These are the reasons.

My son is four months old and last night he laughed for the first time.

At the state park campground this summer, an old man in the next site invited everyone to his campfire at dusk. He said he had "some stories."

In Seattle this spring, I spent an early morning at Pike Place, watching the fishmongers throw salmon across the counter, catching them with a flourish and a shout. I'd seen it on TV. In person, it's even better.

Our dog, Penny, slipped her collar during a thunderstorm in April and ran off into the woods behind our house. We searched for three days. The whole neighborhood helped. Kids made posters. A man I'd never met drove around with his windows down calling her name.

My younger brother is Deaf, and at my wedding this year he gave a toast in American Sign Language, with our cousin interpreting out loud.

Our elementary school has a garden behind the gym, and for the past six years it's been run by a volunteer named Mr. Tanaka, who turned ninety this spring.

In July, my neighbor hung a white bedsheet between two trees in her backyard and set up a projector borrowed from the school. She put a sign on the sidewalk: "Movie night! 9 p.m. Bring a chair."