I have been in my apartment for four months now. There are two other apartments in my house. The first floor apartment has a wonderful porch that the neighbors fill with potted vegetables in the summer and geraniums in the fall. They spend a lot of time out there talking, petting their cat, and chatting with whoever wanders by.
The porch is where they, one of our next door neighbors, and I, sat in our costumes (two pirates, one Groucho Marks in a top hat, and one Mexican sugar skull doll) to drink “blood” (and my first slippery nipple; very tasty), and hand out candy.
We saw the sweetest ghosts, witches, skeletons, a monkey, some superheros, bees, princesses, teen boys in drag — you name it.
It was so damn neighborly! Is that the elusive ’50’s everyone is trying to get back to? To be “great” again?
I had never been neighborly with my neighbors until “-” moved out of the house. Then, I needed to ask the neighbors who they used to plow their snow.
In his eyes, these neighbors were too nosy, those were too religious, the others were just weird. There was always an excuse not to be nice to our neighbors. To avoid them, in fact. I later found out we were known in our neighborhood as the “yellers.” There you go.
In my new house, I see one or the other of the first floor neighbors almost daily. We exchange pleasantries, and it’s nice.
Last night between trick-or-treaters, we asked each other polite questions about our backgrounds, we reminisced about past Halloweens, we planned a pot luck.
I also asked if anyone had any paranormal or ghost stories to share.
We all did.
The first floor neighbors had stories, and actual pictures, of “ghosts” in our house!
At least since I was six or so…