Ariane and Scott are leaving. (Those are their real names)
In their frothy, exciting, down to earth, smart, funny, caring, creative, musical, and down right good-neighbory wake they leave us all feeling a little bereft. But they do leave us richer by far. And not in just the emotional sense. Ariane is a bestower.
Princess A made all the ladies on the block delicate dangly earrings of silver and gold wire or chain hung with precious faceted stones and coral. A few of the things she left me are: a vintage Lily Pulitzer patio-grazing gown, a giant Audrey Hepburn style Alligator bag, two Haitian paintings, two much admired hand-painted sun-brellas and now . . . chickens. That's right chickens. It had to happen.
As a group we tried to keep our sorrow at bay by having a last low-key dinner together up at The Corgi Lady's.
I drank too much.
For a going away present I put together photo albums for all the families of our summer together. I put a photo of our street sign on the cover. I cried sorting through the photos and tried not to let my husband or children see the tears. That night, though, we all laughed as we passed the books around and remembered. We've had a good thing.
As we gnawed on ribs and my hubby's Caesar salad, Ariane tried to soothe Dan's ruffled feathers about becoming a chicken rancher. Poultry and a spectacular waterfront rental in Seattle don't mix. My kids, however, picked out and named those chickies. They've stroked their bellies and found Queso's first tiny egg. I have always wanted chickens. Well, not always, but since I stopped going anywhere and doing anything. I like eggs and I like chicken poop. It's good for the garden. But, Daddy's not buying.
You can't blame him really. We already have two dogs, two cats, a bird, we just put some gold fish in the fountain out front, and now . . . chickens! I can sympathize. But how often do you get handed, literally over the fence, an entire pre-packaged chicken deal: three chickens, a custom made coop (super cute), all the fencing, food, watering dish, and attractive mirror backed funky window frame for coop garnish. Come on.
I twisted my husband's arm really hard, and now, as of last night, post Ariane and Scotts visit with the chicken wire and snips, we have a chicken run in the yard. The hour-long project turned into a marathon involving canvassing the neighborhood for a post-hole digger, just about everyone stopped in to check on our progress, and trips to two rental places for said post-hole digger and an appliance dolly. By the end of it, we were holding citronella candles up for Scott so he could see while trying to screw hinges for the gate (also super cute) into round posts. Hello! No wonder screws were raining down on the newly weed-whacked terrain. It was way past the gloaming.
But this morning, before leaving for work, Dan, the new chicken man, went out to check on the Pincesses Leona-Fiona and Giselle-Babette, and everybody's favorite, the little banty Queso. They were sleeping soundly. As soon as the kids woke up, they also went out to check. Daniel lifted the doors over their nests to make doubly sure they made it through the night.
This afternoon, Daniel brought Maia home from school and they both went back to the coop. I put kid-sized chairs and a little table in there and they hung out for a long time chasing and holding chickens. James hopped off the bus and joined the fray. Pretty soon, Scott was peeking over the fence. I was glad he could see his chickens were the belles of the ball.
In the early evening, people started to trickle down. The giant moving van that's been parked in front of the house for two days was starting to look like it would be leaving soon. Some kind of vortex pulled everyone down the street to their front lawn. Ariane kept pulling earrings out of the air for everyone.
It was James who was most honest. At five he cannot help himself. "It's getting ugly, mommy, I just can't take it."
At first he refused to come into their yard. He did not want to say goodbye. Eventually, Adam and Maddie, James and Daniel all gave good hugs and see you soons. Maddie made her own necklace for Ariane. There is talk of a road trip. We emphasize this now for the kids. Corgi lady holds back the tears. Mama Katie pulls up just in time. After his hug, James goes and collapses on a seat sized rock that bridges our yards. He can't move any further and in the dark I can see that his heart is broken. I go back into the empty house where Ariane, Scott, and Katie are talking.
"Ariane, you have to go tell James you'll see him again. I can't get him off the rock."
"Oh Jamesie," she says and comes right away.
They have their moment. She holds him close and he finally lets her. He can hardly look in her face. His own is breaking apart. It kills me. It kills her. He is brave enough to tell her he will be okay and then he goes into the house, where, moments later I find him face down on the couch sobbing more.
It turns out to be a horrible night that pancakes and late night TV can't soothe. Daniel winds up a wreck too. He cries so hard he barfs. "We'll never have neighbors so cool again," he weeps and weeps.
"It'll never be the same." James mirrors, holding onto his bear.
No, it will never be the same, but we've still got the Crown Avenue Consortium, (That's the name Scott gave us on our last night together), we've got a road trip to look forward too, and . . . we've got chickens.
I hope our new neighbors like eggs.
In their frothy, exciting, down to earth, smart, funny, caring, creative, musical, and down right good-neighbory wake they leave us all feeling a little bereft. But they do leave us richer by far. And not in just the emotional sense. Ariane is a bestower.
Princess A made all the ladies on the block delicate dangly earrings of silver and gold wire or chain hung with precious faceted stones and coral. A few of the things she left me are: a vintage Lily Pulitzer patio-grazing gown, a giant Audrey Hepburn style Alligator bag, two Haitian paintings, two much admired hand-painted sun-brellas and now . . . chickens. That's right chickens. It had to happen.
As a group we tried to keep our sorrow at bay by having a last low-key dinner together up at The Corgi Lady's.
I drank too much.
For a going away present I put together photo albums for all the families of our summer together. I put a photo of our street sign on the cover. I cried sorting through the photos and tried not to let my husband or children see the tears. That night, though, we all laughed as we passed the books around and remembered. We've had a good thing.
As we gnawed on ribs and my hubby's Caesar salad, Ariane tried to soothe Dan's ruffled feathers about becoming a chicken rancher. Poultry and a spectacular waterfront rental in Seattle don't mix. My kids, however, picked out and named those chickies. They've stroked their bellies and found Queso's first tiny egg. I have always wanted chickens. Well, not always, but since I stopped going anywhere and doing anything. I like eggs and I like chicken poop. It's good for the garden. But, Daddy's not buying.
You can't blame him really. We already have two dogs, two cats, a bird, we just put some gold fish in the fountain out front, and now . . . chickens! I can sympathize. But how often do you get handed, literally over the fence, an entire pre-packaged chicken deal: three chickens, a custom made coop (super cute), all the fencing, food, watering dish, and attractive mirror backed funky window frame for coop garnish. Come on.
I twisted my husband's arm really hard, and now, as of last night, post Ariane and Scotts visit with the chicken wire and snips, we have a chicken run in the yard. The hour-long project turned into a marathon involving canvassing the neighborhood for a post-hole digger, just about everyone stopped in to check on our progress, and trips to two rental places for said post-hole digger and an appliance dolly. By the end of it, we were holding citronella candles up for Scott so he could see while trying to screw hinges for the gate (also super cute) into round posts. Hello! No wonder screws were raining down on the newly weed-whacked terrain. It was way past the gloaming.
But this morning, before leaving for work, Dan, the new chicken man, went out to check on the Pincesses Leona-Fiona and Giselle-Babette, and everybody's favorite, the little banty Queso. They were sleeping soundly. As soon as the kids woke up, they also went out to check. Daniel lifted the doors over their nests to make doubly sure they made it through the night.
This afternoon, Daniel brought Maia home from school and they both went back to the coop. I put kid-sized chairs and a little table in there and they hung out for a long time chasing and holding chickens. James hopped off the bus and joined the fray. Pretty soon, Scott was peeking over the fence. I was glad he could see his chickens were the belles of the ball.
In the early evening, people started to trickle down. The giant moving van that's been parked in front of the house for two days was starting to look like it would be leaving soon. Some kind of vortex pulled everyone down the street to their front lawn. Ariane kept pulling earrings out of the air for everyone.
It was James who was most honest. At five he cannot help himself. "It's getting ugly, mommy, I just can't take it."
At first he refused to come into their yard. He did not want to say goodbye. Eventually, Adam and Maddie, James and Daniel all gave good hugs and see you soons. Maddie made her own necklace for Ariane. There is talk of a road trip. We emphasize this now for the kids. Corgi lady holds back the tears. Mama Katie pulls up just in time. After his hug, James goes and collapses on a seat sized rock that bridges our yards. He can't move any further and in the dark I can see that his heart is broken. I go back into the empty house where Ariane, Scott, and Katie are talking.
"Ariane, you have to go tell James you'll see him again. I can't get him off the rock."
"Oh Jamesie," she says and comes right away.
They have their moment. She holds him close and he finally lets her. He can hardly look in her face. His own is breaking apart. It kills me. It kills her. He is brave enough to tell her he will be okay and then he goes into the house, where, moments later I find him face down on the couch sobbing more.
It turns out to be a horrible night that pancakes and late night TV can't soothe. Daniel winds up a wreck too. He cries so hard he barfs. "We'll never have neighbors so cool again," he weeps and weeps.
"It'll never be the same." James mirrors, holding onto his bear.
No, it will never be the same, but we've still got the Crown Avenue Consortium, (That's the name Scott gave us on our last night together), we've got a road trip to look forward too, and . . . we've got chickens.
I hope our new neighbors like eggs.
4 comments:
An honorable tribute to a dying American tradition: the neighborhood.
I totally KNEW those chickens were going to hop the fence! I feel for the boys; it's so hard as a kid to understand that people come and go into your life and the harder you hold onto the ones who leave, the harder it is to be open to the new ones who drift in. It took me a full 36 years to cometo terms with the concept.
CR
I read your entry, then read this (http://blueyonder.typepad.com/my_weblog/2008/09/why-dont-you-just-marry-her.html) and immediately had to send you the link.
I'll comment another time on the heartbreaking losses of childhood. Right now, you need joyful pictures of boys and their chickens.
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