We seem to be at the tail end of the annual St. Patrick’s day snowstorm.
From my porch this morning, I can hear foghorns, unmuffled by the usual stream of traffic on the state highway that’s about a quarter mile away. The bumps and grinding of the plows explains the absence of car and truck noises; it’s probably rough going out there, with sunrise still half an hour away and snow predicted to last until 8 this morning.
Yesterday, I took the bus to Boston for a developers’ conference. The round-trip fare was less than the cost of parking alone, and I was happy to avoid fighting traffic on the way back. Plus, the occasional pleasantries with the driver and other passengers were a nice diversion.
I enjoyed the conference, good content about securing web applications. Even better, I got to talk with several colleagues who are active in our community. It occurred to me last night that this is a tribal experience, especially for those of us who are in private practice. We see and hear our chiefs and get to meet people from other areas with whom we share common experiences.
When I got home, there were messages from a neighbor about a squirrel in her attic and from my son, reporting on his youngest child’s misadventure with matchbox cars and a fourth birthday cake.
So, even with our advanced technology, the ancient ways keep their hold on us. Human connections – and the mighty forces of nature – nurture our roots, once again proving that family is what you make it.