neighbors kerry i spent an hour or so cleaning up trash with the picker, lugging the metal trash can down the sidewalk. it’s a good way to make your neighbors like you. i was nearly done when augustus walked up in his flannel pj pants, two nose rings, flowing hair. wow, he said, i feel so bad, i should help you. i shrugged. said i’d run into betty and we were talking about a saturday clean-up for the block. he finished his cigarette and said, well i won’t leave this butt on the ground. yeah better not in front of me, i said, and he blushed a bit and i said i was just giving him a hard time, here’s an enormous ashtray, and gestured at the trashcan beside me. truth is i’ve idly wondered if he’d moved since i never see him sitting smoking on his stoop anymore. i know almost nothing about him, only crumbs that make me more curious. now there’s a new roommate who i’ve seen come home early as 8:30am, maybe coming back from a bodega run, maybe the walk of shame, maybe getting off night shift someplace. and the music is increasing; i’d seen a cello, assumed it belonged to augustus. he has that scrappy musician look. one evening when i was closing the curtains i heard singing and caught myself watching and listening too long, maybe he saw me. i slipped away, though i hated to. 211122 ... tender_square we met cathy and simon when we closed on the house last month; they happened to be in their driveway while michael and i were in our driveway. we waved to one another and talked from across the lawn. not only were they friendly and talkative, they were excited to have folks living beside them (they did not care for the woman who owned the house before us). “we have gatherings quite a bit,” cathy said. “but we don’t get out of hand. we’re looking forward to inviting you!” on christmas eve, simon came to the door. michael answered. he and his wife had given us a card, with our names on it (how they remembered from a month ago is beyond me), and a bottle of wine. they coordinated the gift with the neighbors on the other side of us. the cover of the card has an irish blessing, “may your home always be too small to hold all your friends.” and inside, both couples congratulated us on our new home and welcomed us to the neighborhood. cathy and simon gave us their phone numbers and said to feel free to call if we needed to borrow anything or if they could be of help. jeff and erin, the neighbors we haven’t met yet but live on the other side of us, tacked on the same message with their numbers. michael and i were so touched by the gesture (even though we don’t drink), i’m thinking about what i can bake them to say thank you when we’re in town again next month. i thought this experience epitomized the difference between the us and canada. in the states, i can’t get our neighbors to even acknowledge us most of the time, let alone remember our names; we’ve barely owned this house in canada for a month and already our new neighbors are going out of their way for us. when i shared the story with my parents, they were stunned. “how many houses have we owned, diane?” “i don’t know—four?” “have we ever had neighbors that came by with a card to welcome us to the area and a gift?” my dad asked. “never.” 211226 ... tender_square patrick had a wheeled dumpster in his driveway for a week. i’d hear the hinge groan from my desk whenever he swung the wide door open to throw trash away. i tried to get a sense of what he was tossing, to see if he was about to start a renovation project, but i couldn’t catch him in the act of heaving whenever i stood at the kitchen window that looked out on his driveway. then the rusted dumpster disappeared, taken back by the company who rented it while i was out of the house on an errand or inside not paying attention. in its place a day later was a white, unbranded truck with a ramp that hung out the back like a tail. the forecast on new year's day was calling for snow; the pavement was damp but there wasn't any accumulation. and when i held my mitten out in the air to see if it was raining as michael and i were setting out for a walk, patrick thought i’d waved to him. i sauntered across the lawn. “are you moving?” i called over, half-jokingly. “yeah, january 1st is not the greatest day for it,” patrick chuckled. "especially in this weather." “oh! wow!” “yeah, you know my girlfriend jess?” “no, but i’ve seen her around.” the two of them started dating during the start of the pandemic. her black fiat was in his driveway every weekend. she had a robust laugh and loud voice that bounced between our houses some nights. “well, she and i got a place together. it’s in brighton; it even has a ceramic studio.” last summer, patrick and i spent most mornings on our porches, and i’d be morning_blathing while he’d be using some miniature handheld sander on a project, the low-pitched whine whirling into my temples. frustrated, i’d get up from the porch swing to see if i could make out what he was working on and why it was taking so goddamn long. i assumed he was a hobbyist woodworker. “that’s cool! congratulations.” michael stood beside me, bundled in his parka and listened. “the house is going on the market tomorrow,” patrick said. new year, new neighbors. 220102 what's it to you? who go blather from