Those of you have dipped into my record of life in my little corner of the world have probably already heard too much about the utter perfection of a little block I like to call 1500 Norwood. To you I say, too bad; you're going to hear more.
Today, as it happens, was one of those hearts-and-rainbows, ponies-and-unicorn days in which all the glory of Mayberry comes out in full flower just outside my front door. On 1400 Norwood, life is sorrow. On 1300 Norwood, they eat naught but ashes and drink naught but tears. But on 1500 Norwood, all is bliss.
Here's how it went down:
10:30am: I depart my abode to head up to Highland Park for one of a million follow-ups on my poor beleagured jaw. What with unforeseen forestallments and emergency surguries galore, my appointment is pushed off, delaying my return considerably. During my my transit, I discover it is a rare, beautiful spring day in Chicago, and I contemplate a delicious fried egg sandwich, necessary fuel for one who has skipped breakfast.
1:00pm: Upon returning home, I prepare aforesaid sandwich and ponder where to consume said meal. "Outside would be bliss," I thought, "but what fun would it be without my delightful Caseys?" -- The Caseys being, of course, my next door neighbors; more specifically, Jack (age 7) and James (age 4).
I peek outside, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but two small boys cavorting.
I head outdoors, sandwich in hand, only to be peppered with requests for shovels. I explain that I must eat my sandwich first, but the great sadness I witness convinces me that sandwiches can wait. I make with the shovels, and retire to my back steps for the duel delight of egg sandwich and an extravaganza of earth removal.
2:00pm: Basking in the spring sun, I realize that I have yet to consume some coffee, and excuse myself to go make a pot. Jack is scandalized -- where on earth could I be going??? I explain I will be right back.
As the coffee brews, I take it into my mind that I desire a nice hunk of blueberry cinnamon coffee cake. Thankfully, I have a recipe for said cake, and all ingredients on hand. I whip up the batter, slap pan in oven, and return to the back steps with coffee, no one the wiser about my improvised baking.
3:00pm: The coffee cake is done! But, oh, too hot to handle. So I grab a magazine, and sidle out to the benches so thoughtfully provided on the parkway down the block. Our neighbors, the Watts-Harrises (Kevin, Ruth and son Sam) have selflessly sacrificed the grass on their parkway so that all may bask in communal lounging. I plunk down with coffee and magazine.
3:30pm: I sense, from half a block away, that my coffee cake is now cool enough to cut. I sidle back up the block, and consider what to do with this bounty of cake. After all, I'm only one small girl, and this is a gi-normous 13" x 9" cake.
The first hunk goes to neighbor Lisa, who is laid up from recent childbirth and surgery. As I deliver it, her 2-year-old Caroline (one of four -- count 'em, four! -- children) eyes me with a mix of suspicion and flirtation.
En route to Lisa's, I pass by the venerable benches, where Megan has settled in. "What are you doing?" she asks. "Delivering coffee cake," I say. "I'll bring some out. Want some?" She does.
But first, I must make my second delivery. It goes to Nancy. Ah, Nancy. Shameless, irrepressible Nancy. A fixture on the block, Nancy has lived here since the '70s. Before that, she was in the convent. I like to think of her as a sort of Scotch-soaked Maria von Trapp. After leaving the nunnery, she taught at a school for autistic children, and eventually met the love of her life, Bill, an ex-priest. Now in her 80s, Nancy shacks up with Bill, goes for daily strolls, distributes chocolates by the fistful, and brings joy to the block with her Christmas lights, which are lit year-round.
Nancy and I forged a bond over physical therapy. She was recovering from knee replacement surgery; I was rehabbing a crotchety hip. We had two weekly dates for nearly 6 months, and have been fast friends since. When the mood strikes me, I toss tasty comestibles in a ziplock and tottle down to Nancy's for a visit.
So on this fine spring day, I set out with coffee cake in hand, only to find Nancy in conversation with a passerby. We are introduced. This person -- who, I suspect, is transsexual -- is walking a small, vivacious poodle. Apparently, she has been accosted by Nancy before, and decided to swing by for a chat. After fussing over her poodle, Sunshine, we make our way to Nancy's, where we enjoy a short visit. We are soon joined by Manny, a former neighbor, now residing in a local nursing home. He has returned with his daughter for a visit. We watch the preamble to the derby.
3:30pm: I excuse myself, explaining I have promised Megan some coffee cake. On the way home, I pass back by the benches, and re-assert to Megan, who is now joined by Ruth (proprietor of the benches) and Kim (a refugee from the much-despised 1400 block), that I will be bringing coffee cake.
But first, I realize, I must deliver a hunk to the Caseys. I carve off a hunk, foil it up, and traipse next door. I ring the bell, and realize I have interrupted violin practice. Jim and Jack seem to welcome a break and usher me in. I'm treated to several tunes by the deft-fingered Jack, including a duet with Jim. James totters in and whispers in Jim's ear. He, too, it seems, wants a go. Jim produces what I consider the smallest violin in creation (though Jim assures me there are much smaller ones, even in that very house), and James launches into a song entitled "Perpetual Motion," his 4-year-old fingers flying. I'm treated to several encores.
4:00pm: I depart the Caseys, and am accosted by shouts from the bench of "where is that coffee cake?" I explain that I had been ensnared by the Casey's siren song, and that I will be out in a second. I slice up the last quadrant of cake and take it out to the ladies.
4:15pm: We partake. Sam, Jack and James inflict serious damage on each other with light sabers. Ann comes out and models the stylish outfit she has donned for a fundraiser that evening at the local Catholic school. Megan departs to make her preparations for the same event.
In front of the McDermott house, a flock of children skip rope, draw with chalk, and do other things that children do at a first communion party.
Across the street, the Brenner twins roller skate.
Kevin joins Ruth and me at the benches, and we speak of this and that.
The Caltos leave for the fundraiser.
The Cancillas leave for the fundraiser.
I comment pitiously that I feel like I'm being left behind on prom night.
"Come to dinner with us," Kevin says.
"I was going to stay in," I reply, "But I like you people."
6:00pm: I pop inside to change clothes and slap on some eyeliner. When I return to rejoin Ruth and Kevin, I find that Jim has ventured outdoors with his guitar and serenading the block. We listen to a few tunes, and after the Caseys leave for the fundraiser, Kevin brings around the car, and off I go for a delightful repast of tacos and tequila.
And thus ends a perfect day on 1500 Norwood.
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