I am the nosiest neighbor

but I will bring you baked goods

O & S during last year’s snow days

I know I say this all the time, but I live on the best block in East Nashville. At one end we have the chocolate shop Olive and Sinclair and sometimes when I walk the dog I can smell the sweet, oaky scent of dark chocolate emanating from the building. And I’ve seen it a thousand times but I still stop in front of the window to watch the big stone machines as they turn, grinding and then churning the dark, liquidy chocolate into their signature bean-to-bar confections. I don’t even particularly love their products (kind of bitter, not enough sugar), but I love that they’re there. Across the street is Frothy Monkey, a coffee shop/restaurant with decent enough coffee and food, but mostly a convenient meeting spot or place to buy beans when I run out on a weekend. We’re a few blocks from one of the best parks and trail systems in the city and a short walk to the Five Points, a fun commercial area with bars and restaurants, and two miles from downtown Nashville.

June and my brother a couple of years ago

So of course the new couple from L.A. would want to live on our street, in the green-and-yellow Victorian, maybe the oldest house on the block, next door to me. (In a previous post I wrote about how sad I was that the neighbor next door was moving out and how worried I was about who was moving in). We’ve been on the block for almost eighteen years now and have always befriended the neighbors who lived in that house. We practically share a backyard, a low iron fence the only thing separating our two properties. Now the dreaded (by me) move-in is upon us and I’ve had a few interactions with the couple about to be our new neighbors. Until now, I only had their names, which I googled of course, finding their websites and social media profiles. None of it portended good things.

If you know me, you know that I tend to be a little judgmental and opinionated. My daughter says I also have no ability to control my emotions and I’m immature. I take issue with the last two, but I’ll admit to being judgy. “Don’t judge a book by its cover” is not a saying I subscribe to. On the contrary, the cover is essential and good cover art, like a good wine label, always gets my attention and usually leads to a purchase. It’s the first impression, as important as the amuse-bouche in a fancy restaurant—something to whet the appetite and get you excited about the meal to come.

So when I saw that this couple owned not one, but two identical black BMW SUVs—with Beverly Hills license plate frames—I admit to having had some negative thoughts about them. At least it wasn’t another Tesla, said Daniel. Or a Cybertruck like the one owned by the guy across the street whom I silently curse every time I leave the house. The new couple didn’t seem to have children (not a problem) and every time they came to the house to check on things or talk to the painters, they brought with them two little white poodles on leashes who seemed to be their canine children. This is good, I thought, they’re dog people, like us. However, my overactive, petty mind went to “Our dog is better and smarter.” Gah. I hope they’re not barkers.

Daniel’s first interaction, a couple weeks ago, with the woman and her dogs left a lot to be desired. He was on his way to the car when he saw she was having a hard time with the lock box on the front door. Since he has the code because he’d done work on the house for the previous owner, our friend, he went over to help her. He said she was “very bougie” and acted aloof, not very friendly, when he introduced himself to her. And she spoke with an accent. This last part intrigued me. I love an accent and so, despite her unfriendliness, she gained a point from me. To be fair, she probably didn’t love the fact that the next door neighbor had access to her new home. I assume they’ll change the locks.

Since they took posession of the house a few weeks ago they’ve had a procession of workers come by to do things. But at least no big remodeling projects (yet). I mostly work from home so I am able to watch these comings and goings—casually. I’m definitely not hiding behind the curtains watching their every move, like a curtain twitcher (which I learned is the British term for a nosy neighbor). Okay, yes, I did do some twitching, but can I help it if their windows are several feet from ours and have no blinds or draperies? No, I cannot.

From my ongoing observations I have concluded that these people must be really worried about the new neighborhood they’re moving into. Either that or they have never been owners of an old home. Or maybe both are true. First they installed a Ring camera. (I reluctantly just got one myself, but I generally hate them). Then came an exterminator who installed rat traps all around the perimeter of the house. I saw him digging a hole in the ground with a large screw-like thing and when I asked Daniel what that could be, he said termite control. Okay. Next up, it was the ADT alarm company installing a home alarm. We did this too when we first moved in. The year 2007 was a different time. It might have lasted a month. Then it was a radon mitigation system. Daniel identified it one day while looking out the kitchen window doing the dishes. Wow, a little radon isn’t going to kill you. But really, what’s next? Iron bars on the windows? Are they afraid of people or rodents?

Me in my Private Investigator era

You can see where this is going, can’t you? After a month of very important investigative actions, I will now get to the part where I eat crow.

In my defense, I am the world’s friendliest neighbor. I’ll talk to anyone, strangers walking down the street—like the two women from London who were walking behind me the other day and, upon hearing their accents, I accosted them with questions. Then I gave them all my Nashville recs and wished them a jolly day.

Anyway, it’s not like me to be rude or not talk to my neighbors. So one day, I saw the woman pulling up with her dogs as I was parking the car. I waved and leaned out the window and asked her what their names were. I was determined to have a conversation with her, mostly so I could figure out where she was from, that mysterious accent. She told me, with a Spanish inflection, their names were Ronaldo and Bea. To which I asked “Where are you from?” (I have no shame). “I’m from Puerto Rico,” she said, as she was getting out of the car. Then we proceeded to have a conversation on the sidewalk about how much my family loves P.R. and how we’ve been there twice, and how I speak Spanish (my dad is Mexican), she’s from Fajardo, we stayed there for one night on our way to Vieques, what an interesting place, Puerto Ricans should be independent, it’s complicated, you have to go to the island of Culebra next time, the best beaches… I was won over. Her husband is Columbian, born and raised in New York. They’re my kind of people!

We think they’re moving in this weekend. I thought maybe I’d bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies and take them over there when they’re settled in, as a gesture of welcoming and good will. I am not a monster. I am also not trying to be their best friend. We probably won’t even exchange phone numbers. But what if they’re gluten-free or don’t eat sugar? They are from L.A. Should I bring them wine? That’s too intimate. I’ll probaby just bring the cookies. If they don’t want them they can feed them to the dogs.