Degrees of Separation

Most of you who know me, know that one of the reasons we moved to the PNW was to find more community.  In the decade-plus since we've been here, we always say that there are rarely more than two or three degrees of separation between people in our town.

We are now a community of (about) 20,000 people.  But, until about twenty years ago,  we were much, much smaller. Before the influx of people into the PNW from all over the country, (read "California,")  it was not much of a stretch to say "everybody knew everybody" here. (Or, at the very least, they knew someone who knew them.)

I know that, for some people, this would be a little too close for comfort. But, for suburbanites like us--starved for the sound of a familiar voice in the cul-de-sac, it's been great.

Sure, it often takes a little time unwinding who's related to whom. ("But, I thought she was your second grade teacher?"  "She is, but she's also my third cousin by marriage...")  But, by and large, I think it provides a sense of comfort and safety.  The security that, while the world falls to pieces in Paris and Washington D.C., life here goes on much as it always has.

In our old, style of suburban living, anonymity was king.  Everyone heard of the passing of a neighbor or a fellow church member in the same way:  We read about it in the newspaper.

Sure, sometimes the news would travel through the church lines, or via our children, if they attended the same schools.  But, most of the time, as spread out as we were across the county, we all got our news through the major media. Then, those who cared, could make their way to the phones to express their condolences.

Here, in our little town, we receive the news almost instantaneously.

And we usually receive it from a real person.

Last Friday afternoon, a dear friend from church lost her son in a terrible accident.  Everyone in the church body knew about it before sunset. By dinnertime, my daughter told me that she had gone to school with the boy, and been mentored in music by his sister. I, in turn, shared that I'd recently discovered that the boy's sister-in-law was the one that had come to the house last summer to train our dog.

This morning,  I took my son downtown to have a wisdom tooth removed.

After he had checked in, the dentist's receptionist turned to me and said:  "My heart is just breaking for the Smith Family."

You'll notice she didn't ask if I knew the Smith Family.  But, she knows where I go to church and, on an earlier visit, we had established that we had a few common friends. So, of course she knew that I would know.

It had been almost three days.