My Neighbors: the Grandfolks I Didn't Know

or, Why I love New Orleans.

My boss asked me to drop off a present at her fiance's cousin's house. It happens to be about 2 blocks from my house, so being kindly and respectful of said boss's hesitance to waste gas, I agreed to drop off said present.

After a long day of meetings and frustrations and Anger at Things Beyond My Control, I went to the gym, to discover my Pilates class was canceled (Grrr! I mean, Get well soon Pilates teacher!) and I had to go to spinning instead. There are worse things, actually, since the cardio was probably good for my mood. When I got home and returned bestfriend J-'s call, he reminded me to Eat Something. "Hey! When was the last time you ate, Low Blood Sugar? Go have dinner."

And then I walked down to My Neighbor's house. They live two blocks down the Avenue, and from the front porch it didn't even seem like anybody was there. I hung it on the door and rang the bell and considered leaving, but I was pretty sure that would be rude. And they'd wonder why Boss & Fiance didn't stop to say hi. So a woman came to the door, I explained who I was and what I was doing there, and she insisted I come inside.

No, really, I resisted. I just got back from the gym, I don't even have a bra on. Well, I omitted the last part, but you don't really want that to be the first time you meet anybody, right? You want to at least be confident you smell vaguely appealing.

Yes, really, she insisted. She leads me through two parlors, two kitchens, until we emerge into the hidden back dining room, where I come upon GrandPo and GrandMo and the woman's partner and they are just finishing dinner. This makes me feel much worse, but instantly GrandMo welcomes me, insists that if they had more wine they would make me drink it. They reminisce about how wonderful Boss's Fiance is (his gifts, fwiw, were terrifically thoughtful and kind considering GrandPo is having surgery tomorrow) - and GrandMo brings me to the kitchen to show me the mugs he gave her, and gets teary eyed thinking about Jazz Fest. She is slightly embarrassed, but not so much that she stops crying, and we both know its because her GrandHusband-Po of many many years is having surgery and we are all getting old and dying and why does that have to happen and yet people still love us and bring us incredibly thoughtful gifts.

She walks me out to the door, and thanks me again for coming, invites me back anytime, and tell me to thank Boss for choosing me to send as the messenger.

My two blocks home were totally different than my two blocks there. Maybe it was my blood sugar evening out, but I felt so grateful to live here and sorry for the folks who were gone or who weren't from here originally and didn't have our disease. Because I would have invited me in and offered me wine and told me a story. I will, in 50 years, when I am GrandMo's age.