Remembering a letter...

Maybe it's because I'm watching "A Room with a View", where letters fly back and forth across Europe and England.  Or maybe it's because I've just written some Valentines to mail instead of sending electronic hearts and flowers.  But I am thinking about letters...real letters, not e-mails or text messages or IM conversations.

No, I mean a real paper letter in an envelope, that arrives in the mail, amid the ads and bills.  A letter awaited, and checked for day after day, or a letter that arrives unexpectedly.

A letter can be tucked in a purse or pocket, and taken somewhere to read later...or ripped open and read on the spot, and then re-read again and again. Yes, there are a few letters one dreads to open...a note that's sure to be a "Dear John", or a letter that is sure to hold bad news or anger. But most letters, even short ones, are wonderful to find amid the otherwise dull mail.

Upstairs in my bedroom, there's a large binder filled with letters -- letters from friends while I was in high school and college.  They pretty much stop at that point...e-mail took the place of letters.  But there are wonderful treasures there...descriptions of new adventures, new boyfriends (or the dumping of old ones!), letters from two friends who were living in Europe and sent me descriptions so vivid I felt that I was there, exploring old streets and new works of art. Each letter carries the writer's handwriting, many are decorated with little drawings and last-minute added thoughts around the edges, with arrows pointing to where they would have gone. Had those letters been e-mails, they would have been long since deleted, or at very best (and even this is so rare) printed out and stored as impersonal print on a page. 

I miss letters.  I miss writing them, and I miss receiving them. I miss holding them, and re-reading them for details missed the first time around -- or the second. In the movie, at this moment, one of the characters, is reading a letter -- she's tucked in bed, pillows piled up high behind her, the lamp lit. She opens the envelope and with a wonderful sound of paper cracking, smiles and settles back to read.  No Netbook or iPad on the planet can match that moment.

The mad rush from Thanksgiving to New Year's Eve

Okay, the feasts have been eaten, the relatives have arrived and departed, and what passes for Black Friday 2009 has come and gone.

And now the race is on, through Hanukkah and Christmas and Kwanzaa to New Year's Eve. Gifts are being ordered and sent or purchased and wrapped. Decorations are going up. And party plans are being made. And before you know it, the big ball in Times Square will be making its drop into 2010.

Before 2009 bows out, can we just take a minute and stop? Just a minute here and there to:

Notice the way an ice-covered twig or branch looks in the morning light

Take a deep breath of the scent of baking cookies and think back to memories of that same tantalizing smell from childhood

Go for a walk and leave the iPod at home. Listen to the sound of boots on the snow or the crash of waves on the beach or the laughter of kids on a playground

Call an old friend from school and trade memories of the silly things you did and thought back then

Stand still and look at a frozen pond at sunset, the winter woods in the middle of the day or a tree moving in the wind. Really see, not with your mind on shopping lists or guest counts, but on the beauty right there in front of you

Make a nice meal for two and take it to a homeless person. Sit down with them, and hear their story while you share the food you made.

Wake up early and watch the light change in your bedroom as the sun rises. Look at the colors, the shadows, the effect on things in your room, as each item is illuminated

2009 is almost gone. It will never return. Instead of rushing madly, blindly into 2010, make the remaining month of this year really count. Happy December.

New friends, old friends, real friends, pseudo friends

Okay, so it's not Dr. Seuss, because I doubt any of his books contained the term "pseudo" but the idea is the same. And this is my book! So pseudo remains.

I see a stack of people...old friends who have been a part of my life for so long, forming the base. New friends added to them. All of those as a real friends, all sparkling, golden, precious.

And then there are the pseudo friends. Not false friends. That is something that wouldn't even be in my book. But not really part of that wonderful group that glitters with love and caring. More like acquaintances. Potential friends -- some of them, to be sure. But others destined to remain outside of the circle -- familiar names, recognizable faces. But not the people we would call to share the big news, the small accomplishments, the secret fears or the maybe-too-silly dreams.

And yet they belong in my book. A hug, a shared laugh, some time over a lunch or a cup of tea. A friendly face in a crowd. A shared day at some public event or mutual friend's party.

A part of the blessings. Just not part of the stack...yet.

Class reunions, old friends and changing roles

This past weekend was my high school class reunion. And as I sit here looking through hundreds of photos of people I have known well for most of my life, people I knew well for only a year or two before we went our separate ways and people I knew only by name or sight, I have some thoughts to share.

The people who knew us when we were growing into our skins, so to speak, have a preciousness (is that a word?) that no one else in our lives can match. We can meet someone at 25 and be friends with them for the rest of our lives, and yet it cannot match spending a few hours with someone who was there as we journeyed from childhood to adulthood.

People who intimidated us in high school because they seemed more together or smarter or prettier or more talented become equals later in life when the bumps and struggles and lessons of life have evened the playing field. And among those who we most envied, we may find a friend who will confess that the feeling was mutual.

The things that mattered so very, very much in high school, like being thin enough or having perfect hair or wearing the perfect dress fall away, as you hug and catch up and share a laugh over an old photo or a tear over the news that a classmate has passed away far too soon (R.I.P Steve Flanagan.)

Being with people who knew you then, and still remember your name is one of the greatest gifts I've received lately.

Counting my blessings, sorting through the photos and looking forward to the next one in 10 years. May we all be well, all be smiling and all be present.

Love in action: cooking

Some random thoughts about cooking as an act of love.

• On my vision board from a couple of years ago, there was a quote snipped from a magazine: Remember the sacred art of nourishing. I try to always keep that in mind as I plan for, shop for and cook meals.
  
  
• My friend Omar always says that he cooks with love. And it's true. Each and every dish he makes is infused with love. You can actually feel it.
  
  
• A Buddhist nun in Salt Lake City, Utah told me that your feelings affect the health and nutrition of the food you cook. If you are feeling grumpy or angry or sad, she said it's best to stay out of the kitchen because those emotions will affect the food and those who eat it.

Tonight I am cooking dinner. On the menu, there will be a homemade arrabiata sauce with sauteed eggplant. A fresh green salad, with baby greens, sliced fruit and nuts. For dessert, chilled peaches, maybe even with kasiri cheese if I get to Whole Foods in time. And in each dish, there will be love.

Midnight at the Beach

Silently, tears fell. The sadness for lost friends, lost love, lost dreams, lost years. For sitting in that beautiful spot all alone. For friends who never showed up. For things that had once seemed a certainty and now certainly will never be....

On Saturday night, I was supposed to meet a friend for tea. We haven't managed to get together since last September, and this was supposed to be a chance to sit down and talk and enjoy a cup of tea on a beautiful evening. He's asked at least a dozen times, but our schedules make get-togethers tough. About a year and half ago, he lost his beloved wife in a car accident, and he needs someone who will still listen to his happy memories of their time together. I listen on the phone, but it's not the same as sitting with someone who knows the story and understands. Finally, we had a night that worked for both of us.

We spoke on the phone at about 8:30. I told him it would be an hour or two until I could get there...I wanted to get my little one to bed, and take care of something for my teenaged daughter. No problem, he said. Just call me when you're on your way. A couple of minutes after 10, I left my apartment. I called his house. No answer. He's probably busy, on another line, away from his phone. I drove towards our meeting place. Fifteen minutes later, I was almost there. I called again. Still, no answer.

I decided to give him a few more minutes. I pulled into the parking lot. Called my daughter to check on her. Chatted for a few minutes. Still no call. I called a third time...no answer. Sent a text. No response. After a dozen requests to get together and at least three times that many calls asking me to come over, I had been stood up.

It was almost 11. I was only a few blocks from the beach. I started my car and headed for the water.

A few minutes and a few coins for the meter later, I was walking on the sand.

At the edge of the water, someone had left a chair...one of those white plastic chairs you see on porches and patios. I slipped off my shoes and headed for the water's edge and that chair. And there I sat, for the next hour. Just me, my thoughts and a chair on a beach.

I was far enough from the beachside restaurants and clubs that the music was reduced to a vague background noise. A few late night fishermen were at the water's edge further down the beach. A brightly lit cruise ship drifted across the horizon.

It was chilly, but I sat there and watched the waves. I thought about love and lost love and life and the future. The tide was coming in, and every once in awhile, the water came up the edge of my chair. I tried to figure out whether having friends who were "no-shows" said something about me or about the friends or maybe about about our society where RVSP's were often overlooked (a complaint I had heard from other moms at school, and two couples planning weddings last year.) It seemed to be happening a lot.

The tide came in a bit more, and the waves got bigger. The water came up to my chair almost every time now. I sat and thought about the fact that twenty minutes, less than a gallon of gas and four quarters for the meter got me a ringside seat at the ocean. I remembered cold nights in my Pennsylvania farm house when such a moment would have been a dream come true. A fantasy I hardly dared contemplate.

The wind picked up, and I curled up in my jacket, wishing I'd worn a sweatshirt instead of a t-shirt. I watched the curl of the waves as they came to shore. And although I was filled with gratitude for that moment, that place, that experience, I cried. Silently, tears fell. The sadness for lost friends, lost love, lost dreams, lost years. For sitting in the beautiful spot all alone. For friends who never showed up. For things that had once seemed a certainty and now certainly will never be.

So much that I keep inside came out there. With no one to explain to, in the blessed darkeness of midnight on the beach, I let the pain pour out until the tears ran dry.

We all keep so much inside. Pain, fear, loneliness. I know I do. I know my friend does. Sometimes, the tears just need to come.

I took a few deep breaths of the salty night air then headed back to my car, and drove home. Emptier. Lighter.

Maybe there is a reason both tears and the sea are made of salt water

Saying Goodbye to a Friend

There are many ways to lose a friend...

Sometimes one person moves far away, and despite promises to stay in touch and visit often, the days and weeks and miles come between. Conversations become shorter and the times between them longer. Then one day, without anyone realizing it's happening, the two go from "friends" to "someone I used to know."

Other times some one comes between the two, and loyalties are challenged. A new love interest, a new spouse, a new baby...and suddenly there is no time or energy for the way things used to be. We may be sad, but we understand that people change and that sometimes a friend for one season may not be the right friend for another.

Sometimes there is a parting of ways because of a betrayal, and try though they might, the chain of trust has been shattered. And friends become strangers or even enemies.

But the hardest to take is when one never really knows what happened. One day the person is part of your life. You talk, you visit, you make plans, you laugh. And then in what seems like an instant, the other is gone. Calls are refused. Visits cease. And in the online world, your IM's are rejected. You search your heart, trying to understand what you did, what you said. You talk to friends. You go over and over in you head, trying to imagine what went wrong. But still you have no answers. If you do see the person, your questions remain unanswered. You want to know if there is something you can do to make it right again. They don't want to talk. You have ceased to exist for them.

For one of my friends, I have ceased to exist. At some point in the past few weeks, he decided to end the relationship. To close the door. And I cannot understand. But I have to accept.

I wrote early on in this blog about my efforts at non-attachment. And my limited success. And so, in the spirit of learning that spiritual skill, I offer this post. Good bye my friend. I have learned much from you and I am grateful to have had you in my life for the time the universe allowed. The door will always remain open on my side, should you ever wish to walk back through it.

I wish you well in all that comes your way. May your path be one of love and happiness and peace.

Anam Cara

Anam Cara is a Gaelic word meaning “soul friend”. It symbolises a spiritual friendship that is not affected by time, distance, or separation. In the old Celtic tradition, the Anam Cara was someone you could share your innermost self, mind and heart. This soul friendship was an act of recognition and belonging helping us return to the heart of our spirit.
--- from the website of the Anam Cara Retreat Center in the Scottish Highlands

If we're very lucky, we have one or two of these special people in our lives. If we are blessed beyond measure, we have three or four. You know who they are. Weeks, months or even years can go by between meetings, but the moment you are together again, it's as though no time has passed. There is no feeling of strangeness...and if the truth be told, even the first time you met, the feeling of familiarity is instantaneous. We "know" one another from the start, recognizing some indescribable spark of familiarity.

They may have come from around the corner or around the world. You may meet them on the first day of kindergarten, on the biggest day of your life, or when divorce, financial challenges or one too many birthdays have left you feeling that the best of life has passed you by. And sometimes, we come to know an Anam Cara before we ever meet in person, sharing that spark across telephone lines or within the lines of letters and postcards and e-mails.

It doesn’t really matter where or how or when…there is that feeling of connection. A bond that forms instantly and feels as though it has always been there. You find it hard to remember a time before you knew them – how could you ever NOT have known them? You know you must have met them somewhere before --- in this life or perhaps somewhere (or some-when?) before. The feeling is too strong to be new.

You may agree on everything or almost nothing but somehow it doesn’t matter. You know you can trust them with the things you have in common and the things you see from opposite sides, and still not lose their friendship.

When you have an Anam Cara in your life, you know you are blessed. Your soul has found a friend. And that is far beyond friendships of the head or even the heart.

I have a few Anam Caras in my life…they stretch across the country from the northeast to the Rockies, to the deep south and to sunny Florida. They are each so different I have a hard time imagining them together in one room. An urban jewelry and clothing designer in Chicago, a Mormon mom of four in Southern Utah, an engineer from Syria, a retired firefighter from orginally New York, a woman seeking her path in life with a new start in Colorado. Each brings blessings into my life. Each is someone I know I could see tomorrow, regardless of how long it’s been since our last meeting, and feel as though no time has passed.

I came across the concept of an Anam Cara today while I was working on a Celtic catalog. How sweet to discover that I already had these wonderful people in my life...I just needed the word for them.

After the kids go to sleep -- then what?

Dinner was over, the kitchen was clean, the laundry was done. Both of my girls were sound asleep, and the television was silent. The sound of the dishwasher scrubbing away the remains of the day was the only sound in the apartment. From the open patio door came the whosh of an occasional car passing by.

I turned on the stereo, choosing a station that plays quiet love songs, and sat down to read my new Elizabeth George mystery. At last, after a long day at work, some down time.

But my relaxation was short lived. The songs that played reminded me of lost love and certain-to-come-true dreams that had somehow vanished. I put down the book and let the memories wash over me. People I never see or even talk to anymore filled my thoughts. I pictured some in far-away homes, in far-away cities, some near-by but still out of reach. And suddenly the apartment went from a sancuary of quiet and peace to a prison. I paced from room to room, wandering in and out of the kitchen, living room, dining room, my bedroom and then back again. I picked up my phone and scrolled through the list of contacts, but it was too late to call any of them. I paced some more, wishing there was someone to stay with the girls while I went for a drive. Wishing there was someone to sit with in that quiet, clean apartment with the vanilla candles burning, and the soft music and the tropical evening breeze.

I do okay during the day. Work keeps me busy, and I am surrounded by people and lights and computers and calls from clients. In the evening, I focus on my girls, and making dinner and homework and household chores. On those rare nights when there is something I enjoy on television, I often fall asleep before the timer shuts off the tv.

But on so many nights like last night, when the silence descends, and the music tells stories of love lost and love never found, it's so hard to be alone and inside.

I've been told over and over that I'm supposed to be modern and self-sufficient and not need a man to be happy. But on nights like last night, I can't help but wonder....did the person who made up those rules ever spend her nights alone in a silent, candle-lit apartment?