a bad idea. Actually, it’s a really good idea. What do you have in mind, Penny?”

     “Me? You’re the brains in this family. My job is to come up with the idea. I expect you to make it work.”

     “Hmm. About sixty percent of the block has lived here at least fourteen years. What about an ‘On the Street Where We Live, Come as You Were Party?’”

     “Sounds interesting. Do you think people will buy into it? We have over sixty-five people living on our street. At the ‘National Night Out’ gathering last summer, less than twenty of them showed up. How do we get them out of their houses?”

     “Drag them,” I bellowed.

     “You’re kidding. Aren’t you?”

     “Only a little bit. If we have to go house to house to make it happen, I’ll do it. I think Karen and Ben would be willing to help. Hand me the phone.”

     I dialed their number and it rang and rang. “I hope they’re home,” I mumbled. And then I heard Ben’s voice.

     “Hello, Jerry,” Ben groaned.

     “What took you so long to pick up the phone?”

     “Hey, I’m no youngster. Each day it becomes harder to get up from my recliner. I’m thinking about getting one of those chairs that lifts you up and tosses you out. I even reset the phone so it rings longer before it goes to voice mail. So, what do you want, old man?”

     “Speak for yourself, I’m only seventy-two years young. The reason I called is that I need your help.”

     “With what?”

     “Penny and I are planning an ‘On the Street Where We Live, Come as You Were Party’.”

     “I can’t even come as I am. How do I come as I was?”

     “You’ll have to work at it, old friend.”

     “All right. Karen and I will do whatever you need to make this happen.”

     “Come over after dinner tomorrow evening, about seven, and the four of us will work out the details.”

     “Okay, see you then,” Ben stated, with a hint of enthusiasm.

     I hung up the phone, leaned back in my chair, and smiled. “This is going to be great.”

     Penny’s jaw dropped. “I hope so. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

     The next day, the doorbell rang exactly at seven. I went to the door and opened it. When I saw what stood before me in the doorway, I almost lost my dinner. Ben, a former police officer, had tried to get into the uniform he wore when he first moved into our Gateway Village Active Adult Community and hadn’t retired yet. And I mean tried. The buttons on his shirt wouldn’t close and I didn’t dare look down to see how his pants fit. His darling wife, Karen, swung open the bright red raincoat she wore, exposing more of her body than I’d ever wanted to see, as she had made a vain attempt to get into a bikini. I did everything I possibly could to keep from laughing.

     “Well, what do you think?” Ben grunted.

     “Ain’t I ready for the ‘Miss America Pageant?’ Karen chanted, as she dropped her raincoat to the ground and twirled herself around.

     Penny, who had joined me at the door, jumped into the conversation before I could say something I might regret. Ever the diplomat, she smiled and said, with a lilt in her voice, “Excellent, just fabulous.”

     We ushered Karen and Ben into the dining room and sat down around the table, decked out with snacks to munch on and soft drinks. We then started to brainstorm ideas for the party.

     Karen yelled out, “What about a beauty pageant for both the men and women?”

     “Hell no. First of all, it’s winter. And second, you’ll never get me into a bathing suit,” Ben blurted.

     I wanted to say, “I’ll take bets on that,” but I kept my mouth shut.

     “What about having everybody dress like they dressed in a picture they took of themselves when they first moved in? They can bring the picture along so we can compare how they looked then with now,” Penny suggested.

     “I think that’s a marvelous idea,” I exclaimed. “I’ll create a poster board for the then pictures.”

     “And I’ll bring my camera and take now pictures,” Ben volunteered.       

     “Karen and I will put together a menu of light appetizers and snacks,’ Penny declared. “When we send out the invitations, we can ask if anybody would like to bring a dessert.”

     “And I’ll design the invitation. I have some great ideas. Also, I believe I have a picture of the neighborhood when we first moved in that I can use on the front of the card.”

     “I think January 14, after the holidays, at 7:00 p.m. is a good time,” Penny said. “It will give us almost a month to prepare. And we’ll hold it here.”

     Well, we were ready to get going on the marvelous event. For the rest of the evening, we chatted about old times, like when Maxine, not paying attention, drove her car into George and Carla’s open garage and walked in on them having . . . uh, sex in the family room. Then there was the time Misty had planned a surprise party for Roger, and the stripper hired for the party showed up early and went to the wrong house. When Gene opened the door and the young women dropped her coat exposing everything, Irene thought she’d have to call 9-1-1. Fortunately, Gene was just fifty-eight at the time and survived.

     Nostalgia is great, but the next few weeks meant rolling up our sleeves and getting to work on what we hoped would be a wonderful party. Everything went as planned. I completed the invitations and decided to personally deliver them. So on January 3, I dressed in a navy blue suit and red, white, and blue tie. I wanted to look both professional and patriotic.

     I started at the far end of the block at Norm and Betty’s house. I hadn’t run into them in over six months. I rang the doorbell and nobody responded. Then I heard Betty yell to Norm, “There’s some man in a suit at the door. He’s either selling something or he’s one of those religious guys who wants to convert us.”

     Well that didn’t go too well. And things didn’t get any better as I progressed down the block. Some people weren’t home, so I stuck the invitation in the door. Others politely declined the opportunity to come to the party. And one couple dressed up like “Farmer John and his wife,” laughed at the invite and said in unison, “We don’t do costumes.”

     As I walked away from these “strangers,” I recalled the line from the song, “If things can just remain the same for all eternity, this would be the only place I’d ever want to be.” But they don’t,” I moaned, with tears in my eyes.

     Shaking my head, I shuffled down the block toward my house. My mind was in a fog. And then someone shouted, “Hey, Jerry!”

     I turned and saw Granger and Susan and Teresa and Tom, two nice “young” couples, who’d moved into our neighborhood in October, standing in Granger and Susan’s driveway, smiling at me.

     “What’re you up to, man? Looks like you’re dressed for a wedding. Come on over and chat,” Granger stated.

     “Okay, I’m coming,” I replied.

     And so, as I headed toward my “new friends,” my heart skipped a beat and my future seemed much brighter.

Copyright © 2019 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.