So, Army officer housing is very neighborly. Case in point: Every year since we have been active duty, we have gotten "Booed," as in anonymous neighbor leaves Halloween goodies on door step along with a charge to pass the "Booing" on to two other neighbors within 48 hours. It's never overtly stated, but for me there's always the feeling that if I don't comply with the edict within the allotted time, a chain letter type curse will unleash its merciless horror on me and my house. Picture the green "Ten Commandments" cloud of death slinking under my front door (the way the big Louisiana cockroaches do), stalking my firstborn.
"Booing" stresses me out. It's not like I keep Halloween goody baskets on hand, so that when I get booed I am prepared. No, no. It always entails a *special* trip to Sam Walton's Mall of Leesville. Like I'm not there enough already. Compliance to the Boo edict sucks up too much of my time.
Ya gotta understand. We are hermit's hermits. If someone new moves in on the street, the Army Wife Handbook (yes, this is a real publication, and, yes, I like it) says you should take some edibles over in short order and introduce yourself. Once in a while I am on par with that course, but most often it goes like this . . . "Hi, I'm not sure if we've met, I'm Rebecca. Forgive me for not coming by 4 months ago when you moved in. Don't take it personally, we don't venture out until October." October is when the heat breaks around here. From April until September, this place is the Amazon Jungle. We stay in the air conditioning until the leaves start falling. At the beginning of this last October, the kids and I ventured out for a walk to the park, which is a block away. One neighbor said, "It's October! The Devenports are out." He's well trained.
Apart from the whole weather thing, we just like our space and privacy. Mark spends his entire day making people feel comfortable. Being an introvert to begin with just compounds the problem. He comes home socially and emotionally exhausted. Me, well, I just have things to do. Outside visiting is fine, but the to-do list is always too long to think about going out. Therefore . . .
We lack neighborly capital. That being the case, if I'm gonna bust my tail to do nice things for the neighbors, it ain't gonna be anonymous. I need the capital.
About the middle of September, I had a brainstorm. If I preempt the Boo Bandits, I can blissfully chant with Thoreau: simplify, simplify.
So on October 1, I made The Sign. I even laminated it so I could use it next year. Here it is, my surefire method for keeping the Boo Ghouls at bay . . .
It worked! I stayed Boo Free all month long.
This is me smiling like a Cheshire Cat: : )
At the end of October, while visiting teaching a friend who's husband is a Lt. Colonel, I was really unnerved to see TWO Boo signs on her door. My theory: the higher the rank, the more social the neighborhood. There is so much neighborly love on Gardner Street that no one cares if you've already been Booed, they just Boo you, again.
What a nightmare.
Of course, it could be worse, my very classy, diplomatic friend lives on a lower ranking street and there is a lot of drama that goes on around her. Like the drunken female neighbor who took out her unfounded frustrations on Classy Diplomatic Friend by urinating on Friend's doorstep.
Yes, I complain too much. It could be much worse. But I *am* really thankful for Harrell Street's balance of not-too-much drama, not-too-much love.
When Mark's name came up on the promotion list, we had the option of moving to a higher ranking street. I did think about moving, until I realized that would mean raising the neighborliness bar. Yikes! Good thing we stayed put. If we had moved to Gardner Street, all of my gleeful labors on The Sign would have been in vain. Those nice people would have Booed me anyway.
