Someone asked about living in Toronto and someone asked about living in the country. For those of you without cats who hunt, the spleeny bits are what's leftover. When you step on them, they go pop-squish.
You are so, so correct about knowing your neighbours, and how important it is. I lived in a town of about 7,000 in central Massachusetts for 8 years, on a lot of land, with a brook running through it. I was about 15 minutes from town in good weather, and every time there was a storm with any kind of precipitation I'd lose electricity for a couple of days. The weekend of my 40th birthday I planned a huge party and people were coming from all over: from Quebec and Toronto, Buffalo and Albany, Boston and New York, North Carolina and California. The night before the party there was an electrical storm and my well was struck by lightning. It was a holiday weekend (Memorial Day weekend), but I called Brian, the neighbour who did handy man jobs for me and I begged. He called a friend who owned a well drilling business who was willing to lend the tools for pulling up the pump (artesian well, 400 feet deep) and sell me a new pump. I panicked a lot, but finally went to bed comforted by the thought that I had beverages for my guests' fluids-in needs, and woods for their fluids-out needs. When I got up the next day, the day of the party, I looked out, and my deck was stacked with water. People had been coming by and leaving off gallon or 2.5 gallon jugs of water. There were over 400 gallons of water. Brian had rounded up a couple of friends and begun the labor of pulling up the ruined well motor. Friends began to arrive, and many pitched in with the well repair efforts. Despite the mayhem, perhaps even because of it, a wonderful and memorable occasion. Such a thing would never happen in the city where I now live.
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