It's almost twenty-one years since my neighbor Val moved away. In the thirteen years we lived across the street from each other, we exercised together, we baby-sat for each other, we drank gallons of tea together, and once we exchanged one of our teen-age children for a week because Val had all girls and we had all boys.
The message board on our refrigerator often read "Call Val."
Since July of 1989, she and I have talked almost every Sunday at 10:00 a.m. Friends and family know not to call during Val time. It's not quite the same as having each other across the street, but it's the best we can do.
Recently our older son, Seth who lives in Brazil, has started to talk to two of his far-away friends from high school on Sundays too. It's a little more complicated to coordinate because they live in three different time zones. Last week, he reported that their call has become a tradition. They call it the Val Call.
Like mother, like son.