To the editor:
Some people say that good fences make for great neighbors. If you’ve had a bad neighbor, you understand that sentiment well. But in reality, the best neighbors are, well, neighbors.
My family and I had the privilege of being Christine McCarriston’s neighbor. You may have known her personally, or you may have known her through her thoughtful and touching articles for the Current. But knowing Chris as a neighbor was such a special way to know her.
My family moved to our house on Village Street over 13 years ago. Chris immediately welcomed us into “The Village People,” an intergenerational group of friends who all lived on the same part of the long street. Chris was the leader of the group, no question.
She was relentlessly inclusive. My Jewish kids were always invited to their Easter egg hunt. And if we had friends or family over, they were invited too. Chris always came to Tashlich, the ceremonial casting away of sins on Rosh Hashanah, when we throw bread into the ocean. It was as if she asked, “Why should we hoard these traditions to ourselves when it would be so fun to share them together?”
And Chris treated you as part of the family. Her daughters, Shanna and Jenna, babysat and nannied our kids when they were younger. They always showed up like Chris did: with positive energy, humor, and care. And her husband, Rick, was always ready with a steady stream of discussion topics, and an entirely too large payment to our sons for walking the dog.
Chris’s passing was devastating for all The Village People. She fiercely battled cancer, knowing the inevitable outcome for years. She simply wouldn’t resign herself to the fact that the cancer was ever winning. She worked, she played, she traveled. Through sheer force of will she adhered to her motto “Celebrate Everything.” It is a lesson for us all.
But maybe the most valuable lesson from Chris is this: In a time when so much of our attention is focused nationally and globally, there is real happiness to be found locally. Not by putting up fences, but by taking them down.
Jason Sidman
Village Street
