The Floating Opera

We are about to get new neighbors, and since I have lived here for almost four years and have picked up plenty of tips from the locals, I am planning to do exactly nothing to welcome them. This is quite a load off, since back in the day I would have baked a cake or some cookies--I hear they have a toddler--and gone over there with a list of phone numbers of plumbers and carpenters and the snow plow guy and where to get the best organic spinach, etc., and a neighborhood roster and an offer to help with anything they need, and perhaps a casserole. But now I can just put my feet up and relax, and maybe wave if I ever see one of them.

This sounds mean, I know. More to the point, I remember, since that's how we were greeted, except for one woman who lives alone and stuck a card in our door saying, "Hi neighbor!" She was nice, and we even went out for lunch together. (Come to think of it, I haven't seen her around in at least two years now, and in fact I wonder if she is still alive since her windows are always dark. Oh well.) But you know the old saying: When in Rome.....

The real reason for my curmudgeonly stance is that I am sick to death over the fact that my one and only true friend in this entire state--not counting sisters-in-law--who not only is also a painter and has two adorable Maine Coon cats and the same taste in movies as me and also once lived in Utah, and I love her husband and he likes me too, which is rare, is moving away. Alas, life is a river; maybe she'll float by again sometime. Meanwhile, as for those people who bought her house and are just rounding the bend--they'll have to use their own paddles.