My hometown of Creston is ridiculously friendly. But because I haven’t lived there for twenty years, I find walking down the main drag disconcerting. Everyone says hello. I’m never sure whether it’s a random greeting, or whether we know each other, so I end up making an expression somewhere between “good morning, stranger” and “wow, you look great after two decades” and I look like a lunatic.

Speaking of lunatics (in a good way), Min and I stopped by the town tennis courts in an attempt to continue my fledgling tennis education. I was wearing sandals and a sundress and I think he may have been wearing a bathing suit. We did not look like professional players.

Nonetheless, the varied (and I mean teen-to-senior-citizen varied) group of friends playing there motioned us over and invited us to join them. When we declined (because my lessons have yet to take effect and I am horrible) one of the men yelled, “tell them about the tournament on Saturday! We need two more players!”

That’s right. Tennis players in Creston are willing to enter tournaments with strangers in Birkenstocks.

See what I mean about ridiculously friendly?