New Neighbors

The family I watched grow from elementary school through high school moved away at the beginning of the month, and the new people came right on their heels.  Actually, their repair and installation and other contracting people showed up and got right to work.  It was hard to tell if the new owners belonged to any of the vehicles.   

There was a partial lull in the proceedings this week, and the garbage cans were out for collection in front of their house yesterday (and Monday, too, because they are new and didn't realize that the holiday pushes our pick up days back).  Those were clues enough, I baked and wrapped and left brownies on the packages stacked up at their front door; the only response to the doorbell came from two delighted to see me dogs.

She called to thank me this morning, and we visited in her semi-furnished new home for just enough time.  Once again, I found a neighbor who loves to cook, and whose interest in an herb garden led to talk of a trip to the nursery down the block.  They moved from Las Vegas so the heat and dry air aren't as much of a novelty as it's been for other new neighbors......

...... which started me thinking about all the new neighbors I've had over the years.  

There was Claire, who shared our Honda del Sol in exchange for space in her garage.

There was Dara Blake's mother, who was delighted to park her 3 year old with the neighbor across the hall whenever I got home from work.  Dara Blake helped me change my clothes (ew... stinky stockings!) and sometimes snuggled while I read her a book and then she was ready to go home.

There was the mother and sons combo living above and below us when we were first married, the ones who painted the entryway steps (and then the risers so everything was drippy) the morning of our Kentucky Derby Party.

There was Sean who roped me into organizing an NCL chapter with our daughters and went on to become president of the national organization.

There was the owner of a well-known chain of gyms and his daughters and wife and two very scary pit bulls on one side of our Chicago house, and an absolutely delightful couple on the other.  Linda is in my life on a regular basis since her Strawberry Banana Jello Mold is a holiday staple, the recipe still on the small card she handed me 3 decades and more ago. 

We had gates linking the properties; they were never locked. 

For the longest time, we had JannyLou and Fast Eddie; the path between our houses now links us to The Wanderers, whose history of fixing a house until it is perfect and then bemoaning the fact that there are no new projects to be done makes me wonder how long we'll have them.

I'm not worried.  We have a pretty good track record so far. 

There Are Holes in My Life

School's out for the summer.  I have no scholars begging for my attention, sidling up for a quick hug, screeching HELLO!! across the playground.  

It's been many months since Lady Jane shed this mortal coil; I miss her every time I drive past her house.  I could count on her for lunch or an adventure every week.  I didn't have to plan them.  She did the work.  All I had to do was show up.

Scarlett is seriously under the weather and in no condition to amuse me three times a week with mah jong and long stories.  I miss her little dog racing like a crazy person whenever you come to the door.  There are certain smiles on the faces of certain friends that will live in my heart forever; Scarlett's joy in her pooch's love for me is certainly on the list. 

JannyLou is long gone to her retirement community; a good move for her but a big loss for me.  She was always up for a quick lunch or a long chat, without any notice at all.  Friends with availability are a rare commodity these days.

I find myself to be good company, and TBG provides hours of entertainment when asked to engage beyond the sports and politics talking heads.  But there are holes in my life that I just can't mend right now.  

I'm feeling bereft.

Girlfriends

I've written this before and I'm sure I'll write it again.  Girlfriends are the best.

I've had a lot of them in my life lately.  

Miss Mississippi and I talked on the phone for 90 minutes before one of us looked at the clock and we both realized we had to go.  

The Social Justice Warriors are here from Chicago; she and I walked and talked and talked and talked this afternoon and, despite her husband's fears, we'll still have more to talk about over dinner tonight.

The Chauffeur is getting Mr. 19 (in Chicago for a solo Spring Break) into the East Bank Club on a guest pass.  Being who she is, she finagled him 2 days to visit.

My daughter's smoothie recipe, a quick text from a Playgroup Mom, delightful conversations with the women who run the landscaping company and the Pilates studio and the hair salon and the doctor's office - all encounters with woman who were upbeat and helpful and smart.

I'm a lucky woman.

Dinner With The Boys

They will always be The Boys, though they are now Mr. 17 and  Mr. 19.  

They tease the way they did when I was taking them to pre-school - the big brother asserting dominance and the younger one shrugging it off with a smile that lights up the room.... even when the barbs strike close to home.  

They eat the way they did when Amster and I took them for breakfast after we finished working out - with good table manners and big appetites.  

Tonight the conversation was also about working out and food and friends and school, just as it was all these years, watching them grow from babies to young men, approaching adulthood, right on the cusp.  

It was just the four of us; Amster's tummy kept her home.  My heart was full - the boys wanted to come and celebrate even if Mom couldn't join us.  We had memories to share and jokes to retell and questions that went unanswered . 

Why didn't Mom put me in baseball? from the kid who begged me to take him to play basketball as soon as he could dribble.  

Did I play baseball? from the other one.

We will have many more years to figure out the answers.  We're in each others' lives forever..

How To Feel?

I liked her until I didn't like her.  I trusted her until I didn't.  She's the only person I ever told I just cannot be your friend. 

We shared activities with our children, even a road trip.  She was good company, always up for an adventure.  Still, I didn't really trust her.  I was always on guard. 

Years and miles separated us.  I was curious about her, but nothing more.  The long ago wounds never lost their sting.

Not very long ago, she fell ill.  Yesterday, she died.

I feel nothing.   I'm sad for her children, for her ex-husband, for those who loved her.  For me, there's no emotional component connected to her at all.  

Her death is just another reminder that we are getting old and that this is happening more and more frequently.  I'm getting used to the emotions that accompany these announcements; I'm noticing their absence right now.

Remembering when my parents' friends began to die, I didn't laugh when Little Cuter told me to take your high blood pressure medication and keep exercising.  

I could definitely feel her love.

Made In Tucson

All the vendors were local.  Not all of the were as snazzy as she was.

There were blocks and blocks of them, on both sides of the street, in parking lots and enclosed spaces and undeveloped parcels.  There was lots of street parking within a block or two, and street parking is free on the weekends (and after 5pm every day.... another reason to love living here).  

Taos Bubbe and I had planned a lovely day of breakfast and shopping, but her tummy ache got in the way.  I found out about the change of plans as I was putting gas in my car, a block away from Not-Kathy and Dr. K.  A phone call and a quick change of sweatshirts and Not-Kathy was in The UV with me.

This was a fortuitous turn of events.  Grandma's Garden was right on the way.  I used my special key,  we examined the bench that needs shoring up, I locked up the gate and we continued downtown.  The GPS got us through the construction and luck gave us a parking space one long block from one end of the fair.

There were homemade knit ski caps and metal art.  There was a lot of jewelry.  Apparently, vinyl stickers are a very big deal; every 5th tent was selling some.  There were 3-D printed plant casitas and t-shirts reminding us that we were on Tohono O'odham ancestral lands.  Saguaros and sugar skulls were everywhere.

I was attracted to the fused glass, and found a menorah which was too thin to stand on its own but which I just had to have.  Luckily, I had Not-Kathy by my side.  

After visiting the rest of the vendors, we stopped by the Makers Space where my friend has learned welding and lusts to use the lathe and the turner and the tiny jewelry making tools.  It's a cooperative space filled with her people.  

We took that energy back to her house where Dr. K and I chatted while she rummaged in the garage for supplies, showed me various options, and created the perfect stand for my pretty menorah.  

It's nice when the solution to a problem creates an opportunity for a friend to find joy.  She was as happy to make it as I was to receive it.  She took unfinished scrap wood and made something useful.  She is the living, breathing incarnation of a frugal person. 

I'm so glad she is my friend.

Feeling Thankful

The Loop is beautifully paved and marked and signed. Before Pandemica, Brenda Starr and I walked some of it, section by section, gradually increasing our speed and endurance.  We went from barely making it from the parking lot to the trailhead to climbing gentle rises.  We weren't fast, but we were faithful.  

This morning, Taos Bubbe and I covered three and a half miles in little over an hour, out and back from Brandi Fenton Park (which has a lot of parking lots, all of which I drove through, looking for her, before I settled into a space and hoped for the best) to the ramp up to the Swan Bridge ..... the other side of the bridge where Brenda Starr and I started our last walk.  

I had forgotten how wonderful it is to move outdoors.  Except for a lot near the wash where two gigantic excavators were maneuvering, loudly, around yards of huge boulders, there was no extraneous noise.  

Sneakers and bike tires provided the background to the stories we told, stories including friends from college, people we've known for 50 years. I hearkened back to power walking along Lake Michigan with Dr. P, when our children were the same age as our grandchildren are now.  

We were friends then and we are friends now. We told the same kinds of stories, walked at the same kind of pace, reacted the same way to whatever was provoking us that morning.

And it's always been first thing in the morning.

I'm thankful to Science for giving me a new hip.  

I'm thankful to Pima County for providing a lovely space. 

And I'm thankful to all the women I've known along the way, the women who keep me grounded and amused and energized; who broaden my horizons and help narrow my focus; who walk with me, every day, sharing our stories, in one another's lives, no matter how long it's been since we've been on a walk-in-real-life together.

*****

I hope your tomorrow is filled with smells that make you smile and all the feels that fill your heart.

If you are traveling, be safe.

If you're cooking, don't burn the rolls.

If you're hosting, don't forget to pick up G'ma.

I'm posting pictures Thursday and Friday.

I'll be back with verbiage on Monday.

Happy Erev Thanksgiving.

Girlfriends

I've said it before and I'll say it again - girlfriends make life worthwhile.
*****
A soft manila envelope appeared in my mailbox, a discovery that made Little Cuter extraordinarily happy. I carried it in with the lunch I was delivering and opened it on the towel protecting the couch from dripped tzatziki.

The accompanying verbiage, on a very impressive, heavy weight note card, was pure Little Cuter. One of her besties across campus thought that since we had newly-engineered body parts we should have newly gifted Engineering swag.

Very, very soft t-shirts in XL... perfect for sleeping

There was joy all over the place - each one of us feeling connected and happy and seen (to quote this year's Bachelorette's favorite feeling).  TBG and I reveled in the fact that our daughter's friend is basking in the happiness our kid feels because we will be functional once again.  And she's happy for us, too.  

*****

There was more in the mailbox.  A flatter manila envelope contained this embroidery-I-can-turn-into-anything-I-want that SIR's brother's wife stitched just for me.  She's warm and wonderful and

even though we haven't seen each other in some time, we think of her quite often.  That she was looking for a project and thought of me as she stitched makes this extra special, because I know just how she feels.  I send crocheted baby blankets filled with loving thoughts in every loop.  To receive a similar gift warms the cockles of my heart.  

*****

Rocky called last week.  Her name came up on the caller ID and TBG and I said, at the same time, with the same intonation - She's calling because she forgot to send us an anniversary card!

TBG, who rarely talks on the phone, took the receiver from my hand and relayed the entire scene to our delighted friend, who was apologizing all over the place as TBG laughed and called her ability to recognize birthdays and anniversaries with physical cards memorable for their consistency,

It's always nice to be reminded that she cares.

*****

 

A Grown Up Sleep Over

JannyLou and Fast Eddie drove down from Tempe last night.  She had a doctor's appointment or two here in Tucson today and it's really too much for them to do a round trip in one day.

That was really good news for us.

Our guest bedroom was all prepared for guests.  Fresh towels; clean sheets; a comfy light blanket for a room that, for some reason, seems to be unusually warm no matter what the thermostat tells it to be were all there.  All that was needed was a quick check on the soap and shampoo situation and a light dusting.  

I spent the early afternoon making stuffed cabbages and a totally dairy-free lemon tart so that lactose intolerant JannyLou could enjoy more than a nibble of one of my usual brownies.  I was done in plenty of time to finish my latest Harlan Coben mystery; I love it when I read the last page just as a We're at the I-10 exit text appears on my phone.

They nudged their lots-of-metal-between-us-and-the-road, filled-with-safety-features, super comfortable vehicle into the garage and hugging commenced.  There was much admiring of my gait, many smiles, some applause, questions about my joining the Rockettes, and joy.

Joy abounded throughout the 21 hours they were here.  Their doggies were thrilled to run around the 

backyard, chasing lizards and chewing on the foam pool mat, then begging at the door to come in out of the heat.  This is exactly the kind of dog ownership we're looking for.  Someone else has all the responsibility and we get all the love we can handle.  

We watched the Warriors crush the Celtics, with dinner during half time and then some.  There was dessert on the couch and everyone went to bed early, woke up early, and while TBG went off to spin class the three of us went out to breakfast.  

No one was insulted that he didn't join us; I'm not sure that thought occurred to anyone except me, right now.  It's that kind of friendship, the kind with no back story, no lurking issues, no fragile egos.

The kind of friendship that leaves the sheets on the guest bed because, after all, they are probably going to be the next people who sleep on them.

Rest In Peace

When the first Play Group Dad died, it was an anomaly.  We were young, raising our growing families, but he'd always been a bit distant, close to reclusive, which, we found out after his passing was due to a long standing illness he chose to keep private.

We mourned.  We supported.  We wept.  People our age weren't supposed to be die.  We were stunned, with no real framework in which to set the circumstances.  Holding it as a one-off, we moved on.

But now Carey is dead.  

Carey, with whom we'd vacationed.  Carey, whose son played on most of Big Cuter's teams when they were young.  Carey, whose daughter and ours were the young hangers-on to Play Group.  Carey, whose kids went to school with ours, went to the Menomonee Club after school for sports and crafts and companionship together.  He could be counted on for carpooling in a pinch, for sharing a freezing sideline at a flag football game, for showing up.

The same could not be said for all the dads, whose presence was often greeted with a Look who's here!  Carey was there.  He was in our lives.  Now he is not. I'm having a hard time getting my head around his absence.  

He'd been ill earlier in life, while the kids were young but not babies.  He survived the treatment, wore hats and sunscreen everywhere, and carried on with the business of medicine and parenting and marriage and managing the household.   

Then, he got sick again....much sicker....with much less hope than before.  I sent letters as he battled, but I'd sent letters before that.  My words of solace and encouragement didn't have much impact on the outcome.  He was brave and fought valiantly but to no avail.  He's been gone since February.  I got the letter from his wife today.

She and I power walked the Chicago Lakefront for years - she taking off fast, me taking some time to warm up but then matching her stride for stride.  Long walks and long talks with a smart and loyal friend do a lot to shore up the down sides of life.  I know she was that for me.  I hope I was able to return the favor.  

And now, there is more consoling and mourning and sorrow..... so much sorrow.  

Because it's not an anomaly any more.  This is what the future will hold.  We knew that.  We just didn't know that.  

There's a hole in the world where Carey used to stand, short and snarky and helpful, smiling and enjoying the chaos surrounding him, getting knocked down and climbing right back up, maybe not asking for help as much as he could have but knowing that those around him admired and respected his work ethic, his love of family, his devotion to his friends. 

Olav HaShalom.  May peace be upon him.  His time of suffering on this earth has ended, and for that, we are grateful.

But he's not here any more, and that sucks.

I'm Rejuvenated

I can't have you go into the weekend thinking that I am feeling low.  I'm really not as sad or upset as yesterday's post might lead you to believe.  Talking to you through my fingers helps me work through most of the angst that comes my way these days.  Boring does have its upside; there's not that much to kvetch about when you don't do hardly anything at all.

I had lunch with Amster today.  We kvelled about our kids, her newly paved driveway,  her travel plans.  And then she, the least dramatic human I've ever met, shared an ongoing saga amongst the girls.  She has somehow managed to get herself entwined in something that is reminiscent of middle school, when no one had anything more important to do than quibble about nonsense and then squawk about the quibbling and then involve others in the kerfuffle.  These, though, are middle aged women arguing over birthday parties - it's not fair is a common refrain.

They all work and earn good money and have the usual raft of family and individual quirks and foibles and traumas.  Where they find the time to obsess and then text their obsessions and then obsess about the responses - or, even worse, the lack of responses - is a mystery to Amster and to me.  Why they would choose to spend time in a bitchy mental space is another mystery.  

Neither of us has ever had the energy to invest in those who would drag us down.  We are kind and we are helpful and we are cheerful caregivers, but we choose not to dwell on the problems that are created by..... by what? we wondered as we ate our usual lunch at our usual restaurant.  What would make someone worry about that which is a gift from others?  Why would anyone, let alone more than one, complain that sharing a party just isn't fair?

We didn't try to solve the problem.  We ate and shook our heads and agreed that we were far superior beings who would never trifle with such nonsense.  Such a statement would be braggadocious, we agreed, if it were not so very true.   

Sitting with someone you (1) admire, (2) respect, (3) agree with on just about everything, (4) don't devalue because of the things you disagree about, and (5) who buys you lunch because of some imagined debt that can never be repaid (loving her sons and being there when they needed me) - that's rejuvenating.

I've been smiling all afternoon.  

Texting With Someone New

I communicate with some people by phone - very few, but some.

I communicate with lots of people via email - great for long, catching up conversations, not so good for making plans.

I communicate using my phone to text for most things - wanna have lunch?  where is that store you told me about? thanks for a lovely (insert event here)!

The messages are short and to the point.  There is no extra verbiage.  There are emojis to carry bigger feelings in a smaller number of pixels.  I love it.

And then, this afternoon, texting with Formerly Fast Eddie for the first time in real time (vs finding a message asking me to call him) I hit a snag. 

(My words and thoughts are in italics)

When will you arrive?

JannyLou is driving.  

OK.  When will you arrive?

She's pulling into the fast lane now.  Zooming up to 73.

More relevant data would be where you are right now!  Though the timely updates are fascinating. 

Frisky (the dog) is riveted on the road, protecting us  

Hint.... Just passed a Big Green (emoji for what I think is a sign... I begin to grin and grimace at the same time, and wait a while.  There are lots of big green signs on the highway.)

Traffic at a crawl going noth.

But you are going south!

OMG (blue faced weird emoji.... I panic)

Are you okay??????????

We are fine, right near some Indian ruins.

*****

At which point I stopped typing and began laughing out loud.   

They'll get here when they get here.  TBG and I are both awake after our naps.  The house is ready for them..... whenever they arrive.

Getting Away

Does it seem like we were gone for a long time or for no time at all? he asked me after we returned from our overnight at The Boulders.  We were gone for 24 hours.  Our minds tracked it as a very long time away from home.

Everything was different.  The bed was higher. The pillows were bigger.  The view out the window displayed big boulders and spiky trees, not Safford Peak and the sweet acacia.  There were people to carry our bags (not really necessary) and to answer our questions (very necessary) and to serve us food we didn't have to cook ourselves.

Vacation .... aside from visiting children and grandchildren we have done none of it for a very long time.  Our friends' invitation to join them for a night on their week long sojourn in Scottsdale was just the impetus we needed to get out of the house.  TBG is not big on travel, but a 2 hour car ride didn't bother him at all.  

The fact that there were good friends at the end of the drive helped a lot, too.

We were startled to realize that we hadn't visited since Little Cuter and SIR were married.  It didn't feel like that big a break; we email and she's still on Facebook so keeps up with the kids' activities.  Our children have had children and presents were sent and discussed.  Illnesses and accidents required attention.  But we'd not laid eyes on them for a decade.

We fixed that on Monday.  It was as if no time at all had passed.  Everyone looked the same (my hair is longer, but otherwise.....).  There were no awkward pauses, no delicate moments.  We've been friends for 40 years.  Our rich history and overlapping friendship circles coupled with individual adventures and stories and gripes and pronouncements and giggles.... the day flew by.

Neither Carefree nor Cave Creek had an open store - everyone was celebrating Indigenous Peoples' Day, it seemed, and no one was shopping.  We drove through two ghost towns and returned to the resort.  There was no reason to leave.  Everything we wanted was right there - 2 dear friends who kept us laughing and feeling all the feelings.

We were home the next afternoon.  We have new thoughts to think and new memories to keep us connected.  There are lots of destinations within driving distance - we are definitely doing this again!

She's Leaving Town

Many different religious groups visited me after I was shot.  Only the Jews came with food - a Shabbat dinner worthy of King Solomon.  The conversation was lively and felt comfortable; though none of us had met before, the cultural connection was strong enough that it didn't matter that we were strangers.  

Among the visitors was a writer with a purple streak in her hair.  Her charge was to write about the short Jewish girl from New York who'd been perforated while participating in American Democracy.  What happened was a friendship.

Her car was covered with stickers supporting choice and voting and equal rights and all the other things that Jewish liberals believe are good.  Those decorations kept her from replacing it long after its expiration date - they were hard to part with.  

We'd have breakfast or brunch all around town, chatting up a storm about our children and their children and her writing and my blogging and politics and growing older.  It was the growing older part that interested us the most.  So much was happening, so much was changing, and we still had the energy and the passion to try to influence the future..... but we weren't getting any younger.

Life was going on far from us - where the next generation was raising their progeny.  It was so very very hard for us to be so very very far from them.  

And then a bcc'd email told me the news - she's leaving Tucson for Minneapolis.

Tucson has beautiful weather and many human connections but it's missing the one thing that is most important - her grandkids.  They and their parents live in the frozen north.  Pandemica proved something to her - that is too far from Arizona.

Her granddaughter's name is a combination of her grandmothers' monikers.  Her grandson is growing so quickly she just can't keep up from a distance.   The parents like her and she likes them.  Though she visits frequently, there's nothing like being right there, all the time, sharing the child care responsibilities and the fun.

Spending time in Maine this summer, surrounded by family who joined her for a summertime idyll, solidified her decision.  Saying goodbye was hard.  She decided that she wasn't doing that any more.

And so she's leaving, on Tuesday, for a one bedroom apartment close to the kiddos, far from the friends and adventures she's had here in the desert.  She'll be in a place with theatre and music and family.  She'll dance and write and hug.  I'll miss her smiling face, her sunny attitude, her determination to right the wrongs of the world.  We'll still email.  We won't be having breakfast.

I understand all her reasons.  That doesn't mean I won't miss her.  A lot.

Happy trails, my friend.  Send postcards.  Come to visit anytime; there are always clean sheets on the guest bed.

Driving With Mr. 15

You met him when he was Mr. 3, an adorable bundle of love and smiles and curiosity.  He was happy to climb at the playground for hours, while his mom worked and I watched.

I took him to buy hissing cockroaches at The Bug Shop and crystals at The Rock Shop (those are the real names, not blogonyms.... creative, eh?).  I drove him to the park with his scooter and to play basketball at the courts partially funded by CTG's foundation.  I watched his soccer games from the sidelines and basketball from the bleachers.

Today, I'll be watching him sit behind the wheel of a car, driving.

Amster says she won't sign him up for driving lessons until I think he's safe behind the wheel. She thinks he's fine, but she wants confirmation.  She's the only one he's driven; he needs more practice with someone not his mom.   

I am the designated "Is This Okay or Not" person, because every parent needs someone who loves their kids as much as they do  and who will step in and say Good Job or Whoa without fear of recriminations or outrage.  We are that for one another.

So, this afternoon Mr. 15 and I will cruise around our old stomping grounds, checking out the Ace Hardware where we bought his mom a plant, then following the twisty curvy up and down road as far as it will take us.  I'll show him how to parallel park ( a skill I taught everyone who asked) and I'll reassure myself and his maternal unit that the world will be safe with him behind the wheel of a moving mass of metal.

How did this happen?  When I close my eyes, I still see this:

The world keeps turning, and I am here to see it.

Life is good.

Glen

There were eight of us, four fraternity brothers and their girlfriends.  We met when I was a sophomore at Cornell.  We've stayed in touch ever since. 

Two couples are still married, five decades after we were together in Ithaca.  One marriage ended in divorce, despite the lime green tuxedos at their wedding which, we were certain, would keep them together forever, just so as not to have to repeat that sartorial faux pas again.  

And the other couple?  Their story is the stuff of Grimm.

They were gorgeous - He, tall and blonde, and She slight, with long dark hair.  They didn't share a religion or ethnic background, and that put paid to the relationship as far as all 4 parents were concerned.  Their vitriol was toxic.  It was impossible for our friends'  relationship to endure.  

They broke up.  They each married (unsuitable) others.  Neither of those relationships were destined for success; their hearts were still in Ithaca, dancing at parties, hiking the gorges, playing cards with friends.  There were children born of those marriages, Hers, which ended in divorce and His in a long term separation.  

Though they hadn't seen one another for years, their hearts were always attached.

And then He moved away from his wife, and She was close by visiting one of us, and that friend suggested that they drive down and see him.  

It was as if nothing had changed.  This was where they were meant to be.  

It wasn't a public reconciliation.  His children didn't know.  Only certain friends were informed. They were together and didn't need marriage or a public announcement.  They had one another and that was enough.

They both had health issues, and his claimed him last week.  The loss of this big, generous, thoughtful athlete, the man whose papers I typed, who played pool and drank beer with me at The Salty Dog  after the other 6 had graduated and left town, who lived on a turkey farm and captured one to share with a class of schoolkids,  who played varsity basketball and captained the lacrosse team at the same time when the hoopsters needed more players to fill out their roster is unimaginable.  Glen lives in our memories;  it's hard to imagine that he's not here on earth, too.

We're at the age where this is happening with alarming frequency.  He was a big part of our past, and a heartwarming part of our present.  She is glad to have had the time together.

It should have been more.

BYOE

It was BYOE at our house.... or, to be precise, on our driveway.... last night. 

The E stood for Everything:  Chairs, Liquid Refreshments and the vessels thereof, snacks if needed..  It was the easiest party I ever hosted.  I was in charge only of knowing when the shade would hit.

The six of us - Dr. K and Not-Kathy, Fast Eddie and JannyLou, TBG and I - sat appropriately distant from one another, the breeze either blowing the virus away from us or onto us, depending on whose version of the facts we chose to believe. 

The tiny flying bugs weren't too annoying and then the bats came out and we stopped swatting.  Not-Kathy pouring her mini-mason jar of light brown liquid into a fancy-shmancy glass, Fast Eddie sharing good news.... there was nothing really outstanding about any of the little things that happened over those 90 minutes..... and it was the best time I've had since the beginning of March.

Old Friends

Actually, we stumbled over that and settled on laughing as I said "We've been friend for a long time."

We fell into one another's arms the way you do with a woman you used to see several times a week, in and around town, at meetings and doing good deeds with our daughters, at parties and on girls' nights out in the city.

We all left Marin when our kids finished school there; since then we've kept in touch on the interwebs. But she was traveling with her husband and their son, for business, and they'd be in Tucson on Thursday.  A plan was made.

I saw her sitting at the table in the lobby where wares are hawked.  I noticed and disregarded the customers. I pushed aside a folding chair, and listened to her describing us as old????? friends....ugh. as we hugged, and looked at one another, and hugged and smiled and got teary all at the same time.

Our girls are mothers themselves, now.  We, of course, haven't changed a bit.  We were so very glad to see one another.  We spent a lot of time grinning and being glad.

It was a connection to a huge part of my life wth which I'm gradually losing touch.  We could only think of a few families who still lived in town.  I know more about my children's peers than I do my own. Sitting and chatting with a friend from a certain era was a quick trip back in time and place and cadence and shorthand and a relaxation .... like putting on your comfy slippers.

Then Miss Vickie and I found our seats and watched her husband and her son.

Booker T. Jones has the same silky voice, the same mega-watt smile (the first thing Miss Vickie noted when he came out on stage), the same delightful combination of diffidence and pride that I remembered from our time as neighbors.

The matter of fact way he tells about just walking into Stax because it was right there, in the neighborhood, is no different than his stories of recording with Sam Cook, or Otis Redding, or of writing Green Onions, the #13 song in America before he went off, at 17, for his freshman year at Indiana University.

He drove back to Memphis every weekend.

The man is capable of being many things at once.

I knew him as a father, and so did Little Cuter.  "I go to school with his daughter," she whispered in Cleveland, staring at her friend's father immortalized forever in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  Her face - a smiling mixture of surprise and awe and NO f'ing WAY! -  is one of my favorite memories of all time.

And so I sat in the audience at the Rialto Theatre, next to a friend I haven't seen in much too long, basking in the glow of another down the way.  Watching the father and son .... the son I remember as all legs in soccer shorts.... the son now making music on stage, touring with his dad....... I'm trying, denizens, but I'm at a loss for words.

A Gentle Monsoon

The Golden Gophers are staying at Not-Kathy and Dr K's home this weekend.  It's been our plan to have all six of us live in Tucson.  The plan seems to be coming closer and closer to fruition.

The K's are snow-birding, because Chicago is wonderful in the summer and they live right above the Ralph Gehry designed  bandshell in Millenium Park.

A picnic on the grass with fine music happens just about every night for them, and they have only to  ride an elevator and cross a street with their wine and refreshments.   

While waiting for his wife to retire, The Golden Gopher has been volunteering and traveling and getting things organized so that they can move from Phoenix, which has been good to them, to Tucson, which, I am certain, will be better for them.

They spent today looking at neighborhoods.  The sun was out and the clouds were fluffy and the temperatures were below 100.  The air smelled of creosote - just like the creosote syrup in his craft cocktail Friday night.  

Yes, we're going out two nights in one weekend.  Our descent into sloth has been stymied by the arrival of friends.  We're going to the hottest new place in town tonight, taking Fast Eddie and JannyLou along to make it a real party.  I'm trying to tempt them with all the goodies I can muster.

And so, when yesterday dawned cloudy and drizzly, I smiled.  Tucson sits at a higher elevation than Phoenix, and that affects the weather.  We're cooler (in so many ways, but here I refer to the temperature) and, often, wetter.  And when it rains, it's wonderful.

Yesterday wasn't torrential.  It was steady and peaceful and soft.  You could sit under a ramada and watch the clouds crash into each other.  The bird in the sconce on the wall of Not-Kathy's house wasn't bothered at all by the water, and my friends enjoyed watching her coddle her eggs as they relaxed, not leaving the house, letting the world go by.

She can't retire soon enough for me.  I want them here all the time, enticing me to join them for adventures.  It's not too much to ask..... is it?

RIP, My Friend

We were friends in Junior HIgh and we were friends in High School and then I never saw her again.  I don't remember why, or if there even was a why.  We just stopped being in one another's orbit.

Before our 20th High School Reunion, in 1989, I found he once again.  Would I see her at the party?  No, she said, her life was empty; she had no husband, no children; it didn't measure up to what she was sure everyone else would be sharing; she didn't want to be there, listening to that, feeling bad about herself.

I didn't press it.  I hung up the phone (yes, we actually spoke on the telephone back in the 20th century) and thought that the years hadn't changed her much.  She was still the glass half empty girl I'd listened to when we were teens. She played Janis Ian's odes to loneliness on her guitar, while I sat on the floor beside her.

She wasn't at the 40th Reunion, but so many others were that I forgot to wonder about her.  

I looked at the posts about the 50th Reunion, held last week, and saw her face on the In Remembrance poster.  I gasped and held my heart.  TBG muted the television and held my shoulders as I told him the only fact I had - my friend was dead.

An internet search brought up nothing.  I posted an inquiry on the Reunion's page and received an email from a friend, who heard from a friend, who heard from a friend.  She had married a wonderful man who cared for her as an awful, debilitating disease took her life.

Gone.  

It's so strange to have her occupying a piece of my self when, for decades, I hadn't considered her at all.  It's another reminder that tomorrow is not promised.  I'm going to bake brownies and send them to my children........ just because.