Out there is a large rolling grassy area surrounded by a God's Plenty of trees. In it the (other) cool crowd from my complex hangs out. The official cool crowd for this 1,400-unit development maintains its presence in the courtyard. That's mostly concrete.
How I get invited onto the grass wasn't via a clever tweet I sent which went viral or a text from my smartphone offering to bring my famous, at least throughout Connecticut, chocolate chip cookies weighed down with walnuts and pecans.
After seven years living here I adopted a dog. That five-year-old stole everyone's heart, especially when I relayed his sad story. He and his sister, both dumped by their pet parent, had been shipped up from Florida to the Animal Haven Rescue Center in North Haven, CT. There the rule is neutering, no matter what the age. That, I imagine, is like circumcising an adult. By time the adoption was final, Lee K. was a sorry-looking bag of bones.
The Dog Lady of the complex took us both under her wing. Today, she escorted us into Eden. Lee K chased toys, stuffed animals, and other dogs. Pet parents and I laughed about their antics. Observing one's children playing together is the ultimate bonding exercise. For the first time since I moved here someone, then a few someones asked about me.
Not one, including me, checked our smartphones. I know, I just felt it, Lee K and I are welcome tomorrow, same time, same place.