On friendship

 I am so grateful for friendship. 

Tonight an old friend and I lingered over an extended dinner in the corner of a little Italian restaurant downtown and left longing for more hours. My friend is here on a work trip and leaves tomorrow, but I am so thankful we were able to carve out time to meet tonight. I left behind work and responsibility for a few hours, but what a blessing to share a really deep conversation about challenging topics and feel lifted up by the freedom to be open and understood. I don't see my friend often anymore - and honestly, we never lived close, so we've always only visited on occasion, but those occasions are causes for celebration.  I have a handful of friends that satisfy that deep longing for connection when we reunite, however briefly, however rarely. What is the root of that cor ad loquitur cor? Whatever it is, I am grateful. 

More Summer Memories - Backpacking in Yosemite

After the wedding we had a few busy weeks to prepare for my husband's retirement ceremony, find a house, and prep to move. We also had more than one last hoorah moment to mark the end of our time in Coronado. First, I snuck in a last backpacking trip in Yosemite with three friends, which was a much needed respite from all the weight of decision making.  I'm glad we made the commitment early enough in the year to have the time set aside, or it would have been pushed aside by other plans.  We didn't make a decision about where we were going until we walked out the door - leaving a note for the husbands about where to look for us if we didn't return in three days - although it was tempting to stay longer, just keep on hiking.  This indecision was all on me as the organizer. I was tempted to try a new trail, but we were all novice to intermediate backpackers, middle aged women in decent shape, but short on time. I wanted to go someplace that would be beautiful and moderately challenging but not too crowded and not too challenging and not too far away and not too boring. This hike to Young Lakes and Glen Aulin High Sierra camp was just right, even though I had been to Tuolumne Meadows a couple times. Sometimes going wiht a known thing is the perfect choice when with companions. 

We got a bit of a late start, leaving on a Friday midmorning and arriving around 3:30 to the National Park. I had scored a reservation just in case, and after checking in with the rangers, getting our leave no trace and avoid the bears talk, resetting our gear, and finding the trailhead, it was 5 pm before we started - leaving us just under 3 hours to hike 6 miles to the camp. Good thing it was around the summer solstice, so the sun set late. Two miles an hour is fairly easy on flat terrain without a 35 pound pack on your back, but I was worried about making it to the camp. The first mile was pretty steep before we hit a more gradual and scenic trail. Every turn in the trail revealed a different spectacle - light through the redwoods, a babbling creek through a wildflower streaked meadow, a vista of a granite peak. My one friend told me she didn't think she was going to make it, until about 3 miles in, when she found her stride and the views erased thoughts of discomfort. I was prepared to stop at the four mile point where the trail to the camp split off, even though it wasn't a designated area because I didn't want to be a drill sargeant. Happily, we reached that fork in the trail in good time, and although the sun was setting as we arrived at the campground, exhausted but exhilarated, we had just enough time to pop our tents up before dark. A ranger was out and about to check our permit and to point us in the right way. I suspect he had been radioed by the rangers at the check in gate, who probably alerted him to our late start. Seeing as we hadn't seen anyone else on the trail all evening, he must have been waiting for us. We had him take our photo before he mountain goated over boulders back to his secret camping spot.  We ate by solar lantern, nearly frozen, and lay down early to sleep - 2 to a tent. (Two of us carried bear boxes full of food, and two of us lugged the tents - a nice way to distribute the load.)

In the morning we woke to a glorious sunrise over a glacial lake. After a quick oatmeal breakfast - love Jetboils - we hiked up to the highest of the three lakes in this string of mountain lakes. The third was surrounded by a beautiful meadow reminiscent of where Julie Andrews first serenades the Alps in The Sound of Music. It would have been a great place to camp were it not for the hordes of mosquitoes.  We saw about 3 groups of other hikers all morning, and so had this mountain beauty practically to ourselves. 

After this trek, we returned to the main trail that connects to the Pacific Crest trail and headed northwest to the Glen Aulin Camp.  This trail was more heavily trafficed, but not as crowded as it would have been in pre-pandemic times. I know the permitting rule in the National Parks was a pain this summer, but it did provide for a more enjoyable experience without the crowds. This hike was longer - closer to eight miles, but we had all day and a nice long break for lunch. Glen Aulin is an established campground for PCT through-hikers, of which we talked to a few. One middle-aged couple just decided to sell all their stuff and hike for six months. They said they'll figure out what to do next at the end of the trail. I have been thinking about them...  Anyway, Glen Aulin has designated spots, unlike at Young Lake, where you can camp anywhere 100 yrds from the lakes, and it had a pit toilet, with toilet paper and a line.  The Tuolumne River cascaded over rocks into a good sized swimming hole here, perhaps deeper in non-drought times, but although some hikers had braved the freezing water, we were too chilled to do more than wade up to our knees.  My own knee was taped up because of patellar tendonitis I had been fighting for weeks, but it didn't flare up during the hike, thanks to the PT prior, the tape, and the hiking poles for support. 

I may have been a bit of a drill sargeant on this evening when I pushed our little group up to a higher camp off by itself, but it was worth the effort because it was right on the edge of a cliff that provided a natural amphitheater for watching the moon rise - the perfect spot for eating our dehydrated soups. A lesson : we packed way too much food, overestimating our hunger, which was stifled by the effort and the altitude.  But the hot tea at the end of the evening was an especial pleasure. 

The third day was the hike back to civilization - it was begun in high spirits and ended with slowing steps. None of us was ready to end our time on the trail. Although we covered over 20 miles, it seemed too short.  We resolved to try to do this again, maybe yearly, maybe just once more, but it was so, so restful, despite the physical labor. Part of the fun was having the right companions - we all were about the same pace and no one was too set on a certain plan.  And the weather was glorious, as was the setting, and the season. Looking over these photos is almost painful as I miss the friends and the places that we left behind.

Greetings and good-byes

Life has been roiling around here. The big boys are home, so more bodies and voices are taking up space and driving away in cars when I need one.  They also have been helpful with finishing off leftovers and piling up laundry.  Best of all, they have been generous with hugs and watching baby sisters, so it has been a true delight to have them home despite the increase in dirty dishes and laundry.

We have had a lot of celebrations in May - the boys coming home, two confirmations, several birthdays, Mother's Day, award ceremonies, end of the season potlucks, prom, Memorial Day weekend, farewell teas, and feasts with friends visiting from afar.

This time of year is always full of comings and goings, but this spring the Navy is taking several good friends away from us.  I can't bring myself to go to library story time this week because our best preschool friend left this past weekend, and her two little boys won't be there for LK to sit with. And my middle school daughter is dragging her feet every morning because her best friend who usually stops by each morning to walk to school with her has also moved out. There are still two weeks left of school, but one by one our friends are saying goodbye.

This is the peril of military life.  Usually, it is we who are leaving after a couple of years, but this time we are watching our friends here pack up.  I've tried to pay forward some of the help we received in the past - watching kids and dogs, bringing by baked goods, washing a few windows, taking bags of half-finished condiments. Inside I'm quietly dreading the summer months and then the school year without them.  It seems like we had just crossed the boundary between acquaintances to friends to good friends when it is time for them to go. And it might be a little easier if it were just one family, but multiple of our favorite families are leaving.

The only consolation is that this week also brought visits from friends we knew from Navy life elsewhere. First, last Sunday we met up for a quick coffee with friends we met 12 years ago in Norfolk. Their oldest son is stationed here, and they came out to welcome him home from a deployment. I'm hoping they'll visit again because we didn't have enough time to talk about all the things that came tripping out once we got going. It was like no time had passed at all. Too short of a visit but wonderful to catch up in the flesh.

Then we welcomed our son's girlfriend for a week's reunion. She had been in Ireland this past semester and came out to surprise him after he had his ACL repaired in his knee. He's been laid up since he came home from school after this injury derailed his plans for the summer.  She's always a smiling face and welcome visitor

Finally we hosted our best friends from Guam who came out to celebrate his pending retirement with west coast friends since they used to live here, and to run the Rock and Roll half marathon with the organization Wear Blue: Run to Remember, which honors fallen service members, in memory of our friends' son who died in an incident just as we were leaving Guam.

We had a great weekend reconnecting while roasting marshmallows at a beach bonfire, drinking coffee, and picnicking at the Sunday night concert in the park.  My only complaint is that because we had so many people to visit with, I felt a little like I had ADD; I was always thinking about catching up with the next person. Yet again I found myself wishing for more hours in the day to spend with the friends we have made over the years and across the miles.

Whale watching and the benefits of living where people go on vacation or business trips

A couple weeks ago, we heard from some friends we met in Guam that they were going to be coming to San Diego. Happily, our weekend was relatively open. We were going to join them for a day at the beach, but because the friends that they were visiting (to go rock climbing with at Joshua Tree NP), had free tickets to go whale watching, we joined them for a three hour tour around the bay and beyond.  The friends had plenty of tickets because they had purchased 35 of them for their family reunion (at a great price), but hadn't seen any whales, so the tour company gave them tickets to come again. Our lucky day!

Our older kids were busy and didn't come, and having seen whales before, weren't too disappointed.  We met this family because we were both homeschooling in Guam, and our girls really got along well together. They aren't military, but he works for the government. The wife and I also did a lot of long distance runs together when I was marathon training. They are an outdoorsy Mormon family - running, hiking, rock climbing, camping are all regular activities for them. The dad and oldest son went to Mt. Everest from Guam, they traveled to Mexico in the summer, and the mom and dad last spring went to France and spent a week hiking Mont Blanc. But they aren't boastful about any of that. Their trips are focused less on checking off a bucket list than on spending time together as a family enjoying the world. And they are a lot of fun to talk to and spend time with - the kind of family you can easily spend a day with even though you haven't seen them for several years because you share similar interests and values and like to talk.

So we had a great time talking on a boat with them and their friends, who were equally friendly and interesting people.  And we did see whales - four or five grey whales on their migratory path along the west coast.

Also part of the day's fun was watching the three year old make friends with the other family's three year old.  How lovely it is to be the age when you can make a new best friend in fifteen minutes!

The girls also easily dropped back into their friendship.  I wish we lived closer because I know they would have a great time together, and I wouldn't have any of the reservations I sometimes have with other friends about what their family allows their kids to do.

We also passed this scenic sailing ship, which had a group of nuns in what looked like Dominican habits out enjoying the frolicking of the whales also. 

Whale watching was a wonderful way to continue the feeling of being on vacation after school had returned to session after Christmas break. One of the benefits of living where we do is that we frequently have friends and family show up to visit because they are on vacation or a business trip. Last weekend we were joined by the cousins who live just three hours north who came down to watch Hamilton.  The San Diego show was much more affordable than the LA show, but when it comes to measuring all the things we want to do and how much, going to it fell below a number of other things on our list. But we were happy to host the cousins for a night, and even happier that they were willing to take our almost 18 year old for a special birthday outing.  

The show goers came home singing and raving about the lyrics and performance.  Their enthusiasm made me question whether or not we should have reorganized our priorities and gone with them. At least we can listen online. I do love a live show.

Another funny coincidence: We were sitting with the cousins outside the coffee shop on the main drag of our town enjoying Sunday afternoon with a cafe, when my husband says, "That looks like a H____ kid," naming a family we knew from Virginia years ago.  My response: "No, they live in Texas." (not to mention the fact we haven't seen them in several years when this girl was in elementary school). But sure enough, a minute later, here comes the whole family! So we have an impromptu reunion in front of the coffee shop. They were here for the husband's business trip. He used to be in the same Navy community as my husband, but he recently retired.  We didn't think to take a photo, but we did have a great chat.  Just another perk.

Out of the ordinary

Last weekend we went to Mass at a small Catholic liberal arts college not far from our house.  The college is just about 20 miles away from us, and we've been a handful of times. Our boys were meeting up with some friends to go to Mass, brunch, and then a hike in the hills around the school.  Since we like to keep Sunday as much of a family day as we can with multiple teenagers, we decided all of us would go to Mass there, even though my youngers were resistant because 1. the Latin Mass at the college is long and 2. they miss out on donuts at our parish's "Friendship Sunday" gathering.  Their vote was overruled, as usual.

The church at this school was designed by one of my husband's professors at Notre Dame.  It is stunning, large and light drenched. Its neoclassical design belies its recent completion a few years ago. The interior is covered in marble. In the axis of the cross design stands the altar, canopied by a large baldacchino. Light streams in from stained glass windows, and replicas of famous portraits of educated saints, mostly Dominicans, adorn the walls.  Needless to say, every sound reverberates.  Music sounds ethereal from the choir loft; the cry of babes sounds piercing.

The other times we have attended Mass here, the Masses were more sparsely attended, but this past Sunday the pews were full.  We had to sit in the section to the right of the altar, which was fine because the echo isn't as bad there. And we were not alone. Each pew was brimming with small children.  During the Communion hymn, I was distracted by trying to figure out which kids belonged to which family. I counted 10 kids in one group; my son counted 12.  Our baby's voice was one of many pipsqueaks.

I assume these were primarily faculty families.  I know there is a large home school community in this area, which is also where a popular umbrella school is based.  There must be some form of the Catholic ghetto up here in the hills.  In light of the hullabaloo over Pope Francis' recent remarks praising large families and then being accused of comparing Catholics to rabbits, I felt like we were in the midst of the audience he was praising.  I surreptiously checked out the other families: they looked happy enough, not too overwhelmed, the older kids were helping with the younger kids, they all seemed well fed and dressed appropriately.  Nobody appeared neglected, unhappy, or abused.

If we were going to stay in the area, I might be tempted to get to know some of these families. I have more than once felt like the object of curiosity because of our large family.  We have been compared to rabbits more than once. In fact, when my husband and I first arrived at our newlywed apartment, we found an enormous rabbit hiding in the shrubbery by our door.  It turned out to be the tame pet of the chef down the street, who was so grateful to be reunited with his friend that he baked us a lasagna. I always thought it was a sign.

So at a moment when I was feeling a little lonely for a community of like minded individuals, lo! there appeared to be some here! I projected onto them a little of the "thickened" culture that Melanie described in her recent post.  These families seem to live and share faith and practice and community.  In the middle of Mass I was having this existential moment of both recognition and disconnect. Ah ha! here is a community!  But no! I don't belong!  I wondered if I should try to strike up a conversation after Mass. I didn't. Mostly because we met up with our other friends (!) for brunch.

But I also felt distanced because I couldn't help but make associations with a home school group we were on the periphery of when we lived north of Chicago. After one meeting, I left feeling shocked and disappointed when the group voted not to allow a family in which the mother was not Catholic to join. She was married to a Catholic and was raising the kids Catholic. She wanted to join. She probably was a Catholic in the making, but that rejection was harsh. It may have determined her to think negatively of Catholics from then to the end of her days.  The intent of the home school group was to protect the integrity of their mission and the innocence of their children. And I can understand now the difficulty of raising a countercultural family in the midst of mainstream culture. But I left feeling disillusioned.

My thoughts also meandered to the land of whatmighthavebeen.  My husband was once offered a job with his professor. He would have been a measly draftsman, copying designs, but in an up and coming firm. At the time, exactly at the time, the Twin Towers were bombed, and being in the military was a noble and patriotic profession. My husband declined the job offer because of the timing, the security, the opportunities.  We did not go to live in South Bend in a little cottage for the next 14 years, but have migrated from place to place.

Whatmighthavebeen is a dangerous place, and I don't like to linger there long. When I was in the midst of those large families on Sunday, feeling like the mother of a small family, (only my children are large), I could see that perhaps I could have belonged to a community like this.  We might have gone ahead and had a couple more kids between number 6 and 7 if we didn't have to pack up all our belongings every couple of years.  The kids would have had ready made friends; we might have continued home schooling; I might have been more skilled at domestic crafts.

But I couldn't help but wonder if these families were like the ones we once knew, who withdrew from the mainstream culture to raise their kids without rude comments from grocery store clerks or the influence of advertising and mainstream peers.

I know I am stereotyping to connect these two groups. Yet I also know I'd still feel a little out of sync in this crowd. It is an interesting subculture up in the hills removed from the "beach culture," the "consumer culture," the world at large.  It is a beautiful place to live, where your practice and your ideals can come close to being identical.  But it is not my place, which is in the midst of the traffic.
As much as I long for a community of like-minded people, there are few of those around. As much as I love the beautiful liturgies and the instant camaraderie of large families, I also love my friendly parish that sings the Gloria with jazz hands where the old ladies pat my baby and comment on her growth, and the priest remembers all my kids' names. I love feeling free to teach and work outside of the house. I love the military community that reaches out so freely to near strangers.

After reading Melanie's post about creating holidays and community and Pentimento's reflections in the same vein, I thought back to last Sunday morning, when I sat in Mass pondering both the beauty of the Mass and the church and the goodness of being among families as large or larger than our own worshiping together. I also realized that living as an oddity (one among many) in a secular community is my calling right now.  Even though sometimes we are a bad witness, I love that my kids are witnesses to the gift of having multiple siblings.

I don't have any answers to the situation of yearning for community and feeling the thinness of celebrating holidays like saints' days and Epiphany all by ourselves. I don't doubt that up in the hills some of those large families got together for a party for Epiphany.  Maybe even for Michaelmas. I know that the community of students and tutors at the College is tightly knit because of the testimony of our friends' daughter who just graduated and now is working there. It is a kind place where people are excited about beauty and wisdom, and perhaps we would find soulmates there. My stereotypes are most likely wrong.

We'll be looking for a new community again soon. Every time we move to a new place - which will happen yet again this summer -  I have to push myself to show up at the parish Moms group or the school volunteer meeting or the Navy wives' luncheon when these things aren't really what I want to be doing, but I'm always surprised by the offers of friendship waiting there.  These people are sometimes baffled by our choices, but often the feeling is mutual, so we share something!  In many ways the community created by a mom's group or a marriage ministry or at a library story time is a bit artificial. But sometimes real friendships are begun through the casual acquaintances these events facilitate. I'll be adding a few more addresses to my list of friends I keep in touch with when we leave here.

I didn't take any photos in the big church but here are some pics of the campus:

Tiny altar in the guest house chapel where Blessed Mother Teresa once stayed and prayed.

Good kids

Hidden ponds

Stations of the Cross in the woods

Redwoods were planted here long ago by the original property owners.

As were these calla lilies that grow along a little stream

On parish life

Can I add my two cents on the parish life conversation? (link, link, link, link and slightly different link. Can you tell my class is over? I'm reading blogs again.) Good points all. This topic is a conversation starter - good for creating community, evidently. It’s a conversation that my husband and I have had a various points in time when we were in parishes that were successful at involving parishioners and when we were at parishes that weren’t.  I don’t have a formula for what makes a great parish, because I agree with my sister that there is no one size fits all community.  I also think my sister is right that we shouldn’t expect our Church to fulfill all our needs. On the other hand, I think Melanie’s quote of Cardinal Ratzinger is great – our Church must be a source of brotherhood and community.  We meet for communion at Mass not just to receive Christ in the Eucharist, but also Christ in the Word and Christ in the People. In Christ, we're all family, so we should try to act like one.

When we were growing up, my parents did not hang out with friends from church. Since they were converts, they didn’t grow up with the people in our parish, and we had moved out to a rural area where we had to drive 15 or 20 minutes into town to go to church, so we didn't have any neighborhood connections, which create community naturally (as do school connections, but we were public school heathens). Additionally, my grandparents and some cousins lived in town, so my parents hung out with family or friends they had from the neighborhood or from school. 

True friendship can’t be forced, but it can be facilitated, especially in communities where people come and go. Like lots of bloggers, apparently, I am not a great one at small talk.  I tend to either have nothing to say or too much. But I appreciate when other people come up and talk to me. And as we’ve moved around, I’ve gotten better at being the person to start conversations. I don’t know that coffee and donuts after Mass is THE answer to creating fellowship, but it certainly helps.  You can tell after a couple of Sundays which families have kids that would mesh well with your own by the way they are rushing up to grab donuts. 

A couple of our parish experiences stand out. Both had priests who would tell you what to do. At our parish in Mississippi, the pastor told me in during my confession that we were going to start taking communion to the old folks’ home. Brilliant! It was not easy, but so worth it.  He also told people what they were doing for the parish festivals, told people he’d see them at the parish dinner, gave your kid a reading for the stations of the cross, made sure he assigned different people to bring stuff to this meal, that prayer service, the other event… He had a gift. And he said it all with an Irish brogue and a smile, so everyone obeyed.

This parish was large and dynamic (I just read a review of a Matthew Kelly book about what makes a “dynamic Catholic” –as opposed to just “active”, ie. churchgoing – and the short answer is prayer, study, generosity and evangelization.) There was always something going on, and usually someone reached out a personal invitation. (Southern Hospitality?)

In Virginia, our priest wasn’t quite as assigning.  In fact, he was rather shy and bumbling, but good-humored.  The effect was that he made people want to take care of him.  Pasta with the Pastor during Lent was huge, although this was not a large parish.

It’s worth noting that both of these parishes had schools. We were homeschooling in Virginia, but our kids were involved with the parish scout troop and CCD.  They made friends, so we made friends through them.  And our homeschooling friends also got together for spiritual activities like Armata Bianca and saints’ day activities. The Mississippi parish also had a school, plus an active youth group and lots of opportunities for kids to get together for service work. The teens had a yard work group that cleaned elderly parishioners' yards.  There was Friday night PLAY, where parents could drop their kids off for food and games with a catechetical bent (I can’t remember what the acronym stood for) and then go out for a date or stay and visit with each other.

I also have to give credit to Regnum Christi when we were in Illinois and Indiana for providing spiritual connections. The gospel reflection groups were what kept me involved – real, nurturing friendships were formed through them. Although I was uncomfortable with the large group’s “recruitment” mentality, I did benefit from the small group’s spiritual sustenance.  Another friend in Illinois who had a large yard and a basement hosted a rosary group with a few women from different parishes  - people she liked or thought she would like. Kids prayed the first decade with the moms and then they played, while moms finished praying and then talked. The shared prayers created an intimacy that led to real friendships – these were the people who would bring you dinner when your baby was born or take your kids for an afternoon while you napped with a new baby.

In our current situation, we attend chapel on base. It’s a very small community with almost no “ministries” except CCD  - and coffee and donuts.  We know some families outside of church from our neighborhood or the command, so we socialize together without officially organizing anything.  I keep wanting to start a youth group, but my boys don’t want me in charge. Fortunately, some opportunities have come up for the kids to get together – a dinner for foster kids, a parish picnic at the beach, a group getting together to go see a movie on base. Most of the kids go to school together so they have that connection, too. 

Wanting a little more spiritual nourishment this season, I just invited a few women over for a gospel reflection group for Advent.  Only 5 showed up, and I kind of bumbled through, not having any real vision for how to facilitate with a group of peers (didn’t want to be in teacher mode), but my daughter made delicious sour cream coffee cake and cranberry walnut bars, so maybe they’ll come back for the food!

Every time we move, the best new friends we make are those from our parish.  I do tend to show up at our new parishes and check out the faces in the pews looking for potential friends. I scan the bulletins looking for opportunities to meet people. We look for parishes that have kids in the pews about the same age as my kids because my kids often make my friends for me. 

Lately, one of my conundrums has been keeping track of the people who were my good friends at different times and places, especially as I think about writing our Christmas letter. I wonder how many of these friendships can I sustain over time and distance?  

But I don’t want to lose track of these people who really went out of their way to help me when I was struggling with small children. As I’m sitting here trying to remember what we did in different places, what I really remember are the kindnesses of a few individuals, the personal invitations from people who weren’t afraid to invite someone with 6 kids over to their house (or to a beach barbecue, at any rate). These are the people who taught me by example how the faith should be lived: they welcomed the stranger, not with idle chitchat but with real concern.  They went out of their way to offer assistance and kindness.  Thinking of them fills me with love – and sorrow that I haven’t always lived up to their example -- and wistfulness that we can’t all live in some Catholic ghetto somewhere, where we might annoy one another sometimes by too much proximity, but we might also sometimes get a foretaste of the joy of the communion of saints. 

Gracias

It is a wonderful thing to have friends who are willing to drop everything to help you.

Yesterday I talked to a friend from Illinois who was one of these kind.  She and her husband took my boys all day when I was having a baby. And they would've kept them longer if needed. Our friendship grew because we had the same number of kids who were about the same age, we were homeschooling, and did NFP.  Five years after moving from Illinois we're still in touch. She is recently recovering from cancer.

This weekend, I talked to our friends from Virginia who are the next best thing to relations. They, too, we met because we were homeschooling kids about the same age and were open to more.  We're planning a camping trip to Tallulah Gorge in Georgia in a couple of weeks. Can't wait. If I died, these friends are the type who'd take in all the kids.

Now here we are in Mississippi. Last night at the park, just as we were about to leave, my monkey boy jumped/fell off the slide and cut open his head on a bar. The park we were visiting was right next to the fire station, so we were able to get a little clean-up and bandage work done by the EMT's before heading off to the hospital to get staples (his 3rd set). And fortunately for me, we were also near our new friends' house, friends with kids about the same age, open to inviting 5 more in, so I didn't have to corrale them all at the ER for 2 and a half hours.  It is reassuring to know we have friends to call on in a pinch. I am grateful.

Community isn't always just the place where you live.

"A community is the mental and spiritual condition of knowing that the place is shared, and that the people who share the place define and limit the possibilities of each other's lives. It is the knowledge that people have of each other, their concern for each other, their trust in each other, the freedom with which they come and go among themselves."  - Wendell Berry in "The Loss of the Future" from The Long Legged House.