It sounds easy enough. Take an early evening stroll to use up the calories you just swallowed from a steaming plate of pasta, or work up an appetite if you have yet to dine. In Italy, people take to the streets at a slooow pace for the premier social event of the day. Passeggiata. Casual enough to enjoy conversation with neighbors, catch up on the news, and enjoy a gelato. Maybe carry a guitar and strum a tune. Yet for all of its informality, locals prefer to dress up. Iron their slacks. Put on a dress. Arrange their hair. Put the baby in an adorable outfit in anticipation of deserved attention. 

It makes me want to visit Rome. And yet I live in a small town too. I can step outside and enjoy the waning light. Lately I have been walking a bit more, and each time it has been the occasion for connecting with neighbors. One woman who was gardening paused long enough to tell me a precious dream she had about her sister who died recently. In it her sister mused that perhaps they should not still "be close" like this. 

"I am taking classes. Learning things..." Though she did not go so far as to suggest that clinging to someone still tethered to earth would hold her back, my friend wondered if this might be the last vivid encounter. 

Although we were working rather than walking, the other day I felt blessed by the connections inherent in a morning of Pay it Forward. This is the effort of a flock of people who show up to help a neighbor whose yard or garage have become unmanageable. Tugging weeds side by side, or tossing broken toys into a truck are another way to simply be with each other. Make a difference. Sweat a little. The ache in my arms from defying obstinate vines has subsided, but the sense of companionship has not. 

The garage, which had enough water damage to render its contents worthless, was a big job. Yet Benjamin and I joined with other people in picking up soggy boxes, and moldy books. Side by side it was less overwhelming. We even came across one item that was salvageable. A lunch cooler seemed to have withstood the flood, and one man thought he would be inclined to disinfect it, and make some sandwiches. 

Maybe one evening I will come across him on a picnic with his wife and children. We will both smile and remember. He with pastrami, and me with an ice cream cone.