I was telling this, rather smugly, to a lecturer aunt of mine. She scoffed at my claims saying: "You live in a village and have a bunch of interesting friends. That doesn't make it a community."

"Yes it does, " I said . . . stupidly . . .seeing as she is an academic in the field of Community and Youth Work.

"No, " she said, "that makes you part of a circle of friends. Not the same thing. A community is born out of a collective act or need."

"What if we babysit each others' kids and and meet every Sunday for drinks?" I said, feeling my 'village community' fantasy slipping away.

"Lovely, " she said, "but it's friendship . . . not community."

Stuff it . . . I thought. She's wrong. Me and my friends are a community . . . we are, we are!

My son started school this September and through that experience I came to understand the distinction my aunt was making. It is the choice thing. You can choose your friends . . . but you can also unchoose them. You can't unchoose a community. A community is what it is and you can either be an active member or poke around at its edges, but you can't fundamentally alter it. Within the boundaries of the children my son goes to school with, the parents of those children and the staff into whose care he goes each day, I am trapped. I am lucky in that St Joseph's, Killala is a fabulous school and, admittedly, I am one of life's sandwich makers. I always laugh when people say they are "too busy" to involve themselves in community projects. In my experience truly busy people will always find the time to design a parish pamphlet, help tidy up the school art room, butter a platter of scones, run the youth club . . . because they are the people who are invigorated by doing. They are not doing it for the praise or the thank-yous . . . and they are partly doing it because it is what they do.

This week my son's school had its official reopening after a major refurbishment. Damian . . . the headmaster . . . called a meeting for parents a couple of weeks ago to help prepare. Within days we had formed a supportive network of parents for the head and his team. I found the whole experience uplifting.

Marian McHale . . . a lovely mum I'd never met before . . . came around with a picture she had found of the school choir in 1966 for the prayer book cover. Sam drove me into town in her big car and we wandered in open-mouthed awe around the cash and carry. I went into my neighbour Maria's kitchen for the first time for a brown-bread buttering marathon.

These social interactions are adventures for me.

New people, new stories . . . learning about where I live and who lives around me.

When the day was over we sat around the school staffroom . . . a disparate group who had come together on that one day. We had no other reason to have gathered as a group and I thought this is it . . .this is a community. What we had in common was that we had answered the "somebody's gotta do it" call to community . . . which is like a dog whistle, some hear it and some don't. I felt pleased with myself, not just for the day's work, but for marking myself as someone who is a willing and proud member of my wider community . . . a sandwichmaker.