When life leads us back to the neighborhoods in which
we grew up we usually find - particularly if our neigh-
borhood was all residential - that things don't change much
from one decade to the next. Every so often someone
changes the color of a house or adds an addition, but for
the most part little changes. I have found that when I
walk down the same streets I walked down as a 12-year-
old even the cracks in the many-times-repaired sidewalks
have tended to re-form in the same places. The same
old trees line the streets (even the "face" on the tree
that stands on the corner and looks exactly like the tree
in the Wizard of Oz has not aged). Of course if one were
to go to the "main drag" in my hometown there are
a number of drastic changes that have been made, but
I'm talking about the residential streets that make up
the neighborhood in which I grew up a long time ago.

Of course, in all the years a certain percentage of the "old"
families have moved, and houses have been bought and
sold and sometimes sold and sold again. Still, though, there
are enough of the "old" people left to create the impression
that, for the most part, the people are as permanent as their
homes. It is these people who not only make up the community,
but have often built it.

Although there are times when a couple or a few neighbors
become close friends, in most cases neighbors can be divided
into two categories: the ones to whom one might say "Nice
day" and the ones who have been around so long their presence
alone contributes to the feeling that one is home. These are
the "fixture neighbors" (and I don't mean to demean their
status by using the word, "fixture").

In our little or large homes we all have our families. We have
our extended families, and we have our assorted friends and
acquaintances. We may not hang out with our fixture neighbors,
and we probably don't attend their children's weddings, and
sometimes there may even a small issue with a fixture neighbor
(maybe a tree one neighbor wishes another would cut down,
maybe something else) that everyone just learns to accept as
the way things are.

These fixture neighbors were around as a family when you
were a kid. You watched them add family members. You
watched their children grow. You may have smiled when you
saw their "baby" waiting for the school bus, and you may
have been a little shocked to see that "baby" drive up in a
car. They may have sent you a card when you were sick.
They may have brought casseroles when you're father died.
You may have fed their dog when they were called out of
state for a family emergency.

They were out walking when you were during the Blizzard
of '78 when cars could not be driven. You saw their flags
go up after September 11. Although you are distant enough
from these folks that the only thing that would make you
knock on their door might be that you were locked out of
your house on a zero-degree day, or else that you had a gas leak
and needed to make a call from outside your own house;
you have also - from that distance - gotten to know these
families in ways one wouldn't realize unless he/she had
lived in this type of neighborhood.

You know the names of your neighbor's kids, and later you
may or may not learn the names of the kids' kids. You're not
nosy, but somehow you couldn't help but notice all those
cars in front of the neighbors' house. Maybe you noticed
the new-baby balloon on the mailbox and people bringing in
gifts in pink wrapper. Maybe, on the other hand, you noticed
this bunch of cars somehow seems to have brought family
members for a crisis because you haven't seen the bustling
and heard the talk associated with happy gatherings.

You may know the Santa they put up every year for Christmas
or the way they decorate their window boxes every Spring.
You're used to seeing those duck statues when you pass their
yard, and you probably know who puts out purple mums with
their pumpkins and who puts out yellow ones with theirs.

Although you're not nosy, you may have allowed yourself
to peek out when you saw the white limousines because
you didn't think they'd mind if you watched the across-the-
street daughters have pictures in their wedding dresses.

Although you really don't spend much time paying attention
to what neighbors are doing you may have somehow unconsciously
noticed when there is something wrong in a neighbor's
home Although you don't spend much time paying attention
to what neighbors are doing, you may have noticed that
the grandchildren have been staying because one of them
yelled to you that she had a new baby brother. Fixture neighbors
are neighbors that you have watched age too. Fixture neighbors
know your family as well, and they are amazed that your
baby is now in college too.

I have become a fixture neighbor who takes long walks, and
Charlie was a fixture neighbor who kept his great lawn in
impeccable shape. I remembered when Charlie was middle-
aged, and he had been a very, very, overweight man who
was always out raking his lawn. When I returned to the
neighborhood a few years ago Charlie would be out raking,
but he had lost substantial weight and was in his 70's. I
admired him because after talking with him several times
I had learned he had all kinds of health problems and wore
specially constructed shoes after losing his toes from diabetes
Still, he had that big lawn looking absolutely beautiful. He
would occasionally rake while he used a cane, and he said
there wasn't a minute in his day when he wasn't in pain..

While I would occasionally stop when Charlie was out working,
sometimes he was working too far back in his yard. Other
times I would hear his voice echo from his mostly empty
garage when he'd yell, "Hey. Where's my turkey sandwich?"
Once I said to him if there was ever anyting he wanted me to
pick up at the store I would be glad to get it, but he said he
was only kidding about the sandwich (which I knew). Actually,
I learned that he was quite the cook and would cook turkey
for himself. Charlie's house looked neat, and so did the yard.
He never had a car, so I don't know how I sensed that Charlie
was sick last Winter. It wasn't like a change in cars or a
change in which windows were open or closed gave me a
hint. Somehow I just got the "vibes" that Charlie wasn't ok.

I would pass his house and not hear the familiar, "Where's my
turkey sandwich". One day I noticed his mailbox had been
moved from the street to close to his house, so I figured he must
have been sick. After walking by Charlie's silent house for
about three weeks I decided to look in past obituaries just to
see if something had happened - and there it was. Charlie had
gone, and there were notes from his grandchildren that he
was no longer in pain. While I was at the cemetary to put
something on my parents' grave I went by the grave that
had had Charlie's wife's name; and on the neat, attractive
headstone there was now Charlie's name too. I've been going
to the little cemetary for years. You get to know the names
on the markers. After over 30 years of visiting the local cemetary
I have realized there are also fixture-neighbor's families' graves
as well.

That was early Spring, and it is now September. For months
I would imagine hearing Charlie yell when I walked by his
empty house; but it was sold, and now a lively family lives there.
Charlie's yard has two beautiful trees in it. Each Autumn
they turn striking reds and oranges, and it is the leaves from
those trees that Charlie was always raking on his bad feet.
A couple of weeks ago when it was still August I noticed
that one of Charlie's trees had begun to turn red. It seemed
to be the only one in town that had begun to turn. I'm
sure there's some scientific reason for the this, but it just seems
as if now that I'm not hearing Charlie call me his tree is
in some way making some statement.

Today the September sky was so blue, and the humidity was
low. I thought I'd go out walking and maybe get a cup of
coffee or go to the library. As I walked down the street one
of my fixture neighbors was coming up the street. I often
wonder how she's been doing because she lost her husband
not all that long ago, and her son has been very ill. She
asked if I knew about her son, and although I could pretty
much guess I said I didn't. She told me he had passed away.

I don't really know these people very well, but - as I say - they
are a fixture-neighbor family. Her son was friends with my
younger brother. Their family and my family have lived
their separate but, in ways, parallel lives nearby each other
for decades. Of course my heart ached for this mother who
lost her first child, particularly so soon after losing her
husband; but I couldn't understand the degree of the loss that
struck me on this beautiful September day. I joked to myself
in my mind that she had ruined my beautiful day, but as the
day wore on I tried to figure out why I would be feeling this
loss as powerfully as I was when I have never been close to
anyone in that family.

I realized that one thing is the fact that these neighbors are
people we sometimes only converse with when there has
been a giant loss or when someone is sick. The rest of the
time everyone lives their lives and waves as they pass each
other on the street. It is almost as if these relationships are
based on relating in times of trouble, a shared community
and the fact that we all leave our driveway lights on all night
for all who may go up our street. It can seem as if our
neighborhood is a place where, when one goes outside of the
home in which he is surrounded by family's love
he will find himself on a street where a flicker of warmth and
caring from friends is an assurance that all is not cold and
dark in the world outside of our homes and a reminder that
what humans share transcends property lines.

I realized, too, that there is that order to things that we all want.
Mothers and fathers and their kids all grow older, the parents
are supposed to go first, the kids are supposed to be grandparents
someday. When my parents moved to the neighborhood when
I was a kid each and every new house had a young or sort-of
young family with young or very young children.

When my father died it was a shock to the neighborhood because
he was well liked and fairly young. When the teenage girl up
the street got brain damage after having strep throat and
was in and out of hospitals for years before she died at 31
it was as if everyone in the neighborhood shared in that
heartache.

I know Charlie wasn't young, but he wrecked the order of things too
when he died. He had been raking that lawn for - like - 40
years. He was supposed to be out there, and he was supposed to
be yelling to me about a turkey sandwich!

When it comes to this woman's son, though, I remember him as
a little boy. He was younger than I. His kids are slightly
younger than mine are. He, too, has been "out there" connected
to the neighborhood for decades. The houses, the families,
the grandchildren, even so-and-so's 18-year-old cat that sits
on the stairs in the sun - these are some of the things that make
up that fabric that is that solid sense of stability and roots.
Today, suddenly, however, it was as if a hole was cut into
that fabric. Her son was in his forties, but she was not supposed
to lose him, For a second or two I did that thing where I
forgot my mother is no longer here either, and I thought, "Wait
until I tell my mother that he is gone." For a second or two,
even though this woman and I both have families and friends,
it was as if she and I were the only survivors in a desert of
some kind.

She walked home, and I walked on - left with this vague sense
of loss and sadness that I could neither explain nor name. I
haven't seen her son in years and years, and it isn't as if we're
close friends. I asked myself if I am so accustomed to
collecting heartaches that I just automatically borrowed one
from her, but that wasn't it. My neighbor, with her large
family and all her friends, doesn't need anything from me -
not even "support". I thought I might get her a card or bring
her something cheerful, like a flowering plant; but I also
know there just isn't anything anyone can say or do at times
like this that will make much of a difference. I guess I can
just hope that she sees me as much of a fixture-neighbor as
I see her because there is some weird sense of warmth one
gets from that backdrop of solidness and permanence that
a neighborhood of fixture neighbors can provide.

It did occur to me that she had to have seen the sorrow in
my eyes when she was talking with me, and maybe she will
find some comfort in knowing that someone like me shares
her loss in some way. I have - in my time - been known to
over-analyze some of the most fundamental things, and this
cloud I have over me tonight may simply be a matter of
being sad for a neighbor I've known for years.

It is so easy to flip on a driveway light for anyone passing by,
and its so easy to put out some brightly colored mums and
a big, orange pumpkin to contribute to a neighborhood's
cheerful Autumn atmosphere. It just isn't very easy to figure
out what, if anything, you can do for a neighbor who isn't
a close friend or a family member and yet who is close enough
to have remembered all those worst-of-times you've had.

Fixture-neighbors may not be close friends and may not be
"just neighbors". They are something inbetween, I suppose
it is not realistic to expect indifference to the losses of a
fixture-neighbor because we have both watched their lives
as if they were a movie of which we are not a part and
connected with them from time to time. I think I would
describe it as if - after years and years of knowing people -
one realizes one day that there is some kind of "low pilot
light" of caring that is never really bright but never out
either.

Someday there will be a bunch of cars at the house across
the street, and there will be laughing and balloons and
gifts. Someday I'll walk by Charlie's trees and not even
notice them. For now, the air floating around and over my
neighborhood has some touches of sadness in it. It is
somehow the same air that I share with these people to
whom I'm not even all that close. That's the only way I
can describe this thing I have tonight, and yet I realize I
still have not found a name for it.