Today was the annual neighborhood pig roast. Encompassing a couple hundred houses, there was quite a gathering around the neighborhood lake. Not being much of a joiner, this is the first one we’ve attended since moving into the neighborhood 12 years ago. Scratch that – 14 years ago. But who’s counting?
Step 12: having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
As I sat down with my full plate of good eats, I was surprised by how many people I recognized among the tables; many of them I’d talked with in the past, or waved at while walking the dog over the years. I don’t know why there was mild shock: they’re my neighbors. But beyond that, peppered throughout the crowd were three or four members of the league of the Program. Capital “P”.
Not wishing to “out” anyone like it’s 1950s Hollywood, I point in recognition of those who recognize me. I’m going to let them make any moves regarding striking up conversation. Everyone is with their family and friends, and it’s not my place to walk into to a situation I’m not up-to-date with and start yammering about something that is supposed to be anonymous.
Anyway, there was some nods of acknowledgment and cordial smiles, but it was kept at that. Which is fine, I just wanted to sit back and eat anyway, like normal folks do. I’m sure the picnic will be brought up at various meetings, to the extent that we will acknowledge seeing each other, and that the food was good. But how much more do I need? We are people who sit at different tables, and normally on a weeknight.
In a weird way, it seems right to keep it that way, for these particular fellows. They are people I know, and people who know me, and outside in the real world, with grilled corn on the cob still in the husk, we move among the brought dishes and running children until it’s time to head home. They are also people I love and care about, and people who love and care about me, inside a room, once a week for an hour.
That’s good stuff.