Everyone in my block of downtown Redmond knew everything about Mary Peterson, and Mary Peterson knew everything about us.

She knew when we got off work, knew when a package was delivered, made sure it stayed there until we brought it inside. She knew when we were late to shovel the snow off our sidewalk or rake the leaves in our yard.

Every neighborhood should have a Mary Peterson, even if she did sometimes feel the need to comment on the quality of our parking or the length of our lawn.

Mary was the boss of our block. She kept an eye on everyone, kept us all informed and involved.

She was one of the first people to meet our daughter, freshly born and newly released from the hospital. The mother of two boys, Mary told us that Iris was the first girl she’d ever gotten to hold.

Since she was so involved in our lives, it wasn’t a surprise when she called my wife and me over to tell us some news.

It was a shock, however, when she told us she had cancer. A terminal case. Doctors had given her five months to live.

We sat quietly while she did the math in her head and figured that she’d die in August. It was hard news to hear. The neighborhood mourned. A few weeks later another neighbor — a hospice nurse — informed us that the disease was progressing more rapidly than expected. Months to live soon turned into weeks and then days.

Mary died on April 16 at the age of 86. Her lovely obituary ran in a recent edition of The Spokesman. It noted her graduation from Redmond High School in 1957 and a career that began at the Menlo Hotel and Laundry Mat, followed by 30 years working for the city of Redmond. She square danced well into her 80s and took pride in her relentless effort to keep weeds out of her flower beds.

Her legacy lives on not just in those well-kept beds. She created a tight web of neighbors and she drew us all in. We’re still connected even though Mary is no longer at the center.

Perhaps Mary Peterson’s strongest community connection was at her beloved McDonald’s, where she ate lunch every day for decades. She would vary her daily order slightly, but staff knew she demanded fresh fries. They would drop a fresh batch as she walked in the door.

A few years ago the pandemic disrupted everything for everybody. Most importantly for Mary, it screwed up her hamburger lunch.

With the restaurant limited to drive-through and online orders, Mary struggled to learn the McDonald’s app. She even tried to master the new tech of an iPad. She couldn’t quite get the hang of it, and her daily french fry fix suffered.

The Rodbys, who own the franchise here in Redmond, knew Mary for many years, and they didn’t want a little technology to get in the way of a loyal customer. An easier way than linking your credit card to your McDonald’s app? Requiring no payment at all.

The Rodbys have Mary the ultimate gift for any McDonald’s superfan: a McDonald’s Gold Card.

That shiny card entitled Mary to free McDonald’s meals for the rest of her life. And she was proud of it. If you talked to Mary for more than an hour you were pretty likely to see that sparkly, golden hue flash from her wallet. She beamed just like it did — a little piece of proof that connection and loyalty can bring rewards. She’d take it any day over an Amex black card or country club membership.

The arches on that gold card have a different meaning now, after Mary’s funeral. Her house sits empty next door. No one is watching for our packages and chatting with the mailman.

We hope Mary is up there somewhere, enjoying an eternity of McDonald’s. Meals on the house, of course.

— Tim Trainor is editor of The Redmond Spokesman.