Sunday on Maple

In the last of the sun,
my little family took a walk last evening. The Chief navigated our course through the wide avenues and brick homes of our neighbors. Our evening activity proved unoriginal, we were greeted by those of like-minds.

"Hello Brother and Sister Borders!" I said passing a middle-aged couple. Having grown up in this very spot of residential ground, I tend to know many of the original home owners or subsequent dwellers. This leaves Chup to rely on me for first-hand knowledge of background information as it pertains to our neighborhood history.

"Brother Borders writes theories on ancient scripture and takes yearly pilgrimages to the Holy Land to do research. Sister Borders is a mother of seven (doesn't she look so young?) and a sculptor. They used to live a couple blocks over, but when he became tenured at BYU they bought a house on . . ."

Chup always listens, ear-tipped, as I talk under my breath, just in case the mountains cause an echo. I wouldn't want our passing neighbors to know that I'm inclined to spill their personal resume to those within earshot.

We passed a cozy home with a white picket fence outside.

"This is Sister Doyle's home." I pointed with my elbow (hands in my vest pocket). "She was my first art teacher. She's very sick."

"Oh no." Chup replied with a touch of genuine devastation.

We encountered houses with tangible memories spilling out the windows and front doors. Homes of immaculate facades waiting to bloom with April's offerings of pansies. We greet more neighbors who require my back-hand introductions.

"Hello Brother and Sister Young." We all nod in salutation.

"Brother and Sister Young just got back from a mission. He speaks seven languages. She taught me flower arranging . . ." My voice like a spy.

"I should ask her for a refresher course." I remembered the daffodils on my front room table, cut and released into a green vase without further manipulation.

By the fourth block, The Chief decided he needed another angle to view the world. Chup hoisted him on his shoulders and I pushed the ghost stroller home.

As we rounded the corner home, we spotted a zippy couple coming towards us. The speed in which they walked their legs was commendable--especially for their elderly appearance.

"Hello." I said.

I did not know them.

"Oh. You've got an empty baby carriage." Said the man, his voice louder as he approached. "You know what that means. . ."

I was in double shock. First, I did not know them, and I know everyone.

Second, was he implying that it was time to have another baby?

"That is Brother and Sister Kent." Chup returned the favor, matching my tone, as we headed up our sidewalk. "He is the Dean of Multiply and Replenish the Earth at BYU and she's been the Relief Society President eighteen times . . ."

"Well played." I commended my husband.

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