Sandra's Birthday

Los Angeles, California

Sandra's birthday was a week ago and I thought about her all day. I even re-read some emails she had sent to me back about fifteen years ago. I didn't feel sad. Well, a little sad. Mostly, I just missed her.

I love my friends, for all that they bring to my life. Yes, sometimes they make me nuts. And sometimes, I am certain, I make them nuts. But knowing them, even with the nuttiness, is part of the flavor of my life. I feel exceedingly fortunate that I make friends easily and conversely, can let them go when necessary. And sometimes it is necessary, albeit not always without some pain of loss.

Of course not all of our friends are our BFFs. I think of friendships in concentric circles with inner- and outer-layer friends. I had the same best friend, Debbie, through elementary school. And a very close friend through junior high school, my friend, Dayle. Dayle and I danced constantly. We also spent long summer days in our families' pools. But we were not able to go to the same high school so in time we parted. My high school friend was another Debbie, who like elementary school Debbie, lived walking distance from my home. She stayed my friend through college and into both of our marriages, though we have since drifted and lost touch.

Just before I married, I took a job at California State University, Northridge and met my friend, Cindy. I recently wrote about this friendship in The Trio (available here, for free!). Cin and I have had an extraordinary friendship with some ups and downs. But the sustaining element of our friendship is how much we are alike. Uncannily alike. We have a shorthand of understanding that is once-in-a-lifetime unique. And we have similar views of the world, and especially of the ironic comedy contained therein. I recently made a comment to Cin and she laughed heartily. That was good, I thought, so I repeated it a few days later to another friend, and it landed like the proverbial lead balloon. It's not imperative to friendship that you have similar senses of humor. But it does add an sweet enhancement. I recall once having a friend who laughed at everything. So when the conversation transitioned to something serious, or even sad, she still laughed. That was weird.

Lynnette and I have so much in common that after twenty years in a professional relationship, we easily transitioned to close friends. We first bonded over baseball and classic films. She is the friend who feels like family. Something I have none of, and she has a whole lot of. Since she moved away, we try to see each other once a month, not always successfully, but we try. I look forward to those three days together and the routine we have easily established. Her friendship is a gift that came to me at a very bleak time in my life. I once called her late in the evening when I was in distress. It was at the very start of our friendship and she asked no questions. She drove right over.

And then there was Sandra who was in my thoughts recently as she would have celebrated a birthday. Meeting Sandra was serendipitous. She and John were having a drink at the Bora Bora Bar at the Kona Village when we arrived. At the time, my drink was a vodka martini with a twist. Sandra was drinking a vodka martini with an olive. The bartender, who we all knew well, introduced us. For more than twelve years, Sandra was like a mom/sister/best friend all wrapped into one. Even though we lived a distance from each other, we saw each other about four times a year in Kona, Carmel, Tahoe, and at both of our homes. We traveled together or met in Tahiti, Panama, Las Vegas, Napa, Rancho Santa Fe, and Ojai. We celebrated birthdays, holidays, and just plain friendship. We exchanged book recommendations, and family stories. She reintroduced me to Catholic Mass, something for which I will always be grateful.

We attended a week-long Intensive Spanish Summer Institute together twice. We had our faces painted, wore temporary tattoos, birthday crowns, and even dressed as waitresses at the Kona Village, wearing old uniforms that had been retired. One of the waitresses laughed so hard when she saw us, she sat down on the ground. We got to know other Kona Village vacationers who came at the same time of each year as we did, including Wendy and Barry-the-dentist and Arte Johnson and his lovely wife. Friendship with Sandra was charmed.

On the last day I spent with Sandra before she died, we looked through her old photo albums of the Kona Village. She was very frail at this point, less than three months before she was gone. She turned to me and remarked: We were so lucky to have done this. I knew what she meant. The Kona Village had been a magical place back then. And we had enjoyed it year after year. But, for me, the special magic was in becoming Sandra's friend. And how special it felt just to know her. She herself was magic, in her sunny, accepting approach to her life and the world around her. She was quietly yet unwaveringly devout in her faith. She was kind, greatly fun-loving, and always, always a joy to be around.

I think it was Reader's Digest who I recall having an ongoing article entitled something like The Most Interesting Person I've Ever Met. If it had been called The Best Person I've Ever Met, I would have no doubt in my mind that Sandra will always be that person for me. I miss her.

Place Cards

Los Angeles, California

Lynnette and I were playing Yahtzee (or maybe it was dominos) at the table in my dining room. My dining room is a little askew, as during the pandemic I moved the table into a corner between a bookshelf cabinet and a buffet. I needed room to do aerobics and both the hardwood floor plus the mirrored wall made it the perfect place. And... that was six years ago. Now the table has one of its leaves in so it is a table for six. Joel can't remove the leaf because of his shoulder injury, so the now-larger table still sits towards the corner of the room, and I've found that, even though it looks a little wonky that way, it's perfect for playing games and leaves me all the room I need to traverse back and forth and front and back to my aerobics greatest hits.

So, that's just backstory. The story is that I was putting something away in the buffet and found the small silver-colored box that holds place cards. I haven't had any kind of event at my house that would warrant the use of place cards in about two decades. But there they were, resting in the box. They dated back to a time when i had learned calligraphy and how to do calligraphy with gouache paint. I wasn't too bad at it. Other cards sported names printed with alphabet rubber stamps. Another blast from he past. There were some Christmas place cards with the names of family members. Our family was small and is now non-existent, except for me, so seeing those names felt sadly nostalgic. There were cards for friends and distant relatives who had come for a visit and were included in Easter brunch or dinner. I showed all these to Lynnette.

I did calligraphy before I came up with my brilliant idea that I should limit my interests to three things (see About Me below). I had also learned to knit and golf, took yoga classes, and attended immersion Spanish workshops. My head was easily turned by hobbies that others had pursued. Life was eased by limiting my interests to three. But in looking at those place cards, I was reminded of the time it took to create them. Time which also went towards planning the event, cooking, setting the table, arranging flowers, etc. These days I barely have the time to devote to my three things: Dancing; writing and cooking. Hmmm. Where is the big time leak?

I am increasingly concerned with smart phone use. It started with the awareness of the toxicity of social media. That concern was for people around me, as I never engaged in social media. But recently I heard about the smart phone challenge, and how giving up use of our smart phones for even a fortnight actually increased our cognitive functions. That's certainly a concern, but a greater one to me is how much time I'm wasting. Since I'm not on social media, my smart phone use is mostly for checking texts, emails, and weather. And yes, to come clean, a bit of shopping (never Amazon). I listen to a meditation podcast at bedtime as well as in the morning. And I listen to music stored on my iPhone. At the end of each week, a report pops up that says I am on my phone for about four hours each day. That's a part-time job! With an extra four hours a day, I could pick up an extra hobby or resume Spanish lessons. I could write more posts here, dust off my novel, cook as much as I did during the pandemic.

Someone once said that Facebook should have been called Timesuck. But I'm finding that the smart phone, affording us access to all information at any time, is the real timesuck. Because once you reach for it to check something out, you are in the vortex. And being in the vortex means you are not creating anything.

Looking at those place cards was a reminder of life before timesucking. And made me yearn for those days. Could I undertake the smart phone challenge? Probably not. But I can be more mindful that every time I pick up that phone to do anything other than calling a friend, I am tearing up time which is more precious by each day that passes. Life is made of time. And it is unconscionably true that our smart phones are squandering it.