Neighbours

I wasn’t expecting the long weekend to feel so celebratory.

We’re still in partial lockdown, and even in regular times, I don’t really distinguish weekends from weekdays. In a house with two writers, most days are workdays of some sort. But this time, I got caught up in a sense of hope and promise. It seemed impossible not to.

Throughout the pandemic, I—like nearly everyone—have mourned the lost connections. I’ve only seen my parents at a distance. One of our daughters has been provinces away for over a year. Some of my dearest friends are in Newfoundland, and it’s coming on two years since I’ve had their hugs squish the air right out of my lungs.

But often it’s the small things that keep me feeling connected. And this weekend delivered a cornucopia of small delights.

I walked with A the Enchanted and her huge dog through our local cemetery, talking about writing and life—the good and the hard parts.

My roommates (adults, all) played badminton in the yard, and the park, and the street.

I was hailed from the street by Runner Reverend, and we had one of our loud and wide-ranging conversations, which this time touched on the concept of a sabbath and how humans have recognized for eons the need for a day of rest after six of toil.

I saw that C in Ottawa was making lilac syrup with her girls (because the lilacs would soon be past their best), and looked out at my Next Door Neighbours’ white lilacs in bloom, here at my house in Hamilton. The neighbours said, I was welcome to their lilacs. Then another neighbour was going for a walk—Did I want some more? Tiki delivered a foraged bouquet to a vase outside my door. After an afternoon playing chemist, the next morning I delivered the results of our group project—chatting on my Next Door Neighbour’s porch, and in Tiki’s backyard while she cut her partner’s hair.

In my own yard, I startled a baby robin who held perfectly still long enough for me to get a picture, which I sent to Newfoundland to Marsh Tyrant, who replied with a video of terns screeching along the coast.

From Toronto, Spoons sent evidence of the Lego bonsai she spent a happy day building with her partner, and pictures of the visit she’d had in the park with her friend’s baby. Then we each wrote—separately—that babies were so cheering especially when they were someone else’s, and our messages crossed in midair.

My East Coast Daughter showed me the gardens she’s building with roommates and friends, and my mom in small-town Ontario, sent a picture of flourishing rhubarb, chives and Forget-Me-Nots.

I noted Kerry’s ice cream cones, and the stitching on the pockets on the pants that Jannette’s making, and Christy-Ann’s orchard in bloom, and Ron and Lauren’s bear cubs, and Jessie’s drawing she made in the park, and all the people who were busting out their summer shoes. I delighted in the road trip the Cellist took for fresh asparagus, and Towering Champion’s playful breakfast with her kids—of cherry pie.

The pie was an antidote of sorts. Something nice and fun and easy, in the midst of times that have been the very opposite.

And that’s what the weekend was, too.

I loved spending it with you.