It was a weekend filled with friends, old and new, and family, near and far. My cousin sent texts—including a photo and a video—so we could be a part of the wedding on Friday. The wedding on Saturday was lovely. I cried, as I’m wont to do. Sunday, I met my cousin for an unexpected breakfast. She’s in town for a wedding. We sat around a table of buttermilk pancakes and bacon, sipping hot cocoa and coffee, and caught up on lost time. We chatted travel; we laughed about stories of tomfoolery; and we decided we simply must visit Europe together, someday. I also received a note from a friend on Sunday. Her son had been the Psalmist the day before, so she sent a video. Again with the tears. But he looked so small and grown up all at once–and he did such a good job. Of course, kids singing in church tend to be more than I can handle. So there’s that. Sunday afternoon found us meandering next door where we sat with a few of our neighbors, eating grilled Greek-style lamb pita sandwiches with Tzatziki sauce, salad, and more desserts than I’d care to mention. We nursed New Age “Tinchos;” with birds singing and water dancing as our backdrop, we took the first steps in getting to know one another.
As I sat there in the cool of the shade, I thought of all the people with whom I shared my weekend. Some, I’ve known all my life; others, I’ve never actually met in person–only through blogs and emails–yet I call them friends. I guess you might say, my weekend served a good reminder of just how lucky I am–that the small things, truly are the great . . .