My neighbor was a good cook, a very good cook. I remember the smell of garlic and onions coming from her house as I came home from work. At canning season, the smell of tomato sauce and a variety of peppers filled the neighborhood. Like my grandma, she used the high wall of her back porch to cool her pies and set her jello at Thanksgiving – that back porch was an extension of her busy kitchen. When my son was born, she brought me a casserole…it was delicious.

My neighbor often offered my young son a cookie when we were out for a walk. We would stop and chat while my son ate his cookie, waiting patiently to move on so he could look for interesting rocks and bugs. My son asked  more than once why her cookies and other baked goods tasted so much better than mine. It made her smile to hear him say that.

The neighborhood has changed since she moved away. Oh, I still have good neighbors, but illness and age keeps them inside. Some, like me, work irregular schedules. There is still the feeling, that in an emergency, you could knock on any door and someone would help. But there aren’t neighbors sitting on the porch, waiting for a chance to talk. Or share a cookie.

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