Years ago when we were in our early 20s, my brother and sister and I lived together at the beach. People were always coming to visit, and certainly part of our popularity was that we were a mere two blocks from the shore, but there were other reasons, too. I first met my sister-in-law when she came as an exhibitor in the boardwalk art show. I told her we were having tuna and green beans for supper and she was surprised by the grilled steaks and fresh beans; she was expecting a casserole.
Another time, one of my brother's friends showed up in the middle of the night after catching her boyfriend in bed with her best friend. For three days she talked it through with Bill and the rest of us, too. One night she told us she dreamed that when her friend came to ask forgiveness, she took a pair of scissors and grabbed her friend by the hair, roughly chopping her long locks to chin-length. "I'll forgive you when that grows back," she had said in the dream, but she never did.
Shattered by an ugly divorce, my cousin came to stay around the same time. We did what we could when she arrived on the bus with her clothes in a garbage bag, but it didn't seem like enough.
Then there was the time my best friend from high school picked up a couple of stray dogs on the side of the interstate on her way down. She had to circle back around and lure them into the car with slices of cheese she bought at the next exit. They had over 200 ticks on them, but she took them to the vet and a groomer, and in the end, found one of them a good home and kept the other as a beloved pet.
Did I mention we were moving that weekend? We were, but it didn't matter. Back then, we took everything in stride. Being adults was new to us and nothing seemed more extraordinary than that.