At the end of an eventful weekend I was sitting in the kitchen with some of the other guys forstalling the inevitable retreat to bed. We were chatting about various curiosities such as the days of egg collection at some of the farm-community houses, and the dozy hens we used to keep. "Silly hour" was kicking in with full force.
We danced over a range of topics: the coming week, a resident member feeling poorly, the chickens. Earlier in the day we'd shared baked alaska with the parents of a student friend who had stopped for the night in their camper van outside our house. It was good to make new friends and the delicious desert was a belated birthday treat for me. One sister commented that the first thing she knew about the dinner guests was coming downstairs in the morning and finding two strangers eating breakfast in our kitchen. It's certainly good to be able to share life with such activity and spontanaity. "That," she resigned, "is one of the things about living in community."
Hey, I saw your comment on my blog asking me to write more about the desert I'm in. Unfortunately I think my parents sometimes read my blog. They can be pretty reactive so it would be a bad move for me to even give a general idea of what's going on there. Most of the other people who read my blog alreay know the story. I don't want to take up your comment space telling it. If you want I could email you but I don't know your address, my email is: jennifer.aprill@gmail.com
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