A Warm Welcome

Sometimes I like to channel my inner June Cleaver, even though I know I hardly compare to the 1950's stereotype of the doting housewife. I keep my house clean, but it's definitely lived in and needs some spot cleaning here and there (i.e. - it's time to set the self-cleaning option on the oven). I like to get all gussied up for my husband, but usually this happens when we're going out for dinner or to a show (usually he comes home to find me in my workout pants and a t-shirt, with my hair in its requisite ponytail). I like being sociable, but you'd be hard-pressed to find me entertaining a women's afternoon bridge club and tea service (come over for a BBQ on the weekend, instead). I love to cook, but don't expect a five course meal every night (pizza gets ordered roughly every other Friday). And while I may not live up to the 1950's machinations of Hollywood TV execs, I'm pretty comfortable with what I do for my family - as should be all the other women out there taking care of their homes while juggling an array of other responsibilities. This understood, there is one thing I always find myself hearkening to an old-school mentality about - welcoming new people to the neighborhood.

(Welcome Wagon Woman, Suburbia, USA, 1950 - looks like the newly developed Bailey Park from It's A Wonderful Life)

I don't know if I watched too many episodes of Leave It To Beaver, The Donna Reed Show and The Ozzie & Harriet Show when I was growing up, but there has always been a very ingrained concept in my mind that when someone new moves into the house next door, or across the street, you need to take them some type of homemade food item (be it a lasagna or bundt cake).

When I was young and on my own I moved into my first place, the downstairs unit of a large farmhouse outside of Alexandria Bay, NY. I remember that my landlords/next door neighbors came over with a plate of food for me the first night I was there. While I can't recall the specifics of what the meal was, I remember how touched I was by the simple gesture.

Today not everyone sees the delivery of such a "gift" as necessary. Indeed, some people think it's downright weird. And while this saddens me - because society has become so leery and critical of people's simple gestures and compliments - I've learned to gauge whether or not new neighbors would appreciate a culinary welcome, or if they would think I was trying to poison them with a covered casserole for some reason.

Luckily for me, a new neighbor is moving in next door this weekend who I think would appreciate one of my gastronomic gifts! Sabrina and I got the chance to meet her the other night as we were taking an evening stroll, and she seems extremely pleasant and excited to be moving in to her first house. I hope that  I can make her feel welcome and that perhaps in the future she may do the same for whomever may move into our home after we leave.

(Brown Sugar Banana Bread, made today for the new next door neighbor. Find the recipe in Erica's Epicurean Creations.)

The 1950's often seem like an idealistic and fanciful time in American history. Undoubtedly today's modern woman could look at the likes of June Cleaver, Donna Reed and Harriet Nelson and roll her eyes at each woman's naiveté to the world around them and their insulated concept of the perfect, American family. However, we really should look to them and not see a perfect paradigm, but rather a golden example - be kind to others, respect yourself, and love your family.

In my mind's eye I can imagine an episode of Leave It To Beaver where Theodore looks at his mother one night before going to bed and asks her why she made a chocolate cake today, but gave it away to the new neighbors. The dialogue would go something like this:

Theodore: "Mom, can I ask a question."
June: "Why sure, Beaver. What is it?"
Theodore: "Why do you always make something for people when they move into the neighborhood?"
June: "Well, I suppose partly because my mother used to do it, and her mother used to do it; it's a bit of a common practice. But more importantly I do it because it makes people feel welcome and accepted. It let's them know we'd like to be friends. It lets them know we're a community and we care about one another."
Theodore: *With a thoughtful expression.* "Hmmm, I guess I understand."
June: *Gives her son a smile and a hug, then holds him away and looks in his eyes.* "And sometimes son it's nice, to just be nice."