Corn and Chaos

My neighbor came by with an invitation to one of those in-home parties. It's a jewelry party, and she presented the evening like this, "It seems like the guys in the neighborhood get to see each other when they're out in the yard working, but the ladies don't seem to get much time together. I thought this would be a chance for us to get to know each other a little bit."

The feminist in me was a little offended, because I do a fair amount of the yardwork. But the next emotion to hit was guilt because when she moved in, I tried to take her a plate of brownies, but no one was ever home when I dropped by. As far as she knows, I've ignored the fact that she's a newcomer.

Then I recalled the first time she and I officially met. One evening, a fire truck arrived with its sirens wailing at another neighbor's house. Many people gathered at the foot of our driveway to speculate and gape. We had been eating a dinner of hamburgers, rice, and corn on the cob when we heard sirens. Shortly after, some children from a few doors down banged on our door and shrieked, "Fire! Fire! Fire!" We all dropped our hamburgers and corncobs and scrambled out the door. Was our house on fire? Was theirs? I joined the gathering crowd in my front yard. This lady, the one who invited me to the jewelry party, came striding over. "What's going on?"

"We don't know," we answered.

"I'm Cynthia [name changed]," she said, stretching our her hand formally. She was dressed like a professional just back from the office. I was dressed like a mom at the end of a summer day--not at all like a professional, to say the least. "I live in the house on the corner," she continued, looking at me intently.

"I'm Ann," I answered, "And this is my husband. We're glad to finally meet you." When I turned to introduce him, he started motioning to my cheek.

"You've, uh, got something..." he trailed off, making a concerned face while pointing.

I swiped at my cheek. Turns out I had a bright yellow, summer-sized kernel of fresh corn from the cob stuck to my cheek all the while I was meeting this new gal, the professional, well-coiffed, firm-handshake neighbor.

While I remained standing there wondering if there was rice in my hair, too, she got fed up with us gapers. She strode (each time I've seen her she seems so purposeful--it's the best verb) to the scene of the action, found out what was going on, reported back to the befuddled group lingering on my lawn, explaining that the old lady had fallen and hurt her hip, but it was under control so we could all just relax or even go on home.

I've had very little interaction with her since the corn-cheek evening, given that my well-intentioned brownie visits amounted to nothing. We ate the undeliverable brownies ourselves, I must confess.

So now there was this jewelry evening invitation, which happened at the dinner hour. For us it happened to be the soccer-practice-gathering hour; at the last minute my husband phoned and requested I bring our oldest daughter to soccer practice. When the neighbor strode over and rang the doorbell, I was on the phone with someone while motioning to my oldest to round everyone up from the far reaches of the neighborhood. I opened the door a crack, asked my friend on the phone to hold, grabbed the dog by his collar and pushed him back, and said, "Hi!"

She was once more in her professional clothes and heels, her sunglasses slipped on top of her head to push back her full-bodied blond hair.

"Hi, I know this is last minute, and you've got like a million kids running around all the time, but I'm putting together a little gathering for the ladies of the neighborhood. It seems like the guys in the neighborhood..." and then she said that whole thing about the guys and the yardwork. I was hunched over because of the dog, my flat, unstyled, end-of-day hair was tumbling out of its barrette, my foot propped open the storm door, and my phone arm was stretched out so that friend wouldn't be subjected to the noise.

"I'm sorry, could you excuse me," I said as I called out to my youngest. He had begun the quest for his sisters without waiting for his escort (another sister), but the lady overlapped somewhat, still talking about the party. My friend was just waiting on the phone during this hubbub.

"Excuse me," I said, "There goes one of my million kids right now, 'Come back!'" I called to him.

She paused her party spiel and glanced over her shoulder, "Yes, I thought he seemed to be getting far for such a little guy."

Thanks a lot, I thought, You're the one holding me up at the door. But I said, "Heh, heh, well, his babysitting-aged sister is catching up to him. There she goes. Okay, he's all right. They're getting the others--I'm supposed to be at soccer and I've got this friend on the phone. I'm sorry. You were saying?"

She continued in detail about the gathering, the ladies of the neighborhood, maybe I could stop by, the jewelry, it's relaxed and casual, she's going around inviting everyone, hoping we could get to know each other.

The dog was pulling at me and my phone friend was kindly on hold while I was waiting for her to finish up the invite. Could she not see commotion swirling around me like that Calgon woman? Finally she extended an oversized card with the pertinent information printed on it, so I took it and thanked her. "I'm not sure," I muttered, noncommital. "I think I have something, but I'll try." She encouraged me to drop in even if for a few moments. I said I'd like that. She strode away, down the street, over to the next cul-de-sac. I saw my kids turning the corner--so many things to keep track of! I let go of the dog, finished up with my friend on the phone, and glanced at the card while grabbing my keys to go to soccer practice.

I thought to myself later that night that it might be nice to put on something presentable, brush my hair, slap on a little makeup, and show up corn-free. Maybe I should go. In fact, maybe I should take a plate of brownies? On the other hand, now that I've seen all that striding, she doesn't seem like the brownie type...maybe more the wine-and-cheese type.