as I’m preparing to go upstairs and snuggle under the covers with this book, I couldn’t be more thankful for my little community of ladies, mothers, near-mothers and others. I am thankful I accepted an invitation to Book Club three-ish years ago, an invitation into what would become this group of thoughtful, intelligent, supportive and genuinely interesting people. People who will bring you a casserole at the whif of crisis and tell you when your zipper is down. My mother is a part of a circle like this in our small town that first gathered when I was a toddler, and they still meet once a month for breakfast, thirty-some years later. They call themselves the “Breakfast Club” and they still don’t know why that’s funny. I see us in eighteen years, bitching about college tuition and marveling at the people we’ve created and raised together.
Also, I continue to fall in love with my neighborhood, for hosting places like this.
And also, I’ve had some wine.