I went on a walk in my neighborhood yesterday morning. First I passed a boy and a girl playing in a front yard. I could hear them chattering in the language of Pretend. “Let’s say we went to the movies, OK?” Pretending to go to the movies as they skipped across their lawn. Then I passed a park. A Chinese grandmother swinging her granddaughter. An Indian grandfather swinging his grandson. California is diverse. I like that.
On the next street I passed a medium-sized girl playing basketball in her front yard. She lost control of her ball and it rolled into the street. I bounced it to her. It was pink. I passed another park. A little toddler with a head of ringlets and lovely toddler cheeks, playing with her nanny and wearing purple heart-shaped sunglasses, waved at me. Repeatedly. While smiling.
Then I passed a young couple kissing and giggling in their driveway. She had on a short black dress and espadrilles with black ties. I don’t know what he wore, I didn’t want to stare. Ahead of me was a woman walking too. About my age. She had a great figure. Good for her.
As I came around the final corner to loop back to my house, I saw that more neighborhood kids had come out. 5 or 6 of them were across the street in front of a yellow house. The big boys, say, 9, 10, 11, were shooting each other with Super Soakers. Then they mustered the younger kids who gathered, waiting, at the side gate to the house. Waiting obviously for someone to come out of the gate. And get ambushed by squirt guns at 9:30am on a Thursday morning.
Today I went for another walk. Twice people asked me for directions, contractors looking for my very own cul-de-sac, once a mother looking for daughter’s dorm room at Stanford University. I knew the answer both times, because I live here.
Life is just so fun.