Neighborly beers

Got three carseats?  Fill three growlers.

Fully embracing the desert heat and the asphalt island we live in, we meet our neighbors in our blazing hot concrete driveway on Friday afternoons with beer, despite having a giant hole full of 17,000 gallons of nice cool chlorinated water in our backyard and another giant hole full of water in their backyard as well.

We take turn filling three growlers with the filler's beer of choice (usually an IPA, a light beer and a random beer) of sweet nectar and put them in a bucket on ice.  We dig out some plastic solo cups of assorted colors, usually leftover from one of the kids' birthday parties, and we are set.

Out come the camping chairs, folding tables and whatever assorted snacks we happen to have in the pantry.

Someone puts our newest neighbors, Bill and Ted, the two foot tall fluorescent yellow plastic people holding red caution flags, out in the street on both ends of the block to warn any crazy drivers that we are playing and having fun in the area.  And by we, this time I don't just mean the kids.

Bill.  Or maybe Ted. 
They're hard to tell apart.

In the meantime, someone cracks into the beer(s)

While other neighbors are driving home from work and looking at us strangely, the kids are in the garage dragging out the soccer balls, scooters, sidewalk chalk, bikes, jars of bubbles, the dog and anything else they can find that is even remotely entertaining.

At some point either the pizza man arrives or someone drives to the corner to pickup an armful of pizzas and sometimes some wings.  The kids rush over to the cardboard boxes and unintentionally spit all over the pizza while declaring loudly which piece they want to eat.  They take their prized slice and sit on the ground, usually in some sort of a circle, or in the grass and eat their dinner with dirty hands and giant smiles on their faces. It is quiet.  The dog slinks around looking for unattended plates or dropped slices.  When they are done, they wipe their greasy fingers on the grass or on their clothes.  The grown-ups eat what is left and life is good.

West Coast IPA (7.3% ABV)
Green Flash Brewing Co.
San Diego, California

As the night progresses, creative and protective dads equip the kids scooters and bikes with insanely bright mountain bike lights.  Moms begin to hand out glow sticks despite the inevitable squabble that breaks out when the wrong kid gets the wrong color glow stick ("Noooooooo mom, I said I wanted the yellow one!!!!!!").

A few other neighbors walk by with their dogs or to get their mail.  Sometimes they stop and chat or stop to have a beer and sometimes they pretend they don't see us.

The party continues.

As the night progresses, the laughter gets louder and the jokes get funnier.  The little kids disappear and are replaced with baby monitors.  The dog goes into stealth mode and begins to sneak in and steal any unattended beers.

Gus waited until it was dark to get in stealth-mode and steal a RoadZoda.

And sometimes, in the middle of the night after a driveway Friday ... the beer fairy comes and leaves beers by your front door.  Man, I love our neighbors.  I love our neighborhood.  And I love when life and things are simple, like they are on Driveway Fridays.