CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Amy is asking for patience to deal with stupid people and for courage to tolerate their ignorance, "Because Lord knows if I ask for strength, I will beat them to death."

Madeline is making a cow laugh to see if milk will come out of its nose.

Candace is wondering if it really is possible to laugh one's ass off.

And Karin is intimidated by the need to come up with something clever.

Karin is not, however, a fan of Mafia Wars, collecting sea creatures, snowball fights that involve no actual snow, or married folk inadvertently reconnecting and rekindling with an old flame. Still, in spite of the many pitfalls and annoyances of Facebook, Karin is still a big fan.

Although she's tired of speaking of herself in third person.

During a recent meeting, a co-worker complained that Facebook was ruining friendships; that all this online back-and-forth was taking the place of face-to-face (or phone-to-ear) contact. Since I'd only been a sporadic user of the site, I didn't speak up in Facebook's defense. It wasn't until this past week that I recognized what Facebook can provide -- the sense of community that I'm sometimes missing.

Growing up, I'd say we knew about 90 percent of the families who lived on our street. We knew whose yards we could cut through, who would buy Girl Scout cookies, and who put the strangest stuff on the curb come trash day.

The familiarity was more than comforting. It provided a sense of safety, of being cared about. Of belonging.

Social networking sites, like Facebook, can make it possible to experience that sense of community again.

This past Monday evening, I was sitting at my computer, honing my mastery of procrastination skills by flitting around the Internet, halfheartedly looking for column ideas. I wanted something fun to write about, as I've been stuck in a serious rut far too often of late. I decided to pop over to Facebook and ask for suggestions.

CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Amy is asking for patience to deal with stupid people and for courage to tolerate their ignorance, "Because Lord knows if I ask for strength, I will beat them to death."

Madeline is making a cow laugh to see if milk will come out of its nose.

Candace is wondering if it really is possible to laugh one's ass off.

And Karin is intimidated by the need to come up with something clever.

Karin is not, however, a fan of Mafia Wars, collecting sea creatures, snowball fights that involve no actual snow, or married folk inadvertently reconnecting and rekindling with an old flame. Still, in spite of the many pitfalls and annoyances of Facebook, Karin is still a big fan.

Although she's tired of speaking of herself in third person.

During a recent meeting, a co-worker complained that Facebook was ruining friendships; that all this online back-and-forth was taking the place of face-to-face (or phone-to-ear) contact. Since I'd only been a sporadic user of the site, I didn't speak up in Facebook's defense. It wasn't until this past week that I recognized what Facebook can provide -- the sense of community that I'm sometimes missing.

Growing up, I'd say we knew about 90 percent of the families who lived on our street. We knew whose yards we could cut through, who would buy Girl Scout cookies, and who put the strangest stuff on the curb come trash day.

The familiarity was more than comforting. It provided a sense of safety, of being cared about. Of belonging.

Social networking sites, like Facebook, can make it possible to experience that sense of community again.

This past Monday evening, I was sitting at my computer, honing my mastery of procrastination skills by flitting around the Internet, halfheartedly looking for column ideas. I wanted something fun to write about, as I've been stuck in a serious rut far too often of late. I decided to pop over to Facebook and ask for suggestions.

Within minutes, friends had supplied me with a long list of ideas. The comments generated some back-and-forth chatting among those posting, some of whom hadn't met before then, but they had a common denominator -- like living in the same neighborhood once provided -- that opened the door to them conversing.

It gave me a nice feeling. Not quite the warm fuzzies, since no cutesy pictures of kittens were involved, but more that comfortable sense of belonging that comes after a talk over the fence with a neighbor or when the kid from up the street stops by just to chat.

When I first signed up with Facebook, I wasn't all that enthusiastic. It was more to see what the fuss was about. It wasn't long before I understood.

It was exciting to be "friended" by my favorite Camp Carlisle buddy, Martha McKenney Elliott, now a Texan; to play catch-up with my ages-ago Movies 3 co-worker, Todd Hensley; to hear from my long-lost friend, Jona Bayless Pritt, whom I'd known in grade school, then worked with one summer at Dairy Queen.

Facebook has given me a chance to know some of my former Nitro High classmates much better now than I did then, as well to see the lighter (and far more sarcastic) side of some co-workers.

It wasn't long, though, before the novelty began to wear off. I found myself visiting less often, and almost never posting a status update.

Most people, when faced with an entire blank page to fill, might suffer writer's block, but that never deterred me. It's Facebook's small box for status updates that makes my mind blank.

I wondered if perhaps I was intimidated by the idea of sharing information about myself since I'm such a shy and private person, which I really am -- except for that column business where, y'know, I occasionally hang dirty laundry. But I think it's more that I'm intimidated by my desire to be briefly clever, to come up with witty one-liners or profound thoughts that will make those who read it think highly of me.

Now that I've experienced the sense of community that Facebook can offer, I'm determined to be a more active participant, responding to others, sharing more of myself.

Regardless of whether Karin is feeling clever or not.

Reach Karin Fuller at karinful...@cnpapers.com.