The Value of Friendship

 

It was a cold January day.  Not that bright, sunny kind of winter cold when you watch snowflakes glisten as they drift past your window and you look forward to skiing or snowboarding.  No, this was the dark, damp, depressing, foggy, kind of day when cold rain puddles on the ground and you wish you had airline flights to the Caribbean.   

 

Trying to make the best of it, I was busy writing and searching the internet for information – and that’s when it happened.  A popup on my computer screen announced that I had been hacked and my computer was frozen. 

 

After several frustrating calls to apple support, I still could not do anything on the computer and was worried about losing the important data that we all store on our devices.  So I got in the car and drove across the bridge to the Apple store in Annapolis.  After waiting over an hour, in the crowded, busy confusion of the store, a technician tried to help me, but he explained that it would be a long process to get back to the point of having full use of my computer again.  I left, feeling only slightly more encouraged that my computer and the information on it were safe, but dreading the long road of technical challenges ahead of me. 

 

I was frazzled, anxious and downright depressed, and as I started driving home I realized I needed something to distract me from my computer problems and help me calm down.  That’s when I put in my earbuds and said, “call Michele!”    

 

Michele and I had been friends for many years – before we’d even met our husbands. We had supported each other through hard times and celebrated good times together. But as often happens with friendships, life took us in different directions, to different parts of the country, and we began to lose touch with each other, connecting only by cards on holidays and infrequent phone calls when we would promise to “call again soon” but never did.

 

Busy with our own lives, we let the years slip by, but I knew she had never remarried, and on that dark rainy evening, she might be alone.  Michele answered immediately, and it was like old times.  We talked a little about where we each are right now in our lives, but mostly we talked about the things we did together – the adventures we shared, the fun we had and the challenges we met together.  We laughed and talked and laughed some more as I drove back over the bridge to our home on the Eastern Shore. 

 

When I was nearing my driveway and it was time to say goodbye, we were each more honest with each other.  We recognized, without any guilt, that realities in both of our lives make it difficult to stay in close touch, but that the friendship, the memories – especially the laughter we shared — will stay with us and be there, ready to add a little light when our lives seem dark – as mine did that night.

 

By the time I got home I felt refreshed.  I left the computer and its’ problems in the back room to be solved in the light of the next day – and I gave thanks for Michele’s friendship – and for all those friendships that have enriched my life!

 

PS – I just got my computer back online!  So now that I’m able to share this story I want to acknowledge some of the other special friends who, like Michele, have made a difference in my life – some who are no longer with us but continue to make me smile just thinking about them, like Judy and Barbara from the lake and Anne and Marilou from college – and those “long-distant-friends” like Carol, Margie, Kristine, Jan and Sandy who, even though they are scattered from California to Maine to Florida and Texas, are still only a phone call away and add so much love and beauty to my life.  And of course, those wonderful women who are a part of my everyday life here, especially Carol and Sally.  Thank you each! 

 

 

My First Date

 When my brother, Harold and I were little, we shared the same bedroom.   One night, with all the innocence of a 2-year-old, I said to him “I’ll show you my bottom if you show me yours."  Harold, who was three years older than me, got mad and told me to lie down and go to sleep!   He must have told my parents what I said because shortly after that my father started working on the attic to turn it into another bedroom.  

 

But the stairs to the attic were in my bedroom so my brother had to go through my room to get to his room.  Of course, there were very strict rules: “Always knock first and wait for an answer before opening the door.”   

 

The arrangement worked pretty well, but it seemed like there was always a parade of boys going through my bedroom.   I could care less about the boys from our neighborhood, but when Harold started college, he was meeting new friends and bringing them home.  By then I was 16 and I began to like having all these cute college guys walking through my room.  I started making sure that I was always dressed in a pretty skirt and blouse and would sometimes even make his friends wait outside my door while I brushed my hair and put on makeup.

One day Harold knocked on my door with a new friend, Paul.   Paul was tall and cute, and I gave him my very best smile.   But he just stared at me and barely even said hi.  When they knocked on the door again to leave, Paul stood for a moment, looking at me with a silent stare, and I thought to myself “the heck with Harold’s college friends.  They’re just a bunch of snobs!”  

 

That night Harold came home and announced that Paul wanted to take me to a dance … the first college dance of the year … at the Biltmore Hotel in New York City!

I was just sophomore in high school, had never even been on a real “date” and now I was going to a college dance at a fancy hotel in New York!

My mother took me to Altman’s, the best department store in White Plains, to pick out a dress.  I chose a short, brown dress with a very modest square neckline.  Looking back, I think the dress was more appropriate for a job interview at a stodgy law firm, than for a dance at the Biltmore Hotel.  Why I decided on that dress I can’t possibly imagine … but that’s what I bought and that’s what I would wear to the dance on my first ever date.

The dance was a week away.  Time seemed to drag by, and my excitement and anticipation grew.  When the big night finally came it seemed to take me forever to get my hair and makeup right, then I quickly put on my dress.  I didn’t want to keep Paul waiting.  When he arrived at our door he smiled, handed me flowers and said “These are for you, Judy.”  

 

Obviously, we weren’t off to a great start.
 
But the evening was like a fairy tale!  We walked into the ballroom of the Biltmore Hotel and the scene took my breath away – especially the beautiful ball gowns the other girls were wearing.  I felt completely out of place in my modest brown dress, but when Paul asked me to dance with him, I forgot about the other girls and their fancy dresses.  We danced and talked and laughed and had a wonderful evening.

Driving home, Paul and I were sitting in the back seat of my brother’s car (the fact that Harold was driving was really the only reason my dad let me go).  It was a warm, early fall night, but I had worn a winter coat and Harold had the heat on so it was hot in the car.  When Paul asked me if I was “chilly”, I looked at him like he was crazy.  It took me a few minutes to realize that he wanted to put his arm around me to “keep me warm”.

By the time we got home I was giddy with excitement and feeling glamorous.  I took off my coat and stood in front of the mirror.  It was then I realized that, for this whole fantastic evening, at the beautiful Biltmore hotel, I had been wearing my dress backwards!

Such was the glamour of my very first date!  

 

Just one of the many experiences that helped me develop a sense of humor.

 

PS — If you’re wondering what ever happened to Paul – we had a couple of dates (including one when I beat him at bowling :-) but one night at dinner Harold announced to my parents “I don’t think Lucy should go out with Paul anymore!”  I tried to protest and say that I could decide who I should go out with, but in my parents’ mind, there was no room for discussion.  I was told that if Paul asked me out, I had to say no.  Paul called a few days later and I had to turn him down.  I never heard from him again — but I did hear, later that year, that Paul had gotten into some kind of serious trouble.  So I guess I was lucky to have a big brother watching out for me.