And that’s when the magic happened.
For two hours neighbors who sometimes never speak to each other helped each other out. We took turns shoveling out our cars, directing each other out of our parking spots and offering the occasional bumper shove so that we could move down the road, clear our parking spots, and move our cars back. I hailed down the plow driver that was attempting to go around the other side of the complex, as if I were in Boston and he were a taxi, and he cleared as many spots as he could while we shoveled cars out of said spots. (I’m sure you find it shocking that I took a leadership role in Project Parking Lot.) We got the job done. Two hours later, I came in smiling.
I know it wasn’t a barn-raising in Amish country or a third world, natural disaster relief effort, but in a world that seems reluctant to let villages raise children (although it is desperately needed), it was nice to be a part of a community of people who helped each other out. Because it was the right thing to do.
|Mom's soup with grilled cheese|