Adult friendships are hard. Yet in this time of the pandemic, they are more important than ever. Everyone I know is experiencing some form of loneliness, anxiety, unease.
You’d have to be living in a cave not to feel the uncertainty and sadness accompanying this period when there are more than 160,000 dead from the disease. We are in and out of quarantine, our daily routines are upended, there is economic hardship all around and we’re watching our children suffer from disturbed schooling and socialization. Even Michelle Obama, who I admire greatly for her humor, strength and determination, admitted this week that she’s suffering from low-level depression.
Today I had breakfast with Paula, a recent widow. Perhaps because I myself had been widowed, I am drawn into that special sorority of women — those who’ve lost a beloved spouse. I find them, or they find me. Though it’s a sorority none of us would wish to join, it has brought me into the presence of people at a precious time. When people are grieving, they are raw. They haven’t time or energy for pretense or trying to be impressive. Because they are real, they are at their most beautiful.
Sometimes, if you're lucky, you’ll have a special meal in a restaurant. The food, it goes without saying, will be delicious, the setting will be warm and pleasant, but the real magical thing will be the server, the person who takes your order, brings you the food and makes sure that all goes well. Without that very personal touch, the magic just isn’t there.
One year ago today I went cold turkey.
No, not drugs or alcohol. I don’t have a problem with these substances. Instead, I made the decision that in 2018 there would be no purchases of clothing, shoes, purses or jewelry.
Anyone who knows me, knows I love to shop. Ever since I was a child, my heart would skip a beat when I had something new to wear. Growing up, we didn’t have a lot of money. But my father owned a restaurant in the wholesale garment district of Chicago, so twice a year, my mother and I would go shopping near my father’s restaurant where we could get the latest clothes at bargain prices.
Neal Vocke, a distinguished member of our community, has reached 100 years of age. When I spoke with him on his cottage porch on his daughter Linda’s property in Los Olivos, I was impressed by more than his age: There is something youthful about Neal.
Sure, his eyes are watery and red-rimmed, and he used his walker to get around, but the mischievous “kid” Neal once was growing up in Los Angeles, showed through his wrinkles; there is a sense of wonder he exudes.
