Not the Neighborly Type

Sunday Clint and I decided to be brave and face the neighbors at the 2nd annual Bradley Street potluck. We debated not going- weekend time is precious and since the weekend was already chock full of other obligations we relished the idea of a relaxing afternoon on the couch- but upon further reflection we realized if we weren’t there, we were going to the be the talk of the party. “Have you heard the noises coming from there? They’ve filled their yard with broken up concrete. What are they doing? Has anyone even seen them?” We’re going to become those people where kids drop their voices when they walk by, and they’ll run into our yard on a bet trying not to catch a glimpse of the sledge-hammer wielding crazies.

At first I planned big- I was going to make delicious mini peppermint and chocolate cheesecakes to prove not only are we young and fun, but we’re put together (ha!) and can do everything from renovation to fine cooking. I got up Sunday morning, got a list of the ingredients together, and planned on going to the store after Clint’s flag football game. Of course I failed to realize that this was one of those fun recipes you find in magazines with ingredients you can only find in three stores in America- but it sounds simple enough so you go to every grocery store you can think of. This time the offending ingredient was chocolate Nilla Wafers. It didn’t help either that I have actually used this recipe before so at some point in this city I found them. It probably took a scavenger hunt that time too so why? why! didn’t I write down where I found them.

After going to a few grocery stores and realizing at this point I wasn’t going to have time to make them even if I did find the wafers (which I didn’t), I gave in and bought the store bought cookie dough. Clint got ready while I stuck them in the oven, but since the oven was made before the Industrial Age, there’s no preheating light to know when it’s ready. This has often left me checking methodically every two minutes to see when something’s done, which I’m sure lets all the hot air out, and ruins the cooking process anyhow. Of course almost predictably the cookies ended up a tad overdone so I had to plate up my burnt, store bought cookies and head over. As we walked to the neighbor’s yard my hope of making a good impression slipped quietly away and in its place the wish that at least they wouldn’t think we were serial killers.

Everyone ended up being nice, and it was good to finally meet some of the people on the street, especially since we never come in the front door (it’s off its hinges), so we don’t get the opportunity to see or interact with neighbors. It’s a great mix of young people, one even recognized Clint for his artwork. Of course they may still talk about us (I can’t blame them, I would too) but at least now they can put names and faces to the destruction.