The stuff of life

People are the stuff of life, the incredible differences, the sweet similarities.

Now the weather is warmer the people in my neighborhood are coming out more and we are much more diversified than last year.  Out my bedroom window I hear the churgling laughter of children, Mexican children!  They gather with their families in bright, cheerful groups who sit in lawn chairs or stand around cars.  On the opposite side of my building are the Indian families with big-eyed children playing quietly around their mothers’ knees.  They also gather, but it is around long tables piled with food in the shade of the condos they live in.  Below my window and my apartment are African Americans grilling ribs and playing rap music that reverberates through my bones.  And here and there the odd Caucasian walks through or sits down to visit.

Everyone tends to stay close to their own kind, but we have language barriers here, so that is understandable.  Otherwise the love they have for their families and their children makes them all pretty much the same.  I am offered a hamburger from the grill and it smells so good, but I politely decline.  The other thing we all share is a tight budget. 

No one lives here if they have a lot of money, but it is a sort of village in the middle of a very affluent white-collar city.  There are big trees, walkways that wind around and flow into playgrounds, even a swimming pool in warm weather.

There are things I will miss when I move next month, but there surely are things I won’t too!  I suppose life is always like that.