Susie's found herself a new friend, which is a good -- no, GREAT -- thing. She's always been really good at making friends, wherever we've been, but because we live in such small village, rather far from where I work, it's been tough. She keeps in touch with a lot of her friends from other places we've lived, and that's good, but it's not the same. It's nice to have "brick and mortar" friends, where you can pop in for a visit and have a cup of coffee and a real-time, face-to-face gripe session about whatever's on your mind.
And please forgive me for the title of the post... I really don't care for Forster at all. In fact, I once sort of ticked off my academic advisor at college when, in response to his asking, "What are you looking forward to in my pre-20th Century Brit Lit class?" I said "Not having to read any more E. M. Forster." You see, Forster was the subject of his doctoral dissertation, and strongly featured in his writing seminar which I had taken the year before. Well, I wasn't going to lie to the man... and THAT little story has absolutely nothing to do with anything.