Sort of a widows' row.

My neighbor Connie waved to me yesterday. From an open window in her house. And yelled, "Hi, Jim.' Startled me while I was riding by on my bicycle. I smiled. Waved back. But didn't yet instinctively call her by name. Next time, I will. Because I know her name now. And she knows mine. Took us a few years to get on a first-name basis. Better late than never. Getting to know more about my neighbors. That's my mission. Something I've neglected for far too long. Used to think that Connie was divorced. But turns out that she's a widow. And she tells me there's a couple other widows living on the same street. Sort of a widows' row. --Jim Broede