like a flame to a moth...

…or whatever the expression is.

Yes, we quickly discovered one way to draw out the neighbors.

As a way of introduction – our neighbors are special people. There is the professor who loves Wallace Stevens so much you can hear his heart sing. So as we walk by his house we whisper ‘the house was quite and the world was calm’ from the twins’ book of poetry. There is the father from Iran who says over and over:

Such

Beautiful

Babies.

There is the husband-wife printer team who give us jars of homemade jam. There is the school teacher. The family from Albania. The ninety-something-year old woman who says there is little difference between her and Henry.

Yes, I think quietly, just a century.

The power-intellectual-couple who preach and practice for peace. The Doctor who piloted the needle-box program for the City. The man no one ever sees. The neighborhood mother.

Friends. Mothers. Fathers. Children. Grandparents. Who all live together, on top of the hill. We are blessed to be here; and to be able to share our children with them. 

Via the wagon, of course. The wagon. What a tool! What bait! I wheel them around the cul-de-sac and out they all come to ogle. At the new hat.

Ah the hat. I bought it in a moment of weakness. I have yet to have one of these baby-clothing-swoon-moments. But I did with the hat.

Big time.

I actually had the nerve to go into a Janie and Jack.

That was pulling me in. I had to get it for my Sophia.

Gasp. I know. But wouldn’t you?! Look at it! Its perfect! And she doesn’t rip it off! The neighbors came out to compliment her on it. And her new Dutch sweatshirt from my friend Loes. 

And Henry? Yes, that is an Eeyore knitted sweater. With ears. Hair.

And pinned on tail.

And pensive expression. 

So after dinner we make a nightly round. To tuck in those who live, like us, on top of a hill. Up here we all say goodnight to the sun together. And good morning to the moon as it sails into the sky. Where we fit into this, I am not sure. Snuggly, I suppose.

Like in Hundred Acre Wood, I think, as I look at My Little Man.