Today I pulled out the cookies I'd made earlier this week, and I found something totally strange...Neighbors. I met Billy, Minnie, and Walter because I didn't eat my cookies in my apartment. Actually, I didn't eat them at all. On this beautiful sun filled afternoon, the sharing of the cookies was less a choice and more the firm hand of guidance.
Not that any great epiphanies came during this hour long foray across the street. A little perspective was gained. Our side of the street is a small collection of apartments, which do just that. They keep us apart. Not physically, at any time one could knock on the neighbor's door and ask them to lend out a cup of sugar. But having lived in a third set now, I understand that the "apart" in apartment is mind and soul.
My roommate called yesterday to tell me to call the "rental people," because water was coming down between the walls and originating from above us. A broken pipe or overflowing drain may have caused the problem, but walking up the stairs and talking to the neighbors may have solved it. It will never be known.
Go bake some cookies, and don't eat them. Instead, meet someone from Chicago, who just moved here with his fiance. And someone who moved here 45 years ago.
...And they'll have things they'll want to talk about. You will too.