Neighbourly Love

            Last Thursday I ran a last-ditch practice session on my ribs for my best friend and his wife. In the process of wanting to serve more than meat for dinner, I had to run out for some sides. While I was sitting in the parking lot at Sobey’s someone approached my front door and rang the bell. She looked unsure of herself and extremely nervous. She stood on my front step gnawing on her nails, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. I read it as suspicious, sketchy. Then she rang the bell again. Remembering that a) I wasn’t at home and b) can interact with other humans through my security system app, I opted to have a dialogue with her.

            “Can I help you?” Yep, I hadn’t actually thought this through and my customer service side emerged.

            “Hi, yeah, I live just next door and um I just wanted to let you guys know we’re having a party on Sunday because um I’m getting married. And um so we’re going to have like music and everything. And I just wanted to uh see if bothers you like if you can just call me and that way we don’t have a problem.”

            “No, that’s not a problem at all. I’m sure that we make our fair share of noise at times. So, you go ahead and celebrate. Congratulations! Enjoy!” I watched her face go from cautious, concerned with careful listening to the biggest smile I have seen on someone’s face lurking at my front door.

            “Thank you so much!” She promptly cut across the lawn to her house without providing me with a number or name to complain to.

            Now, you may be surprised that I don’t know my neighbours. I know the neighbours on the other side. We were forced to introduce ourselves because of the fence building extravaganza last summer, which involved giving the option of chipping in for their respective sides. The nice couple who lives on the side who contributed are Darren and Cindy. The other side, from which this lovely young bride-to-be lives, is known as the “slumlord house.” Their landlord rents with reckless abandon and opted not to pay for any of his side. However, this family has been living there for almost as long as we’ve lived in our house.

            Their yard isn’t usually in the most stellar shape. They have a vine climbing over the back fence which can be considered noxious by some botany circles. The fence itself is in dire need of replacement. The lawn is rarely mowed. Canada thistle has taken over the front flowerbed. Occasionally there is construction debris strewn about in the back yard. The gate has been repaired numerous times. And the skunk has been known to make their yard home.       But the residents are hardcore football fans and cheered very hard for Mexico in the last World Cup. And they’re otherwise lovely people. Whose names I have no idea. Wade might, but I don’t have to interact with them more than retrieving an errant soccer ball out of our back yard when the kids don’t climb over the fence themselves. The father greets me politely when we happen to be outside at the same time. It’s a nice coexistence.

            Fast forward to today. Sunday.

            We came home after a weekend of smoke, meat and beans. We were dirty, greasy and exhausted. The alarm system alerted us to visitors about an hour before our arrival at home, so we knew there was a vehicle encroaching on the driveway. We could see people loitering about on the front lawn. We knew what was going on.

            We thought we knew what was going on.

            I jumped out of the car and took the dog inside and came back to start unpacking. Wade was up the ladder unloading the Thule box on the roof of the car. “Our house really stinks.”

            “Shhhhhh. The wedding is about to start.”

            “Ah what now?”

            “There’s a wedding going on now.”

            “Okay, has the bride come out yet?”

            “No, I think she’s still inside.” At this, I covertly walked around the big pine tree in the front yard and peered, incognito, through the boughs, past the open shitty gate into their back yard. There was a big white tent set up. I saw a row of chairs and people, a congregation if you will, occupying the chairs.

            “Sweet mother of pearl,” I muttered to myself. Then I recalled the conversation with the bride. That they would be having a party. This was way more than a party.

            We carried on quietly with unloading our car and getting our lives put back together. However, curiosity did pull me to my guest bedroom overlooking the back yards. There was not one but four big what tents set up in the yard. I questioned where all the crap went that was usually there. Specifically, the firepit. It looked as though it had disappeared entirely. There was also a large buffet of delicious looking food on their deck. Impressed at the TLC-esc conversion of their yard from crap to glamerous, I went back to continue helping Wade.

            Once we were all done, I went upstairs and laid down on my bed to just relax before getting into the shower. That’s when the ten-piece mariachi band fired up. Their volume was akin to an orchestra playing Carnegie Hall and they were looking to blow the roof off. Adriana was alarmed. I laid there in complete mirth. Again, replaying our conversation in my mind. She had mentioned “like music and everything.” That suggestion was an epic understatement.

            I heard Wade tell Adriana to come upstairs to watch them play. I held her on my hip and together, we watched. The men were in the normal regalia of a mariachi band, without the hats. There were three guitarists, a harpist, two trumpets and a four-piece string section. One of the string gents sang too. The bride and groom shared their first dance as we looked on.

Adriana suggested we should go down and be with the celebration, mostly due to seeing two small children.

            “No sweetie, we just got home and we have things to finish here and we’re pretty tired.” She squirmed in my arm and asked to stand on the bed. Then promptly started to use it as a trampoline. I shooed her back downstairs and started toward a much-needed shower. Wade came upstairs and told me that the father of the bride had come to ensure that his daughter had cleared the party with us and to invite us over. Wade was slightly cleaner than I was but neither of us had seen the inside of a shower since Friday morning. After giving me his account of the father, he promptly budded in front of me for the shower. When I finally had my turn, I was in there a long time.

            The band was still playing when I got out. I listened for a bit and then decided to retrieve our (mine and the bride’s) interaction on the camera. There was no indication of the magnitude of the party. I went downstairs to make dinner. They eventually switched from the live music to a loud music player, which drowned out most of the conversation at our house for a few hours.

            But, like any good neighbour, they began to wind things down around nine o’clock and by ten the wedding was over. The tents were dismantled, the chairs and tables folded up. The bride and groom presumably gone to somewhere fancy to start their new life. The yard resumed its mundaneness and peace and quiet settled over our piece of the neighbourhood. I kind of hope there are more children having weddings in their yard, for the cleanliness and the mariachi band.

            Did she have to ask for our (my) blessing to make the noise involved in celebrating the beginning of her new life? No. But the enormity of her big day combined with my complete oblivious nature made for a hilarious end to my weekend, to say the least.