Last night we attended the annual "Princeton Ice Cream Party." A few of the neighbors get together every year and provide goodies for everyone. We, the remaining neighbors, come to gorge ourselves on sweets and to meet each other. It was my first time in attendance. I know most of my direct neighbors, those that live in close proximity to my house, but there are many that I don't know including new people that have moved in. I spent most of my time chatting with a Journalism student that is renting a house a few doors up. He talked about his experiences writing for the local paper during his summer internship, and his dreams of becoming a Novelist. I just nodded my head and listened.
Later there was Michael, who appears to be about 14 but still acts like he is 8. He shared with me a lengthy story about a previous home owner's (my home) car and how is head and this parked car collided one afternoon while he was running down the street. The story came with sound descriptions of which I cannot recreate with the written word, as well as gory blood scenes which I am sure have been multiplied by 10 easily. My husband had two servings of the cool, soupy cream that had been in a solid form earlier in the evening. I had a Popsicle. We chatted for about an hour and then made our way home.
Later, I reminisced about how nice everyone that lives here is (except the Dog man, who lets his dogs run about, shitting all over the place). We have such a diverse group that live here, not what one would expect living in Utah. Most of us are professionals, most are married with kids, all kinds of different ages, and we are all different in race and religion. It is a small microcosm of America. Part of the big pot finding common ground and friendship over a bowl of soupy ice cream.
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