I have been Not in the Mood to socialize recently, which is especially bad when Other People often keep me from excessive navel-contemplation. In college, on the last page of the notebooks in which I wrote my journal, I kept a list of Things That Make Me Glad I'm Alive, which were mostly interactions, the story told, the laugh shared. In that spirit, I don't want to forget last Friday's Other Bookclub party (and the date, the boyfriend, and the fiancé, or even the squirrel attack that preceded it), or last Saturday's neighborhood progressive dinner, even though I neglected to make the guacamole that Scarf thought I was bringing, or this Saturday's evening at the Ninth Door and Trios (tapas and jazz) with RDC, or last night's craft night, when the nabe gathered to cobble together the next baby quilt. Or afterward, when Maven came home with me to get some interfacing left over from the vest I tried to make, and how we choked with laughter at my sewing-butchery.