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Every so often, an ordinary moment turns out to be about something else entirely.

I watched two women meet outside a grocery store recently. Neither seemed to know the other. One had dropped a bag, oranges rolling across the wet pavement, and the other bent down without a word to help gather them. It took maybe 40 seconds. They exchanged a few sentences I couldn’t hear, laughed once, and went their separate ways. I don’t think either of them thought about it again.

I did, though. I kept thinking about how neither woman had planned to meet the other that morning. Their separate mornings happened to touch for less than a minute, and then continued on, changed by some small amount neither could probably name.

For a long time, when I thought about what brings people together, bridges were the image that came to mind. Bridges connect two known sides. They’re built on purpose, toward a destination already identified. I still believe in that kind of work. Deliberate bridges, built with intention toward a place meant to be reached, matter enormously.

DEAR MISS LONELYHEARTS: We love our grandchildren, but now we’re sick of them. The two sets of parents — our adult children — have been parking their kids out here on the farm with us while they take back-to-back road trips to see their friends. We’ve had enough.

Grandma and I want them to come back and get the “brats” (just joking, they’re nice kids) so we can relax.

You have to be so careful with city kids around the farm who don’t know when they’re going to make a mistake and get hoofed by an animal or run over by a farm implement.

How do we tell our kids the party is over early, and they really need to come back before grandma and I give out?