Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Thursday
Narrowing life
Went shopping in New Orleans to help advise a senior friend buy a new computer and printer at Best Buy. He and his partner who celebrated his 92nd birthday have been having serious health problems including heart failure. Given he's not as sophisticated computer user, I suggested he buy a three-year contract for piece of mind.
"I don't believe I have three years," he said. "A two year contract will do."
He said it with such certainty and acceptance, I was incredibly moved. It made me think about the end of life amid the flippant buzz of commerce taking place in the store. The fact is he and his life partner of 62 years are down to two years or so of life. There is no more five or ten-year plan.
A day will come when the sun rises and we are no longer on the planet breathing its air. We will no longer exist. Everything we have done begins to move into the dusty past. Our money and wealth gets distributed to offspring and friends whom we imagine will handle it with the care we did. It doesn't matter. Regardless of one's personal or religious beliefs, that should be enough to encourage us to live good and productive lives full of love and regard for one another.
Monday
Reconnecting
Out of the blue, I got a call from someone I haven't seen since I was 21 and living in Germany. The call came just as I was helping Larry hoist a brute of an aluminum ladder up on the roof so he could reattach a cedar shingle that had come loose in a recent storm.
Susan and I attended the Collegium Palatinum in Heidelberg--me fresh out of law school. Then, I had plans to become a bureaucrat and work for the European Commission--the group that oversees the business of the European community--in Brussels and I needed fluency in a second European language. Susan was a journalism major.
She and I and a bunch of friends spent many evenings in Heidelberg kneipes throwing back bootfuls of cold frothy beer (that's the German yard of Ale). I remember her sitting in a bar wearing a huge quilted maroon jacket writing furiously as the erst of us drank ourselves silly.
When I asked her what she was doing, she replied, "Writing a letter to a friend back home."
It struck me as very funny then.
I met Susan and her hubby Eric at the Starbucks in town. Eric's an alum of the The Solebury School and they were down for the alumni weekend. We'd arranged to meet in front of a shop called Taste of India and I recognized her immediately. That pleased me. I ahte it when people change so much, you don't remember them.
A pleasant hour was spent drinking coffee and eating bananas on the Starbucks veranda watching the people stroll by. Our conversation wasn't about the past--well, other than asking about some people both of us had lost contact with straight after the course ended. That's when I learned neither of us are nostalgic people.
She and her hubby run a magazine out of Southampton, Long Island and they do a clown show which the local kids love.
It's great to reconnect. Highly recommend it.
Susan and I attended the Collegium Palatinum in Heidelberg--me fresh out of law school. Then, I had plans to become a bureaucrat and work for the European Commission--the group that oversees the business of the European community--in Brussels and I needed fluency in a second European language. Susan was a journalism major.
She and I and a bunch of friends spent many evenings in Heidelberg kneipes throwing back bootfuls of cold frothy beer (that's the German yard of Ale). I remember her sitting in a bar wearing a huge quilted maroon jacket writing furiously as the erst of us drank ourselves silly.
When I asked her what she was doing, she replied, "Writing a letter to a friend back home."
It struck me as very funny then.
I met Susan and her hubby Eric at the Starbucks in town. Eric's an alum of the The Solebury School and they were down for the alumni weekend. We'd arranged to meet in front of a shop called Taste of India and I recognized her immediately. That pleased me. I ahte it when people change so much, you don't remember them.
A pleasant hour was spent drinking coffee and eating bananas on the Starbucks veranda watching the people stroll by. Our conversation wasn't about the past--well, other than asking about some people both of us had lost contact with straight after the course ended. That's when I learned neither of us are nostalgic people.
She and her hubby run a magazine out of Southampton, Long Island and they do a clown show which the local kids love.
It's great to reconnect. Highly recommend it.
On reacquainting
Spent a lovely evening a little while ago in Portrush in the company of my cousin Adrian--a guy I've been friends with since we were kids--and two of his lovely friends Molly and Smokie who live now in the England and Wales but come to vacation at their family home here. Marvelous girls and much laughter and vino was consumed by all. Their house commands breathtaking views of the East strand--a gently curving golden sand beach that dips without fuss until engulfed by the cold, frothy Celtic eye-blue waters of the unpredictable Irish sea. Waking up was a treat because I pulled the bedroom curtains open to look down on the beach where a two muscular chestnut and black horses were being put through their paces, first cantering then galloping along the length of the beach.
The previous evening--after first meeting the ladies and sipping a few glassfuls of champers--Adrian took me out to dinner at a very decent Italian restaurant where we caught up with a lot of family stuff (immediate and extended) and stuff we'd been both been doing for the past few years. The week prior my sister Siobhan and her hubby Michael had had him and our Aunt Mary over for a delicious supper (a supper that included my favorite sherry trifle pudding for desert) during which Adrian regaled us with anecdotes from a recent Russian trip he'd made that was hilarious, so much so indeed we were doubled over with laughter. He should have been a writer, too. I think its in the familial genes.
As I watched him at my sister's and then at Molly and Smokie's, I thought how grateful and happy I am to have re-acquainted with him. Life has many twists and turns and it becomes so busy we can never seem to carve out space and keep up with the doings of cousins and past friends. I love meeting new people, immediately knew Molly and Smokie will be good friends, but it's wonderful to be able to make time to spend with relatives and old friends. It's what life's about.
The previous evening--after first meeting the ladies and sipping a few glassfuls of champers--Adrian took me out to dinner at a very decent Italian restaurant where we caught up with a lot of family stuff (immediate and extended) and stuff we'd been both been doing for the past few years. The week prior my sister Siobhan and her hubby Michael had had him and our Aunt Mary over for a delicious supper (a supper that included my favorite sherry trifle pudding for desert) during which Adrian regaled us with anecdotes from a recent Russian trip he'd made that was hilarious, so much so indeed we were doubled over with laughter. He should have been a writer, too. I think its in the familial genes.
As I watched him at my sister's and then at Molly and Smokie's, I thought how grateful and happy I am to have re-acquainted with him. Life has many twists and turns and it becomes so busy we can never seem to carve out space and keep up with the doings of cousins and past friends. I love meeting new people, immediately knew Molly and Smokie will be good friends, but it's wonderful to be able to make time to spend with relatives and old friends. It's what life's about.
Yoga 101-First inflate your ball
Yesterday was a magnificently sunny spring day in this part of Pennsylvania. As I outside on the deck drinking coffee and listening to a woodpecker drumming against the trunk of a nearby elm, the phone rang.
It was Lee of L&L.
"Hello, I need to ask Larry something," she said.
"He isn't here. What's up?"
"I've bought a yoga ball and I can't get it to inflate using my compressor. I've tried everything."
"I'll tell him to call."
Later, after doing some weeding in the garden we decided to fetch some black mulch to dress up the flower and shrubbery beds, so we decided to kill three birds with the one stone--get a tuna sandwich for lunch from our local WaWa (Indian for goose), buy a truck load of mulch from our local puppy mill that also doubles as a 'mulch dispensary' in Spring, and call in with L&L to see if we could sort out the Yoga ball problem.
To my amazement, Lee was still working on it, Lynne dressed in a caftan with her mane of long blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, clearly exacerbated but still giving instructions. The ball was purple, large and flat as a pancake, the compressor straining like a jet engine as Lee held the hose with a valve inside the ball's opening.
"You're taking up yoga?" I said.
"Aha...hopefully." She nodded at what should be a ball.
Lynne was consulting the writing on the box. It was a Yoga novice's dream--mat, wooden thingie to help with body posture while performing the more complex contortions, and the aforementioned pancake-like, lurid ball.
"I can't believe they don't give instructions how to blow the ball up," Lynne said. "She looked at the black hand pump that had come with it. I've given up on this."
"I've got about twenty metal valves and tried any that will fit inside the ball's air hole and still that compressor won't fill it with air," said Lee.
Larry checked the compressor and hose. It was functioning properly.
"That's wierd," he said.
He took a valve he'd brought, stuck it inside the ball's opening, wiggled it about and then switched on the compressor. Stll the ball remained defiantly flat.
He tried another valve with the same result.
"Oh, wait a minute," he said. I think the white thing inside the air hole has to come out."
"I don't think so, Larry," said Lee.
Nevertheless, he took a knife and pried it out. It was long, sealed at the end, but its core was hollow which had allowed the valve attached to the compressor to be inserted without rupturing it.
"It's a plug," I said. "You've got to pump the air into the hole and then insert the plug to keep the air inside.
Sure enough the ball began to fill with air as soon as Larry inserted the valve and started the compressor.
We laughed at how such a simple thing could be so baffling.
"Come for drinks at five," said Lynne. "We'll sit on the veranda and watch the sun set."
It was Lee of L&L.
"Hello, I need to ask Larry something," she said.
"He isn't here. What's up?"
"I've bought a yoga ball and I can't get it to inflate using my compressor. I've tried everything."
"I'll tell him to call."
Later, after doing some weeding in the garden we decided to fetch some black mulch to dress up the flower and shrubbery beds, so we decided to kill three birds with the one stone--get a tuna sandwich for lunch from our local WaWa (Indian for goose), buy a truck load of mulch from our local puppy mill that also doubles as a 'mulch dispensary' in Spring, and call in with L&L to see if we could sort out the Yoga ball problem.
To my amazement, Lee was still working on it, Lynne dressed in a caftan with her mane of long blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, clearly exacerbated but still giving instructions. The ball was purple, large and flat as a pancake, the compressor straining like a jet engine as Lee held the hose with a valve inside the ball's opening.
"You're taking up yoga?" I said.
"Aha...hopefully." She nodded at what should be a ball.
Lynne was consulting the writing on the box. It was a Yoga novice's dream--mat, wooden thingie to help with body posture while performing the more complex contortions, and the aforementioned pancake-like, lurid ball.
"I can't believe they don't give instructions how to blow the ball up," Lynne said. "She looked at the black hand pump that had come with it. I've given up on this."
"I've got about twenty metal valves and tried any that will fit inside the ball's air hole and still that compressor won't fill it with air," said Lee.
Larry checked the compressor and hose. It was functioning properly.
"That's wierd," he said.
He took a valve he'd brought, stuck it inside the ball's opening, wiggled it about and then switched on the compressor. Stll the ball remained defiantly flat.
He tried another valve with the same result.
"Oh, wait a minute," he said. I think the white thing inside the air hole has to come out."
"I don't think so, Larry," said Lee.
Nevertheless, he took a knife and pried it out. It was long, sealed at the end, but its core was hollow which had allowed the valve attached to the compressor to be inserted without rupturing it.
"It's a plug," I said. "You've got to pump the air into the hole and then insert the plug to keep the air inside.
Sure enough the ball began to fill with air as soon as Larry inserted the valve and started the compressor.
We laughed at how such a simple thing could be so baffling.
"Come for drinks at five," said Lynne. "We'll sit on the veranda and watch the sun set."
Saturday
Getting it done
I just LOVE productive weeks and this week has been such a week and it's not yet over.
A friend, Jessica, opened a smart, upmarket ladies boutique in town a few weeks ago and she asked me to help compose a press release she wanted to send to the newspapers and magazines, which I did. It's great to be able to help friends when they begin new exciting ventures. Hope it does its job!!
And I settled down and did a serious--I mean serious--amount of work on America and Me, the memoir I'm currently writing. The word count is now 55,300 and I'm now at Chapter 20--yes 19 whole chapters have been written--and I think I'll be able to complete the latest today. I'm going to work my arse off this afternoon and do it.
I'm having laughs and bouts of sadness writing it. And it's strange and thought-provoking going over old correspondence and uncovering documents in files that were once vital and critical and celebrated profusely--like notifications that I'd passed the Bar examination, etc--and realizing they've lost that vitality and importance.
Of course, once the memoir is completed, the really tough work begins because editing and redrafting is an essential part of the process. An essential, necessary pain in the arse.
A friend, Jessica, opened a smart, upmarket ladies boutique in town a few weeks ago and she asked me to help compose a press release she wanted to send to the newspapers and magazines, which I did. It's great to be able to help friends when they begin new exciting ventures. Hope it does its job!!
And I settled down and did a serious--I mean serious--amount of work on America and Me, the memoir I'm currently writing. The word count is now 55,300 and I'm now at Chapter 20--yes 19 whole chapters have been written--and I think I'll be able to complete the latest today. I'm going to work my arse off this afternoon and do it.
I'm having laughs and bouts of sadness writing it. And it's strange and thought-provoking going over old correspondence and uncovering documents in files that were once vital and critical and celebrated profusely--like notifications that I'd passed the Bar examination, etc--and realizing they've lost that vitality and importance.
Of course, once the memoir is completed, the really tough work begins because editing and redrafting is an essential part of the process. An essential, necessary pain in the arse.
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