A week or so ago I walked a few blocks to Keila’s house to sit on her porch and drink IPA on the first semi-warmish evening in early spring. We talked journalism smack bundled in sweaters until we could take it no longer and retreated inside to the warmth of her house. A few days later, I walked the other direction a few blocks to Anne’s house where she, Sarah and I piled up on her couch and talked about work, life and health. Her couch is big enough for all of us to fit comfortably. It felt like those days in college when you had nothing to do but sit around and chat. It felt that good.
Last weekend we ordered Thai food with our neighbors and sat on our back deck for an impromptu gathering on a Saturday night. We’d worked in our respective gardens most of the day raking, digging, turning last year’s beds.
Yesterday, I met Steve at the Kettlehouse, our local brewery, where our daughters took their shoes off and ran around until the bartenders told them to stop. Marcy was there and Freddie showed up with Cooper. Nici came with her daughters. The kiddos chased each other, giggled and ate sticky fruit leathers as we chatted and sipped our pints.
Lately, this is what my neighborhood looks like. And more and more it’s feeling like home. Read More »