Sending Love

       Tom and I went away for part of the holiday period, and had a lovely vacation. But we came home to news that a very close relative of Tom's had not been feeling well. The next day, he was rushed to a hospital and underwent surgery. We, and the rest of Tom's family, have been asked not to fly to the nearby state to see him, but it feels strange. When someone -- friend or family -- is not well, one wants to be supportive in some way and show one's love. In the meantime, we're relying on phone and e-mail updates... and hoping for a full recovery.

       I have made some more progress on my resolution in the past two weeks though. I have found and contacted an old friend who moved away when I was in Grade 3.  I remember that even then, he seemed to have an extraordinary artistic talent, and found that he is indeed an artist today. I have contacted nearby neighbors, and Olympia and I have gone on two dog-walks with them.  One dropped by unexpectedly a few days later to tell me about a difficult situation regarding her daughter, and asked if I might help -- which is one of those things friends do. And today, while speaking on the phone with another new neighbor, she heard a frog in my throat and rushed over with chicken soup.

       I wish we could do the same for our dear relative. 

       In the meantime, we send our love.

Found Her!

       I called P's aunt twice. I left a long message right after I last posted, and then called back again early the next morning. She said she had hoped to check with P first, but after asking me a few questions, she seemed to decide I was trustworthy, and gave me P's phone number.

       I waited an hour to call P, and found her not at home. I left a message with the boy who answered -- who got a pen and paper to take my number. And then I waited...and not for long. 

       Only around 45 minutes later, P called back -- surprised and curious.  

       She also sounded a bit reserved. But let's face it, I had let her down.  I told her that I thought it was my fault we had lost contact, and she did not disagree.  So we started slowly.

       We each talked cautiously at first about our respective marriages, our families, where we had lived, the different jobs we had held. And then, as we warmed up, we talked about our husbands and their foibles; she told me about her son and some difficulties he was having; we discussed our hopes, lessons learned, and our disappointments. And before the call came to an end over an hour later, we were nearly talking over each other about weight gain, early signs of menopause, and possible visits. 

       I didn't ask about the breach with her family, except to tell her that regardless of what may have happened, her sister-in-law had cared enough to give me her aunt's number.  

       And we didn't reminisce about the past at all. Rather, it seemed like we were just catching up on over 10 years of life...maybe with the expectation that we might move on from there.

       I learned that P, to my surprise, was not computer-savvy and did not even have an e-mail address. Obviously, that explains why I found no information about her on the web. So it looks like phone calls and old-fashioned mail will have to be our modes of communication once again. 

       We exchanged information, but I think it will be up to me to make the next foray, and possibly the next one after that as well. 

       And I will do it. She was a good friend, and remains a good person.  I think I not only owe her every effort I can make, I also think I'm going to enjoy re-discovering all she is.

Trying to Re-Connect

       I have been procrastinating a bit -- not only from writing on this blog, but from trying to find an old friend -- who I will call "P" -- who has disappeared from my life. 

       P and I were very close in the past. In fact, we were roommates in our college dorm, and remained roommates for two years of post-dorm college -- sharing an apartment along with another dear friend with whom I am still in several-times-a-day contact.  

       The several-times-a-day roommate (who posts on this blog occasionally as "Voncey") lived near my place in Toronto for several years after college. She was the maid of honor at my wedding to Tom. And although we now live on opposite sides of the United States, we still visit each other once or twice a year.

       P moved back to my old hometown, got a job, married, and, I think, had kids.  I used to visit her once a year or so when I went home to visit my parents. And we wrote occasional letters back and forth. Yes, people still wrote letters in those days.

       But when she moved away from my hometown, I no longer saw her much. And when I invited her to my wedding, she didn't come -- and for a pretty good reason. One of her brothers was due to have major surgery and she wanted to be available for him.  

       Still, I was truly saddened that she couldn't come.  Voncey, P and I had been such a team. I wanted both of them to share my last night of being single. I wanted P there for me -- to complete the circle of family and friends who would be surrounding me on one of the happiest days of my life.

       Sadly, that was pretty much the last contact we had -- over 15 years ago. I think we sent occasional cards over the holiday season, but those stopped long ago. To be perfectly clear, I think I was the one who stopped  writing. Voncey also lost contact with her.

       But now I'd like to re-connect. I've been thinking of her.  I'd like to know how she is doing. I'd like to apologize for dropping the ball.

 

       In this day of internet communication, you'd think it wouldn't be a big deal to find her address somewhere and e-mail her. 

       But I can't find her.  Because her job put her in contact with some unsavory people, she never listed her phone number. She also does not appear to be on Facebook or other social networking sites -- under either her married name or maiden name. I similarly could not find any information for her husband.

       Knowing P had always been close to her family, I decided to search for them instead, and found a phone number for her brother and sister-in-law.  

       I called them the other night, introduced myself, and was greeted coldly.  "We aren't in contact with that part of the family," the sister-in-law told me.  "We have no phone number or address for her."

       I was shocked, and told her so. "You were all so close!" I said.  Mind you, just as I had let the years pass without contact, perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised that family members could do the same. And let's face it, 15 years is a long time.  A lot can happen...

       The sister-in-law told me it was not their fault they were not in contact with P, although I know there are always two sides to such goings-on.  I quickly told her that in my case, the lack of communication was my fault. 

       I expressed my sadness to hear of her family's breach, and said I hoped she and her husband and children are all well. She softened a bit at that, and gave me the number of another family member to call -- an aunt who, she said, might know where P is.

       I have had the number for two days now, and have not called.

       But I am about to do it now...

The People in my Neighborhood

       When I was a child, I couldn't wait for new people to move into our neighborhood. I would go up and introduce myself -- even to people just visiting with a realtor. Although I thought of myself as shy, new neighbors were serious business as far as I was concerned. I would ask if they had kids my age, tell them about all the other kids in the neighborhood and basically let them know that their entire family would be welcomed.  

       Of course, those were the days when old neighbors welcomed new ones with casseroles and flowers and invitations to neighborhood events. Sadly, those days seem to have passed.

       But even if no one in my new neighborhood initially approached me with open arms or casseroles, I have set out to get to know them. I walk Olympia through the neighborhood every day and have made a point of introducing myself to everyone I meet.  Our new house is pretty distinctive in the area, so all I really have to do to generate some interest is tell them which house we have bought.  

       Some of the neighbors have been lovely. Our neighbor across the street has already cleared snow from our driveway after two storms. I'm not even sure of his name, but I chased his snowblower down one day to give him a hug, and later followed up with some wine. I asked another neighbor, who I had met only once, to look after our home while we were out of town for several days. I told her that although we didn't know each other well yet, I had the idea that we would become friends.

       In fact, I tend to made pretty quick (and pretty good) decisions about potential friends.  Even though I don't believe in love at first sight, I pretty much fell in love with Tom -- my best friend -- on the night we met. And it wasn't one-sided. The same evening, he called a friend of his and told him he had met the woman he was going to marry.  

       Another time,  a new lawyer joined the office where I was working. After being introduced to her at a meeting, I decided she had great friend potential. She remembers that I asked her to join me for lunch that first day, and she has been one of my dearest friends ever since -- one of the handful of people on the planet who I know would be with me anytime I needed her -- as I would be for her.  

        I also can make snap decisions on people I don't like. One of my new neighbors, for example, on first meeting Olympia and me, told me that she had a gun and would consider shooting a dog who came on to her property. I could be wrong, but I really don't think there's much chance we'll ever be friends.

       At the same time, I have another neighbor who I really liked both at our first meeting and since. I had already introduced myself to her young sons, and found them to be polite and delightful boys. When I finally caught her in front of her house, she introduced herself, welcomed me to the neighborhood, asked me about Tom, played with Olympia, told me about her husband and dog, etc.  When I complimented her garden, she said she would be pleased to share plant shootings (not dog shootings) with me next spring.  She told me she is a jewelry designer who works at home, and when I said we should get together some time, she raced into her house to get me a business card so I could call her.  A few days later, I did call, and she had me over to see her studio and her jewelry.  I found myself very interested in her jewelry-making methods, and she said she'd be happy to show me how she works -- even teach me to make some things myself. 

       So when I found myself with an extra ticket to see a sold-out concert performance by the famed cellist Yo Yo Ma earlier this week, it was that new jewelry-making neighbor who I wanted to go with.  I didn't know much about her, but I recalled that she had said she liked music, and that her sons played guitar and drums.  But I had no idea if she liked symphonic music. Still, I didn't want to go with any of the people I would ordinarily invite to such an event -- the people who go to such concerts all the time. I wanted to go with her. And when I asked her, she wanted to go with me. 

       She had been to only one symphony concert before in her whole life, but said she had heard of Yo Yo Ma. She offered to drive; she asked me how to dress; she picked me up at the house; she told me her sons were jealous.  At the concert itself, she was interested, inquisitive and excited. She was, in fact, everything you'd want a concert-goer to be. She was like a delighted sponge, soaking up everything the experience had to offer and offering her views on it. Yesterday, the review in the paper nearly exactly echoed her comments.

       On the way home, we also briefly discussed politics (we both were Hillary fans) and books, and she asked me if I wanted to join a book club with other women in the neighborhood. My answer, of course, was yes. 

       And I feel already that I'm on my way not only toward a new friendship, but also toward enjoying my new neighborhood even more. 

       Olympia and I will just have to stay clear of the dog-shooting lady...

Working at It

       As we get older, it seems more and more difficult to make friends.
As children, it seemed we were automatically friends with the kids who lived nearby. At school and college, we became friends with classmates and roommates.
       As adults, we may become friends with some of our co-workers…but often those friendships fail to extend much beyond lunch breaks and gossip sessions. If we have kids, we may chat with other parents at play dates or school fundraisers. And for someone who isn’t working outside the home and has no children, even those friendships are missed.
       It seems we are all so busy with our own lives these days – working, cleaning, running errands, looking after kids and homes and pets and partners…and simply trying to catch up on sleep.
       And let’s face it, friendships take work and they take time. As William Blake wrote in a poem that otherwise left me bewildered: “The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship”.
       So for this month, as a bird builds a nest and a spider builds a web, I am going to work on building friendships – not only new ones, but also existing ones and old ones I have left unattended or unrepaired. 
       It seems like a good plan not only for the holiday season, but also as preparation for a new year...

Liking What I See

       My highlights are "caramel" colored apparently. And I think I like them. 

       I'm not wild about them, mind you. I mean the difference is not extreme in any way, and even good friends have failed to notice them.  But I guess they add a little something to my look. For whatever reason, they help me feel better about me, and that's nothing to sneeze at.

       I also have been using so-called "age defying" make-up by Revlon. My former foundation had a matte finish, and although it went on smoothly, it felt dry and mask-like by the end of a day.  My new discovery -- "Age Defying Spa" foundation  -- looks lovely when first applied and even better as the day progresses.  I actually look dewy by evening, but without looking shiny or greasy.  

       I never would have believed such things were possible if they were claims in an advertisement. In fact, I bought the make-up in the expectation it would give me something to mock. But I guess these companies do occasionally know what they're doing.

       Do I look younger now? 

       I don't know.  Over the weekend, while buying beer at a hockey game, the person at the counter said she should ask for for identification because I look younger than 45 (the cut-off age for demanding ID, apparently). But, she continued, she would not demand it, because I clearly am older than 21.  

       Hmmmmm....

       Only five years ago, I was aggressively followed by an employee of a liquor store, who appeared incredulous when I had ID showing that I was not only more than 21, but actually over 4o. I'm not sure that sort of thing will be happening again.

       And maybe that's okay. 

       And even if it isn't, there isn't much I can do about it anyway. I'm not one to even consider face-lifts or botox or anything like that. Indeed, I privately mock the strange-looking women with tight faces, pulled up eyes and swollen lips.  I am prepared to age gracefully.

       But maybe that's the thing I learned this month -- that it can be done gracefully, with only a bit of effort.

       Now, instead of looking in the mirror and cringing, I am looking in the mirror and liking what I see. Sometimes I even smile at myself. 

       And that definitely makes the effort worthwhile.

Going Blond?

       I am writing this at the salon right now, as my hair color is processing. 

       I recently read a book about not looking your age, which suggested that most older women should color their hair a lighter shade. The book, rather annoyingly, is called "Staging Your Comeback: A Complete Beauty Revival for Women Over 45".  Since the book arrived from amazon.com the day I turned 46, it seemed appropriate.

       Anyway, the author told a story about a client who asked about coloring her salt-and-pepper hair only after attending a class reunion and realizing that she was the only woman there who wasn’t blond. The author confirmed that she too should have blond hair. 

       Personally, I found it a stupid story. As my mama used to say (or as she would have said if she was the kind of mama who said that sort of thing), “If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?”

       I think it’s silly to suggest that virtually all women should go blond – or that all women should look alike. 

       So I am coloring my hair its usual color – dark brown. It suits me. I am a dark hair kind of gal. And for the two weeks or so that my roots don’t start peeking out, I am pretty sure it will look good.

       Anyway…that’s what I wrote before I spoke to my colorist/stylist.

       Just as she was getting ready to rinse the color solution out of my hair, I told her what the author of the book had said about going lighter. 

       "Well…” she said slowly, “there is some truth to that. A lot of women should start going lighter as they age. Their skin gets lighter [is that true???], and a lighter hair color suits them better – although not necessarily all the way to blond."

       "Should I do that?” I asked her. 

       “Well, you are still so young-looking compared to your age, so it's not necessarily the right time,” she said. “I would tell you if I thought you were doing your hair the wrong color. But,” she continued, choosing her words carefully, “you could start with some lighter highlights around your face, maybe…uh…if you wanted…”

       “What?” I replied. “I thought you said I looked okay and still young-looking.” 

       She grinned, clearly excited the topic had come up.

       So, in the interests of this blog, and as part of my commitment to you, dear readers, I am giving it a try.

       I am sitting at the salon still -- now with foils all over my head -- wondering what will develop. (But that isn't me in the photo. I mean, really...)

       Meanwhile, the stylist still can’t stop grinning.

       To be continued…