I've always envied people who have lifetime friends. Not that I don't have a couple, and more who have gone through most of my adult life with me. My closest friends have known me since the early '80s. That's a good run. And there is Debbie Davis, who was my buddy at girl scout camp, and my partner in crime in our troop meetings. I mastered the quietly shot comment; she the massive fit-of-giggles response. We were often asked to step outside (our meetings were at a park, so that punishment meant playing on the swings, which, as you can imagine, was impactful). I have a lot of friends, and a good circle of fristers (don't know what a frister is? Search for it above...).
Billy's closest friend is Keith. They grew up on the same street from the time they were both babies, and the story is that once they could crawl up/down the street they became friends. They still are. But there was a period of time when my husband's best friend was Doug.
We met Doug and Holly through another couple, and the four of them were tight friends. But the other couple had recently had a child, and was distracted by all that goes along with that. We got to know Doug and Holly better on a trip to Catalina, and they reached out to us as friends. Soon we were doing everything with them. They were great fun, and more. They were our social style gurus. We learned a lot from them. At the time we were entertaining friends a lot -- wine & beer & pans of paella or pots of cioppino, or eggplant parmigiana. We were exploring Greek cuisine, and cooking a lot of Mexican food, and a little bit of Chinese. We fed our guests at our industrial spool table, or at our blue picnic table on our backyard patio. It was all casual college and not at all chic.
Doug and Holly entertained on a totally different plane altogether. They were cooking out of Wolfgang Puck and the cooking bible of the day, The Silver Palate. For fancy dinners, Holly set a table with her china, crystal, and silver. They stocked their house with the beer & spirits that were their guests' favorites. And Doug tended bar and served cocktails.
Doug and Holly were traveling like adults, too. They dropped by to visit us after a weekend spent at San Ysidro Ranch. They traveled to New York to see theater and eat at Lutece. They were living the good life, and that looked pretty good to us. We started attending the Santa Barbara Vintners' Festival together each April, and meeting often for dinner and overnights at their home.
When Billy's dad died at 66, after a long decline, Doug sent Billy a letter that began with: This is the first time I have tried to send a hug through the mail. And Holly called to offer something that I have remembered and utilized ever since. She said that they were making the chicken salad from the Silver Palate and that they could drop it off for us, bring it and stay with us, or they could stay home and would see us at the funeral a few days later. Billy wanted them with us, and I was glad. At that point in time Billy and Doug were like brothers, or better, frothers.
But our friendship didn't stay close. There were changes on both sides, some conflict between Holly and me which I foolishly exacerbated. They started a family and rebonded with the couple who also had children, so we went our own ways. But we stayed in touch, and saw them occasionally. And Billy and I lamented that they were no longer the force and friends in our lives that we had so enjoyed.
The last time we saw them was at the start of the recession and we were all heartily panicked. We met at Father's Office in Culver City. After that, Holly and I kept the connection with birthday and holiday cards and the occasional email, and Billy received the newsletter from Doug's business. It was through that newsletter that we learned that Doug was ill. Evidently he had suffered a fall, contracted a virus during an outpatient pain-relief procedure, and that necessitated a months-long hospital stay during which he had several surgeries. He came out of the hospital with compromised mobility, and subsequently developed more infections, and an immune disorder. Somewhere along the line he was diagnosed with diabetes.
Doug passed away on May 6th. Yesterday, the 4th of July, he would have been 59. Doug told us that when he was a child, and he was an only child, he always thought the celebrations and fireworks of the holiday were because it was his birthday. I am sure that everyone who knew Doug will remember him on that day. I am very good with dates. About half of the days of the year have some meaning or memory for me. Many of them are birthdays of friends or relatives long gone. And, when I woke yesterday, I woke with the memory of Doug, and I thought about him all day.
And then, today... My dear frister, Diana, emailed to let me know that her daughter, Jenny, had delivered a son, Brendan and Diana's first grandchild. He is Bodhi Samuel. And he was born on the 4th of July.
Billy and I will continue to mourn Doug. He was in so many ways larger than life. An intelligent, funny, wonderful man with a voice that I can still hear. But I think Doug would appreciate this new life sharing his birthday. And for me, it eased the pain of Doug's loss by a small amount. I feel joy for this new family. And I feel the universe is somehow balanced by the loss and gain on the holiday that we, in this country, all celebrate. Welcome to the world, Bodhi. We will miss you forever, Doug. Thank you for reading my blog.
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