My favorite weather forecaster-
See those eyes?
She's not letting me out of her sight in scary weather
Yesterday
was a tantalizing touch of spring—close to eighty degrees and sunny in the
afternoon, though by six-thirty, when we came in from the patio, there was a
definite chill in the air. Still, last night I was full of optimism—the rodeo
is over and gone, my family seems for now free of the virus, and for the first
time in over a month Jordan sat in the cottage and visited and then stayed on
the patio to join friend Renee and me in talking about dogs and kids and friends
and all the things that make life so good. I wrote Jordan this morning to tell
her what a pleasure it is to have her back in my life, after all those masked,
five-minute visits. Reminds me of a Snoopy cartoon I saw today, where Snoopy is
carried on the shoulders of his friends, and he says how glad he is that
friendship is free, because he could never afford all the wonderful people in
his life.
Maybe
it was last night’s conversation or maybe Snoopy this morning, but I’ve been
reflecting on the nature of friendship—some are long-lasting, some transitory,
and some change in nature. Today is the birthday of a colleague to whom I was
once close—we plotted and planned books and programs, we had lunch together
several times a week, we were good friends. Today I almost never hear from him;
when I do it’s because I reach out to be sure he’s okay—eight years older than
I (can you believe that?), he’s been hiding in his house from omicron. I told
him I miss him, but really what I miss is the old friendship. We can’t go back
to that.
I have
other friends and colleagues who have dropped out of my life, and it always
pains me a bit. I think it’s Ann Lamott who wrote that when someone drops out
of your life, it means their part in your story is over. A woman I used to
travel with to meetings of everyone from Western Writers of America to the
Texas State Historical Association and the Texas Institute of Letters—I sent
her a birthday card just before Christmas but had no response. I’ve always had
the feeling I somehow offended her, though I would never have done that
intentionally. Then there’s the woman who’s a great correspondent just after we
visit, but then it tapers off and I rarely hear from her. I guess it’s time for
another visit. And at my age, inevitably, I’ve lost people I really card about
to death. Another colleague wrote me recently that of the five people he felt
close to, two had died and one had moved across the country. Circumstances over
which we have little control change our friendships, and it’s often sad.
I have
new friendships—neighbors that I’ve come to know, acquaintances that have moved
out of that casual category to become true friends, and I value them all. I
talked yesterday to my associate provost to whom I reported at the university.
We are the same age, and when I said I felt we are fortunate—meaning fortunate
to be as healthy and involved in life as we are—he said, “Life continues to
unfold.” I thought it was well put. As for those whose part in my story is over,
I have lots of wonderful memories to hold close. On the birthday card I sent
today I recalled a birthday when twelve women, all part of his fan club, took
this man to our favorite café for lunch. A good memory.
I knew
during the night that the weather was changing. Sophie slept right by me, instead
of in her spot across the room. And when I woke and moved around about seven
this morning, she didn’t show any interest in going aside. Her instincts about
weather are always several hours ahead of mine, but when I finally got up this morning,
I was greeted by a gray day that probably feels chillier than it is. Even
Jordan, my child with hot Mediterranean blood, is complaining of cold this
morning. So much for our plan for lunch on a patio somewhere. That will have to
wait.
Today
is one for a cut of tea, a blanket, and a good book.
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