Growing up in Virginia, my mom baked pies for the neighbors every year for Christmas. She'd bake pies, and my sister and I would be sent off with our little red wagon to deliver them. We knew just about everyone in the neighborhood, so she must have baked a lot of pies.
She would also bake pies or cookies to welcome new families to our street. I loved that she did that. Nothing says "home" more than fresh baked goods, right? Especially if they're made from scratch. It shows you put some time and thought into welcoming new neighbors.
Since we're living in a house for the first time this year, I decided it was time to begin that tradition myself. After all, I'm an adult now, right?
So when neighbors on three sides of us moved out a few months ago, I looked forward to meeting the people who would be moving in. When the first house was rented, Steve and I decided to take them over some cookies one Sunday.
Unfortunately, Steve was called into work that afternoon. I had already made the cookie dough, and the oven was already preheating. So I decided that I would just take the cookies over by myself, and I'd introduce Steve another time.
I naively rushed over with my plate of cookies, eager to make new acquaintances and hoping for new friends. Unfortunately, as I found out quickly and to my chagrin, the house had been rented by three single military guys in their twenties. The guys were really confused about why a married woman they didn't know was bringing them food--alone.
I'm sorry to say that there are some military wives who make it a point to meet young military guys while their husbands are away. Let me just take the opportunity to say that I am most certainly NOT one of them.
But these guys didn't know that. I could see them wondering why I was really there, so I tried to mention Steve as much as I could in the brief conversation I had with my three new neighbors. It was painfully awkward. I left as quickly as possible.
Needless to say, when new people moved in next to them a few weeks ago, I didn't go to meet them. I don't know who lives there--they drive up in their cars, park in the garage and shut the garage door behind them. And the guys across the street are rarely outside if they're home, so I haven't spoken to them since. Steve still hasn't met them.
Maybe next year we'll know our neighbors. I hope we do. But I'm not quite ready to go delivering Christmas pies to unknown neighbors yet.
Maybe when we have kids, I'll send them over to deliver the pies.
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