Even after living in my new urbanist community for three years, I am consistently amazed at how much it affects my daily life for the better.  I have a sense of security and community here I’ve never felt anywhere else.  I commonly think of the difference between my old, traditional suburban subdivision and my new, new urbanist community when I look at the difference between one emergency I had there and one I had here. 

I lived in my old neighborhood for 4 years and I was working full time as a research scientist at Colorado State University, which somewhat prevented me from noticing that I didn’t know anyone in my neighborhood (I did know my direct next door neighbors by name but that was about it).  It was only when I had an emergency–a miscarriage–that I realized: I don’t have anyone to call who lives close.  My husband worked an hour away at the time and couldn’t get to me quickly, my mother-in-law lived in Springs, 2 hours away, and my friends at work lived about 30 minutes away.  So I ended up driving myself to the hospital emergency room hemorrhaging behind the wheel of my Saturn (dangerous and stupid).

By contrast, in my new neighborhood, my daughter became very sick and was exorcist vomiting all over the house.  She had a really high fever but couldn’t keep anything down and a panicked call to the pediatrician revealed that I should go to the store and get her Tylenol suppositories.  My husband was out of town, how was I supposed to get a fountain vomiting 4 year old in the car and drag her to the store?!!!  I didn’t have to.  I called one of my neighbors and she was at my door in 5 minutes.  She went to the store for me and bought suppositories–now THAT’s a neighbor!  New Urbanism means not having to drag your vomiting, hysterically crying child to the store to get medicine to stick up her butt which will make her even more pissed–a neighbor will get it for you (the stick up the butt part, you’re on your own, part of the fun of being a parent–although two of my neighbors are nurses and in a pinch I bet I could get them to do it but would never ask). 

My best friend of 23 years looks like a model–5′ 9″, 130lbs, red hair, beautiful.  I do not.  This however, has honestly, never, never bothered me, especially when we would go out to bars and one guy after another would come up to her and say something [invariably] stupid.  The woman can eat.  I mean eat. She just has a fast metabolism or something, because she’s always been very slim regardless.   Sitting at lunch with my husband’s family–who knows my best friend well because when we were 16 she dated, and went to prom with, my husband (a story for another time), I was telling them I watched my best friend consume:

1. 1 Arby’s giant roast beef sandwich

2. 1 Arby’s regular roast beef sandwich

3. 1 LARGE order of curly fries

in about 10 minutes.  My sister-in-law then deadpanned:

“Yeah, we call women like that bitches”.

 

 

My 5 year old daughter: Dawdling around and not getting into the car which was parked in a space adjacent to a large sewer opening.

My husband, running out of patience trying to get her into car (in a quiet voice so I could hear him over the top of the car but my daughter could not):

“Get in the car or the sewer clown will eat you”.