I’m feeling awash in friendship after this past weekend, suffused with a warm glow of having spent Saturday morning with new friends, Sunday evening with old(ish) friends, and time in between with church friends.
On Saturday morning, we invited a family new to town over for brunch. Sometimes those invitations work out really well and other times you end up feeling like at least you did the right thing by making an effort. This was an example of the former. The new family has a daughter in Holly’s class (which is how we met them) as well as two younger children, and all five were lovely guests. They appreciated our cooking and hosting; all the kids got along well together; they asked politely inquisitive questions of us and shared interesting information about themselves. (And, okay, they’d read my blog before coming over. So maybe that’s the real reason I liked them so much right away. But the two hours that followed their arrival didn’t disappoint either.)
On Sunday evening, a family in town well-known for their generosity in hosting huge crowds and letting enormous hordes of children run through their house invited lots of people over. It was all local families, and as is so often the case at big local get-togethers, I was struck by the extent to which everyone brought something to the table. Not literally: the hosts did all the work (“Well, it’s not as if I entertain the way you do!” my friend said on the phone that morning when I called to ask what I could bring. “This will be spaghetti with Ragu and maybe some garlic bread.” Well, yeah, but there was chocolate fondue for dessert, with not only fruit but also pretzels and marshmallows for dipping.).
But everyone who was there had something interesting to say; conversations mushroomed all over the house that were well worth listening in on. One couple had just returned from a cold, rainy Head of the Charles regatta, where they saw a rower treated for hypothermia. Another told me about how fortunate she and her husband felt about the success of their year-old start-up. A man who gives generously of his time to committees all over town updated me on the school building project. A man I hadn’t met before – the only family at the party I didn’t already know – explained to me the finer points of the town’s wastewater treatment plant. A mom discussed her 17-year-old daughter’s college search to date. A couple of parents weighed in on the school instrument program and whether my son should try out for symphonic band. Two football games played on the TV: we had Jets fans, Buffalo fans and Patriots fans all cheering their teams on. The kids played on their own all evening, needing nothing from us adults once dinner was over, and I felt so fortunate to be in the company of interesting people whom I’ve known for so long, many of them since Tim started kindergarten five years ago, a few even longer.
When people new to town comment to me on how friendly everyone is, I always offer the same explanation. “In a town without restaurants, movie theaters, bowling alleys, nightclubs or any commercial diversions whatsoever, all we have is each other,” I always say. “If we don’t reach out and get together, we’d all be bored silly.” Last night was a good example. By 5 PM, the cold rain that had fallen all afternoon had turned into a wet snow. No one felt like driving farther than across town, but we didn’t need to. Within town lay a house brimming with fun for the kids, enlightenment and good conversation for the adults, and pasta (plus chocolate) all around.
Whether my theory about socializing in Carlisle is correct or not, I’m so lucky to live in a small town where it’s easy to make friends, and it’s so rewarding to be starting the work week on a wave of goodwill inspired by the good times we had with friends old and new over the weekend.
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