Sometimes it happens that you get to know the personal lives of what might appear to be casual acquaintances better than the lives, circumstances, trials and tribulations of close neighbours whom you've known for years. Some neighbours will unhesitatingly confide personal details you may or may not wish to know about, and some abide by the wisdom that intimate details of one's life are best kept to oneself.

Often, the more casual an acquaintanceship is, the more some people feel willing, and perhaps determined, to divulge circumstances of their lives that tend to be anything but uplifting, much less of value to others. Everyone has a story. Everyone has problems. Everyone learns to solve their problems because they must. Yet there's a relief valve that people take advantage of to air grievances or to transmit their annoyance or puzzlement by speaking to others in details illuminating one perspective, the only one they can recognize since it impacts directly on their well-being.

Sometimes a sympathetic ear is all it takes to relieve the pressure people feel when they're pressed to the verge of depression or exhaustion with situations they feel helpless to untangle themselves from. And sometimes people just want to air a situation that will, when divulged, leave an aura of prestige or entitlement or admiration. And then of course, there's sheer gossip as well. Some of it innocuously harmless, and some laden with ill intent. Sometimes it's hard to distinguish one from the other.

And occasionally conversations fall into none of those categories quite so neatly. Yesterday we had decided to set aside a morning walk given that there was no rain in the forecast, the day dawned cool and bright, and there would be no real heat build-up since the high for the day was 26C and a good stiff breeze made the atmosphere beyond pleasant. So much so that on our return home after our walk through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie, I decided to remain out-of-doors and tend to the gardens. Lots to do, cutting back spent flower stalks, trimming here and there, weeding, sweeping accumulated detritus from the walkways, and finally watering the parched borders of the gardens and the garden pots.

During the course of our walk, we came across two different sets of acquaintances. One, we knew, had planned for a kitchen and bathroom remodelling and tradesmen had finally arrived to do the work contracted for, which was signed in February, and only now in August being started. I've a fairly good idea of how disconcerting it is to have everything turned upside-down and inside-out, but in our case it was always my husband who was the person involved in the work. He may have been a government bureaucrat all his working life, but he is also adept at plumbing, electrical work, rebuilding counters, laying tile and anything else requiring work of just about any nature.

Our friends recounted how to obtain some privacy they've been having their three daily meals out on their deck to avoid countering the workmen who have invaded their home. And how very glad they'll be when everything is finally completed. They like the people working for them, but having them there every time they turn around is stifling, they tell us. Aside from the fact of the entertainment they provide to the workers with their own quibbles over failing to agree on a host of choices with the work being undertaken. We commiserated.

Ah, and then there's the friend who informed us a while ago that she's been busy planning two weddings. Two of her children getting married, albeit months apart. But each want vastly different ceremonies, accoutrements and events planned for them. She felt as though she was drowning in preparations, consuming so much of her attention and time. One of the marriage events just recently concluded successfully, she told us with a big sigh and a smile to match, the other still pending.

But another distractlon has arisen and it has given her no joy whatever. Her 94-year-old mother who still lives in her own home, has been giving indications that she's confused with her medications; forgets to take them, takes them at inappropriate times, or in the wrong doses. She has a visiting personal care worker contracted through an agency who stays with her twice weekly for three hours each time, who has been with her for seven years.

Her mother confided to her daughter that the care worker asked for a loan of $3,000 which she would pay back as soon as she could, to pay for veterinarian services for her dog. The elderly woman refused with regret. And our friend said how glad she is that her mother is still able to gauge situations to determine how to react. Except that, she said, she was over at her mother's place when she noticed a glass full of liquid that looked oddly blue. What's that, she asked her mother; it looks like Windex. Windex it was. The care worker had evidently 'prepared' it for her mother.

So our friend contacted the agency, terminated the worker, and asked for a replacement. In the interim, she and her son are busy making appointments at a number of area long-term care homes for her mother. Most of which have at minimum a two-year waiting list. And she feels prepared to tear her hair out. We most definitely know which of our friends' problems we would prefer to share, if any.