My Beloved at Seventy-Nine
Houses Are Us

Dropping In

Something really unusual happened yesterday afternoon. I was about to send off a newspaper article that was due this week, and was attaching some photos to it to email to the editor. Peter was napping.

 

The doorbell rang, and I went to see what organization I had no interest in supporting was disturbing my Saturday afternoon. Mirabele dictu! It was my really good friend Joannie who lives about 30 minutes away. She was on her way to the airport to pick up her husband when she thought about stopping by and did.

 

"Why don't people drop in anymore?" she asked. Good question. People used to be around, especially on Sundays, prepared for whoever might stop by for a cup of coffee or a chat. Those were the good old days when doors weren't locked and people were not chained to their email or Facebook, when everyone had time, and neighbors chatted without making a formal date.

 

When's the last time someone dropped in to borrow a cup of sugar? What a good excuse to stop whatever you're doing, to connect in person!

 

I wasn't exactly dressed for company, and I wished I had gotten all the folded laundry upstairs. But it didn't matter to Joannie.

 

She only stayed a few moments, but I am still thinking about how happy I was to see her. I wish we did more dropping in.

 

There isn't anything that can't wait for a few minutes.

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