A golden day

Make New Friends, but Keep the Old

Those are Silver, These are Gold

I had a golden day today. An old friend came to visit. Carole was in town for the weekend and slated herself to spend the morning with me and stay for lunch. I met Carole in the early eighties when she moved to Fort Worth to head our city’s sesquicentennial celebration. The way she tells it I was at an event where she spoke, and I went up to her afterward to ask if she’d like to have Sunday supper with my family. She said she’d love it.

Husband-to-be Bill joined her shortly afterward, and their daughter—my godchild—was born here. They were regulars at my Sunday dinner table--which is a whole other long story. Thanks go to their daughter Kate for the nickname Juju by which all my grandchildren and half the world knows me. As a toddler, Kate couldn’t say Judy.

But in 1995, Bill’s work took them to the Chicago area, then Atlanta, and finally the D.C. area where they still live. Visits were scarce—they came once when Kate was a teenager, and I visited them in Atlanta for an afternoon once on my way home from the Caymans—a long story. They missed the Alter family occasions, though they almost came to Jordan’s wedding. And then, a few years ago, Carole and Bill came for a visit. We had dinner on the deck and talked of old times. I have to say this: Carole is not a good communicator—she doesn’t write, and she doesn’t do Facebook—though I did find out today she sometimes reads my blog.

There is a W. B. Yeats poem entitled, “Speech After Long Silence,” and that’s sort of how I felt today. She was no more in the door than she was on her knees, burying her face in Sophie’s coat and loving her. Once we settled with cups of tea, we talked non-stop, catching each other up. I heard about Kate’s boyfriend and her travels, and about Carole’s mother’s death (at ninety-nine, I believe) and its impact on Carole, which I understand thoroughly because after thirty years I still want to call my mom with a question about cooking or an unidentified person in a photo. Carole, having known my mom, brought all that back. And I heard about their travels and their dog—a Wheaten terrier, which is sort of a ragamuffin dog like Sophie.

Carole asked for a rundown on each of my kids and their families, and I was glad to oblige. She was on the spot for their growing up years—all those Sunday dinners and all the stories they spawned, We talked about people we’d been close to twenty-five years ago and where they are now—alas, some gone. The subject of my health came up, and she said she’s been worried but will now stop worrying—and I’m glad. We talked a lot of politics—Carole and I have always agreed, and we do to this day. She said she and Bill talk about politics a lot, and she can speak for him. And she promised to come back soon and bring him.

I served a smoked salmon and potato salad for lunch, and she took the recipe and vowed to make it this weekend. You can watch for it Thursday on my Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog—because I took a great picture of it. Dessert was sacher torte parfaits that I picked up at La Madelaine. Decadent and good.

Carole left at one, saying in advance that by then I would be tired of talking and so would she. And I think I was. But I wished she was just a jump away and not half way across the country. I hope she comes back soon.

And, yes, Carole, I took my nap—in a golden haze of memories and friendship.