The uncertainties of friendship

 

Is the garden of your friendships this colorful and varied?

Last night I had supper with a woman I knew fifty years ago when I was a young mother and she was a babysitting teenager. We’d touched base over the years a bit, but last night was our first time to visit and reminisce and laugh and trade stories. And it made me grateful for renewed friendships.

Facebook played a part in bringing us back together, and Facebook is at least partly responsible for other renewed friendships and some that are new in recent years. I am still in close touch with my best friend from high school, mostly through Facebook but occasionally through more personal emails. We know all about each other’s families—she has five children and umpteen greats to my four children and seven grands. We trade recipes and stories of aging—we are right now in that two-month period when I am a year older, and she delights in rubbing it in. It is a treasured relationship.

Similarly I remain close to a couple I knew in the early sixties in graduate school. We have never again lived in the same city, but we have visited over the years, both in Santa Fe and Fort Worth. We can go weeks without talking and then pick up right where we left off. It is a reassuring friendship to me.

But over the years I’ve also lost friends as they seem to drop by the wayside. One friend in the East is always a frequent correspondent, with long emails, just after she’s visited and we’ve had a good catching up on everything from dogs and recipes to our shared political views. But then it drops off gradually, and now I don’t think I’ve heard in a year. I should write—and I will soon.

Recently, talking to Megan, I heard her use the term “ghosted”—her physical therapist had ghosted her and did not return phone calls or emails. It occurred to me that I have been ghosted by some, and a couple of them bother me, because they are like unsolved mysteries. One is a woman I traveled the state of Texas with as we went from writers conference to workshop to lectures. We even performed our “dog and pony show” where she talked of being a fifth generation Texan and I countered with tales of a newcomer. Somehow in recent years I felt a growing distance and had the sense that I had angered or hurt her. I should have asked, but I lacked the nerve. I emailed and she’d answer, but now there’s no word. I understand she is beset by health problems and the like. And I can understand that. Sort of.

Another that bothers me is a man I used to lunch with frequently. We were good friends who shared lots of laughs, family events, etc. His wife used to laugh about “the other woman.” Last time I saw him he joked that retirement meant he’d have to take me to lunch more often. Then I called him one day for a referral, and there was a new distance in his voice, a coldness. And one day at church when his wife said, “Look who’s here!” he said, “Yeah,” and kept walking. Brainwashed female that I am, I assume I did something, but I have no idea what. It’s been at least three years now, and it still bothers me.

Author Ann Lamott, whose wisdom blows me away, says that when someone drops out of your life, it means that their part in your story is over. I can understand that, I guess, but I’d like more graceful exits.

I’m not blameless either. I have let some friendships go, mostly when it became burdensome to maintain them, once over not exactly politics but the moral stance involved. But there again, typical female, I feel guilty. Sometimes though I want to point out that friendship is a two-way street.

Meantime I treasure the many friendships I am blessed with, like a couple of good women I’ve know for forty years. But there are also people who I consider close friends who have newly come into my life. Friendship is an ever-changing thing. My working philosophy is that friendship is like a garden—you have to tend to it, nurture it, show it affection. And it’s always a work in progress.

Reviving happy hour

 

Jrdan's charcuteries

It’s been almost seven years since I moved into the cottage. At first, everyone was curious to see my digs. The idea of living in a converted garage full time was new, and friends were curious. We live in a neighborhood where many older homes, like mine, had guest cottages that were really converted servants’ quarters. Oh sure, some people fixed them up as rental property—which led to my kitchen facilities being limited by a zoning ordinance, but that’s another story. Still, I think the idea that I would move out of my three-bedroom house into a 600 square foot cottage was a bit surprising. So it was like Field of Dreams—if you build it, they will come.

And come they did, every night. Jordan and I fixed elaborate finger food, often charcuterie but sometimes other offerings such as tea sandwiches or dip and chips or whatever. It challenged my kitchen creativity, and I enjoyed it. But happy hour began to take a toll on my work time, and the wine bill was pretty high. So we began to cut back. These days, I may put out a bowl of chips or a wedge of cheese, but that’s it, and many “regulars” bring their own drinks, partly because they know my wine cellar and liquor cabinet are extremely limited and partly to help my budget. It all works out.

Tonight, however, we went back to a full charcuterie board. Subie and Phil are preparing to move to Trinity Terrace, and Subie’s sister Cynthia and her husband from Colorado Springs are here to help pack. We calculated tonight that Subie and I have known each other at least forty-five years. I didn’t think in all that time I’d ever met Cynthia, although she said tonight she thought maybe we’d met many years ago. Whatever, I was delighted to have them all for happy hour.

I spent some time debating appetizers and finally settled on a charcuterie board, over crab bites or some other favorites. I thought that would be plenty for the seven of us. Then I spent time deciding what to include—a couple of things I had in the fridge, like a really nice jar of marinated artichoke hearts and a tub of pub cheese. I bought the slightest amount of three meats from Central Market and splurged on olives because Christian loves them. In fact, I had so much I ruled out some items—like a sliced apple and honey to go with the blue cheese (too hard to serve and sticky). Jordan ruled out some leftover horseradish/crème fraiche sauce which would have been good with ham but, again, was too hard to serve. I ordered a baguette—and forgot to ask to have it sliced, a mistake I won’t make again. And somehow my grocery order included some odd chips I never ordered—they got saved for another time.

Faced with all that, I wondered how to arrange it. Jordan to the rescue—she took charge and created a beautiful arrangement. Together we make a pretty darn good team.

So there we were—seven people in the cottage (which pushes my seating capacity) on one of the hottest nights of the year. We turned on both a/c units and shut the door I usually keep open. Given the temperature, Phil did not bring his dog, Porter, but Sophie was inside with us the entire time.

Sophie getting sympathy

Soph has been a happy hour problem—bad habits have overtaken us. She has learned that if she barks enough she’ll get a treat to silence her. I’ve been trying to break the cycle, but it requires enduring the barking—eventually she runs out and settles down. Tonight we tried something new—her leash. I put it on her and kept her near me—and she lay quietly. When we finally took it off, she jumped up on the couch, apparently to tell the out-of-town visitors what a hard life she has, and they responded with appropriate sympathy.

It was a jolly evening, with Subie and me reciting for Cynthia how we’d met and some of our shared adventures over the years—the time the three of us went to the Caribbean for Christmas because my oldest child was there, or the time the Burtons and I visited the cabin in New Mexico that Subie and her sisters share. Lots of good times in our history, and I’m hoping they’ll continue after they move into the retirement community.

serious talk on jolly evening

I think our move into more elaborate happy hours is a one-time thing, although Subie has another sister who will be here soon. Got to get my thinking cap on. But Mary is coming for her regular Tuesday night visit tomorrow—I’ll pull out what’s left from tonight, and she will bring what’s left from a Zoom cooking class she did today on front porch entertaining. Leftovers are part of the fun.

If you’re in Texas—or reading the newspapers anywhere else—you know it’s hot. Ninety-five at ten o’clock as I write, and they say it will last all week. Knock on wood, the cottage is blessedly comfortable, and Sophie and I stay inside and go about our business. But the yard guys came tonight at five o’clock, and I thought what a long, hot day it has been for them. I love living in Texas—most of the time—but it does sometimes test one’s patience.

Stay cool and safe, please.

An accidental experiment and other trivia

Last night I accidentally performed a little social media experiment. I posted a blog—nothing spectacular, just cheeseburger soup (so good on the first cool night, even though cool hadn’t yet quite hit), some thoughts that struck me in church yesterday, and comments on a church Connection luncheon we went to. The point was to connect with other members, and I thought it a great idea. Anyway, today I did not get one like nor one comment, and I guess I’ve gotten spoiled and used to feedback.

So I checked. I had neglected to put the post on Facebook. If you want to read it you can find it at https://judys-stew.blogspot.com/2019/10/could-fall-really-be-here.html But it demonstrates to me that a big part of my audience is on Facebook. In Sisters in Crime and other groups, there’s always debate about the usefulness of Facebook, but one comforting bit of social media advice I like is to do what is comfortable for you. So I have given up trying to master Instagram and I don’t do much other than post on Twitter, but I am really vocal on Facebook—and that includes occasional advertising in the form of “boosting” posts. So my experiment kind of confirmed what I do.

Another bit of cyberspace wisdom I picked up yesterday; two friends said they had tried to order So Far from Paradise and were told it was unavailable. So I ordered a free sample as a test—no problem. Then I called Amazon. It seems you cannot always order all books from an iPhone of iPad app. So my advice to readers: if you try that and get word the book you want is unavailable, order it from your computer. As an author, I wonder how many sales lots of us have lost because that fact isn’t commonly known.

Not much spectacular today, except that I got a routine dental appointment out of the way. Dentistry brings out my anxiety, and I tried to explain it to the hygienist: when I was a young teen, I had lots of cavities (poor enamel inherited from my dear father, whom I otherwise loved a lot). Our dentist was an uncle (by adoption if not blood), a taciturn man who scared me. Plus dentistry sixty-five or so years ago was not as smooth as it is today, and I still have a real dental phobia. So grateful that Jordan drove me and picked me up, that Stephanie the hygienist is such a good soul, and that my teeth are good enough the cleaning was brief, and I got a clean bill of health.

My day ended with a most pleasant happy hour with friends—one of those small world situations. I honestly thought we met on Facebook but Mary Kay Hughes tells me years ago she and her mother came to a reading group I conducted through TCU’s Community Education programs. But we also have our church and our politics in common, plus she works with Christian, and her husband proved to share all our convictions and more knowledge than I had about some of them. An evening of lively and interesting discussion.

I am heartsick tonight about withdrawal of troops from Syria and the almost instant bombing by Turkey, though I don’t think we know the truth of the situation yet. What does seem clear is that the orange one, he of “great wisdom,” let himself be hornswoggled again. He has not the faintest idea of the cost in human lives—ours and Kurdish—of his impulsive acts and lack of negotiating ability. But I won’t belabor the point—it’s all over the internet, and we will have to let the true facts sort themselves out. Tonight, my prayers for the Kurdish people and for our troops in the region.

The value of new friends

Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.
New-made friendships, like new wine,
Age will mellow and refine.

Throughout my life, I have been blessed with friends, many of whom are still in my life today. Witness the fact that I am still in contact with the girls who grew up next door to me in Chicago—they were part of my life ever since I can remember. And one of the people who understands me better than most? The friend I made in fifth or sixth grade at church—our lives diverged, but we have always been in touch and always value each other. Among my long-term friends, a couple I knew when working on my master’s degree in Missouri—I remember when they married, and they celebrated their fiftieth several years ago. Yes, I am getting old.

But I am not too old to make new friends, and last night a “new” friend came for supper in the cottage. She is a relatively new associate minister at our church, someone I’d met and visited with twice over meals, but not someone I had ever had a long and one-on-one conversation with.

You know, sometimes with old friends and even family there are long silences in your communication, as though you’ve exhausted everything there is to say. It’s not always a bad sign, though I do remember that when my marriage was falling apart, we would go to dinner and have absolutely nothing to say to each other. On a happier note, I see this silence even with my kids—sometimes we’ve said it all, and the bond between us is unspoken.

But new people offer all kinds of conversational opportunity. There’s so much to explore about the other person. Last night’s conversation was a two-way street as I learned about my guest and shared with her some of the milestones of my life. The nice thing is that we were both genuinely interested in learning about each other. We talked of kids and dogs and divorce, of climate change and the disaster in our country. She is a person of boundless energy and, like me, on who thrives on optimism. We may both be Pollyanna crying in the dark, but we believe in the future. We believe that our country will go back to being a democracy, that this dark period is a good learning lesson. We share a deep religious faith though she puts hers to more active use than I do. I have rarely known time to go by so quickly and happily. We talked—and ate and drank wine—for almost three hours.

I had fixed a light summer supper. When I entertain, the food is almost always an experiment, and so it was last night. Okroshka, which I’d never heard of before I found a recipe in the New York Times. A traditional cold summer soup from Russia. There are, of course, variations on the recipe, but I made it with a base of yogurt and buttermilk, diluted with water. I chopped all kinds of things to go in it—potato, scallions, cucumber, radish, cooked chicken, hard-boiled eggs. I worried if I should warn her, ask if she was lactose intolerant—it is, after all, a fairly unusual dish.

My oldest daughter called the night before and asked what I was doing. I said, “Making a soup you wouldn’t like.” When she heard the ingredients—yogurt and buttermilk—she said, “Yewwww.” Megan does not like white things—sour cream, cream cheese, mayonnaise, yogurt, goat cheese—though she regrets the latter because she says everyone who eats it loves it. But my soup is not everyone’s cup of soup.

Fortunately it, and the blue cheese salad that accompanied it, were enthusiastically received. I decided to splurge for dessert and bought two pieces of chocolate ganache cake from Central Market. So wrong! One piece was more than enough for both of us. One of the problems with my curbside pickup is that I can’t always tell about size or quantity. These pieces were huge, and Jordan, Christian, and I will share the second piece tonight.

Meantime I am hoping that my new friendship will, like the new wine mentioned above, mellow and refine with age. But may we never run out of things to talk about.

Families

I've spent today thinking a lot about families. I came home yesterday late morning after three glorious days with my four children, the wonderful spouses they had the good sense to marry, and my seven unbelievably marvelous grandchildren. Okay a bit of hyperbole, but they are really great...and they so love when we are all together. We have three little boys who are for a brief while the same age each year, and they have a delightful time together--out the door after breakfast and we don't see them again till lunch. The three girls alternate between the boys and their own deal, and the oldest boy is perfectly happy to go his own way and play the guitar. I get great hugs from all of them, and one whispered in my ear, "I love you so much!" What else can I ask for?
I came home with the rosy glow of that experience still about me--though tired, I must admit. Had a really long, deep nap and then Sat. night hosted ten for dinner to welcome a visit from Elizabeth. She was my work-study student in the early '90s, and we've remained friends over the years, through transformations in our lives, though greater in hers than mine. In Sept. 2012 she moved into my guest apartment and stayed a year before moving to PA to be with her love, Brian. In that year, she wove herself into the hearts of some of my closest friends, so they came for dinner, and neighbor Jay (yes, the good-looking one) made a pot of stew. All I had to do was set out bowls, etc.
It struck me last night that the people here--neighbors, a former neighbor, and Jordan and her family--were family of a different sort. The family I'd chosen--and who had chosen me--and we have a bond, a closeness that is akin to that I have with my immediate family. I am so fortunate to have these people in my life--like my own family, they take care of me, like my parties, are comfortable in my house, make my life bright.
I'm not a proponent of the theory that blood ties are what bind. My four children are adopted--no blood relations there--but I don't know of a family that is closer or children that are more caring and kind about their mom, proud of what I do, loving me for who I am, even when--as I did on Thanksgiving--I spill turkey blood all over myself and the floor. I think we choose those we feel are like family--and they choose us. So I'm not only lucky with my immediately family, I am fortunate with my little clutch of neighbors. And I have known the people here last night (except Jordan and Elizabeth) for less than ten years.
I guess the only way to go happily through life is to reach out to new people and make them part of your life. I'm back again to that verse I quote so often: Make new friends, but keep the old/ The new are silver, the old are gold.
Written with a thankful heart.