Fighting Dirty

A year ago, our neighbors, the Meiers, sold their house and moved north. Okay, it was just to a vastly overrated planned community in north Houston, but the fact remains that they moved. Away. From us. AKA the commune. And for a freeeway wimp like me (trust me, everyome in Houston should be cheering that I only venture onto  Houston freeways when I have absolutely no choice), it might as well be Siberia. It's been a year and I still haven't gotten over their move. I'm pretty much waiting for the twins to graduate from high school (only 10 years to go) so that they can move back here once they no longer need a decent public school for the boys.

Now a new horror has arisen. For the past few months, our next door neighbors, who we share a double driveway with, who I adore, have been talking about selling their house and moving to a smaller home. They've been talking about it enough that I have been forced to concede that they are serious about this. So, I'm declaring war. And this time around, I'm going to fight dirty. I'm pulling out all the stops.

I started tonight with dinner. Which was a lovely chilled avocado soup, a tomato, basil, and feta cheese tart made with wonderfully ripe tomatoes from the farmer's market, a salad which included mango salsa and corn, shrimp, and steak. All finished off with parfaits of lemon cream and fresh blueberries.

Next up: my homemade scones. I haven't made scones in ages. But I'm going to make them soon. Very soon. And deliver them warm with raspberry jam. I may even attempt homemade butter. If I can find some of those little bottles of champagne, I'll be delivering them with the makings for mimosas.

I just want Sue and Andy to fully understand what they will be giving up if they put their house on the market. And yes, I know I'm being a whiney baby, but if you've ever had neighbors who were not just the people next door, but a part of your family, then you'll understand. I've already lost one our commune familes. I'm not open to losing another. So, it's war. Or rather, not so covert acts of food terrorism. If you can call pulling out all the stops on cooking and delivering it next door an act of terrorism.

I've learned my lesson the hard way. If I had taken the Meier's plan to move seriously and inundated them with freshly baked scones, I might still have them down the street instead of a terrifying (to me) 45 minute drive on some of Houston's finest (that would be sarcasm) freeways.