the Neighbors

I have a Neighbor here in Ramona that I really like. She called me the other night. 

    

 "Would you like to come over for brunch tomorrow morning with your guests?" she asked in her sweet, calm voice.

     "Sure," I said. "What time?" 

     "Is 9:30 too early? If you're going to be later, just text me, and we'll change it. How does an omelette bar sound? And we've got boxes of mandarins from the old man down the street," the Neighbor elaborated. 

     "Ooh, that sounds delicious...do you have feta?...and mushrooms?...and spinach?..." I wheedled, quite shamelessly too. 

     "I do. I'll have everything chopped up and ready to go." 

Is it any wonder I like her? My omelette was divine. 

The hardest thing about moving has been missing the little "pearls slipping off a string" moments of my nearest & dearest. And I knew it would be. But what's almost harder is accepting the fact that I don't have to miserable away from them either & I really shouldn't feel guilty if I'm not. (Are you wondering how this relates to a Neighbor-made omelette? It is relevant, I promise.) I know my family doesn't want me to pine. And I really have no grounds for pining here. But there are times I miss them. Fiercely. But God is too good to pry me away from my family without providing something to fill the void. (Hence "The Neighbors"--told you I'd connect it all back up.) It's strange to think that 3 months ago, I had no idea what they were like, and now I'm sleeping on their couch and borrowing their kids to carry my camera and entertain me on hikes after  omelette brunches. And it's not strange at all.