Change happens, whether wanted or not, whether instigated or by happenstance. I accept change, sometimes applaud it, at times reluctantly endure it. Rarely do I oppose change.
Until the past year. I won’t mention political change; that is a discussion for another post. Or an entire book. I am not discussing personal change, such as the appearance of gray hair and wrinkles or job moves. I am reflecting on change around me. Specifically, occurrences around my neighborhood.
It all started months ago when my favorite neighbor Terri sold her house and moved 40 miles south to a serene, less frenetic town. The new neighbors are nice enough, but it is not the same. No more lazy gossips across our joint fence, no more sharing flowers and shrubs, no more surprise knocks on the door with a favorite Italian dish in hand.
I waved hi! to my across-the-street neighbor Joe the other day, met him in the middle of the street, and asked if he had met our new neighbors. His response, “I miss Terri!”
I’m with you, Joe.
A house across the street went up for sale recently. The elderly woman who lived there since the mid-20th century passed away. The house needed a lot of work, but fixer-uppers become someone’s dream domicile.
Not this time.
My husband Steve and I spent five days in Florida with family, the occasion our granddaughter’s high school graduation. The day we left – a Monday – a For Sale sign prominently displayed on the house’s lawn. We came home late Saturday night. On Sunday morning I drove down the street in pursuit of much-needed provisions, and noticed the change on my street.
Where a house once stood a vacant lot materialized. I had not noticed an Under Contract or Sold indicator on the For Sale sign before leaving town. Apparently in five days the house sold, trucks rolled onto the lot, leveled the home, and disposed of all the debris. There has been no follow-up activity since. A developer probably purchased the property and will erect a three- or four-story rectangular, boxy-looking house (first level mandated by zoning as garage and storage only). The lot is small and narrow. There will be minimal unpaved area.
The story of this home, a run-down cottage built in the 1940s or 50s, is one example of what is happening all over my town. But this is the first time the trend touched my street. Change I do not like but accept. I have no choice. Another home on the block recently succumbed to the high prices offered for property – we are constantly bombarded by realtors – and I fear the same result: tear down replaced by 21st-century boring construction.
New neighbors arrive, old homes disappear, but some things remain the same, but different. Most homes are owner-occupied, and although many second homes populate during the summer and only occasionally the rest of the year, the same families reappear year after year, the adults a bit grayer and broader, the kids and grandkids taller. I meet new babies while older folks move on.
Eventually I will also move, likely to another downsized domicile, easier for older folks like me to maneuver and care for. How much longer do I want to worry about repairs and the upkeep a house requires?
A discussion for another post.
Meanwhile my part-time neighbors have reappeared, and my street stirs with outdoor activity – folks garden, clean porch furniture, fetch grills and sports equipment. More dog walkers and stroller-pushers pass by. My Little Free Library sees more business. Parking is at a premium on weekends.
Change occurs around me, but there is enough continuity to still enjoy my slice of paradise, my hometown street.
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