When the formidable woman who edited many of my articles in The Boston Globe invited me to a retreat of female journalists at her New Hampshire home in the shadow of Mt. Monadnock, I was delighted. I was also intimidated because, unlike the other women there, I am not a bona fide journalist.

There was an agenda—an ice breaker, a session of exercise in a big barn, swimming in a nearby lake and lots of conversation.  There was laughter and there were tears.  There was cooking in the huge farm kitchen and fabulous meals in a screened porch looking out on the mountain.  There was a lot of laughter as well as some tears.  It was magical.

And I have eight new friends.