Hi Hops
I never tire of your name. It makes me think of bunnies hopping along happily in the grass or of Hopalong Cassidy riding so expertly while he twirls his lariat. There is only one Hopalong.
I like the idea of the church of pot luck dinners. I have a group on my street that meet twice a month. Once for dinner at a restaurant and once at someone's house. There are 8-10 who show up each time. It would be hard to expand the group as we all have pretty small houses, probably 1100 square feet. The people who go to the restaurent are called " The Newcomers Club" but most have been in the group for over 10 years. I have been going ever since I moved here last July. I am so glad I have this community. It is not churchy but more based on kindness, listening, helping each other. Also nosiness, opera, and drinking. Ah well, you can't have everything.
By opera i mean they go opera occasionally. As if they are bursting into an aria. This is when there is heavy drinking. I am not used to this anymore as I don't drink. For health reasons etc. It has taken months for the group to build enough trust for this. At the last dinner one man said that his father was shot during the Hungarian Uprising, another said his father committed suicide and then his mom became an alcoholic, another woman said that she felt suicidal in January when she had to ask her 25 year old seriously alcoholic son to leave and go to a shelter. This was after an evening of laughing, good home made food, good talking. She works in child apprehension and is working six days a week and burned out. When she told the group this their reaction was strange ( to me). There she had found her voice and explained through tears her deep sadness about her son and her feelings of being overwhelmed by her job. People just pretended she hadn't said anything or continued talking about how to care for orchids. She actually stood up and said her say. One guy said that his father committed suicide and then the other guy said his father was shot when he was eight,.
I went over to the woman and put my hand on her shoulder and told her she was brave to speak her truth. Next day I phoned her and asked her to come over and we talked about what she had said. I asked her if she had support and went into crisis counseling mode. Right now i feel like the neighbourhood confessor. This is not what I want but who knows what I am here for. They are showing me things I didn't know before and I guess i am showing them a way of being with feelings they are not used to. They are probably as nervous about me as I am about them. Everyone has a story and I really believe they need to find their voice and be listened to by someone who cares.
Nobody said it was easy
Love,
Sea storm