I will lose another good friend too damn soon. Cancer, of course. Rick and I have known each other for about ten years, with monthly seminars in our homes — that’s the only way to describe them — where we discuss the world. His lively mind and commitments as an active Catholic and Buddhist tired me out, in the best way imaginable.
Two hours of Trump castigating at the highest level! I don’t take any of my friends for granted, not at 76.
That includes you, my Medium pal. You know who you are. You hang out in my neck of the woods and make regular visits to my online abode. I drop by your place but not as often as I should. You live across the USA and Canada, especially, with a strange (in the sense of I wouldn’t have predicted the down-under phenomenon) coterie in Australia and New Zealand.
Meeting my partner Rebecca at 60 brought another group of friends into our lives as we divided our time between two communities, new friends for each of us in each. We just spent a few days with six of them in Colorado.
Settling into one community will bring friendship gains and losses.
Our decision three years ago to spend Januarys in San Miguel introduced us to yet another chance to meet and get to know wonderful people like Rick and Julie.
Yesterday, I had coffee at 1 pm at a local coffee shop with a group of seven headed by Lyle, who formed this political koffe-klatch band a few years ago. Tim, Shelly, Craig, Steve, Doug, Lyle, and I met for about an hour, focusing primarily on how Iowa might tilt slightly purple this year. Hope springs eternal.
Tomorrow, I’ll meet with an older men’s book group to discuss Yaa Gyasi’s Homegoing, a book about the multigenerational consequences of slavery. We’ll meet at Jim’s house, who will provide the eats. Earlier in the day, I’ll play golf with Mike, Mike, and Steve as part of a regular summer Wednesday foursome. As the holes progress, the gimme putts get longer.
On Thursday, I’ll have breakfast at another coffee shop with a group of retired professors from the local college we all taught at for decades, none of whom hung out with each other while working. Will, at 93, is the oldest. I’m pretty sure I’m the youngest.
Finally, on Saturday, Rebecca and I will have dinner with Ed and Carol, who live across the street. We do this every six weeks or so, and we do something similar with Mike and Maggie.
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Thanks to Peter Mammitzsch for his prompt about meeting Medium friends. A few years ago, Rebecca and I met an online friend, Peter, and his wife, Mary, in their home in upstate New York. Peter and I met as part of a crew of 10 blues and 10 reds who met monthly to listen to the other side’s political perspective. Our Braver Summit was part of a national organization called Braver Angels.
Rebecca and I were visiting her daughter and family in Boston and decided to make the few-hour trip to have lunch with Peter and Mary. It was a gratifying experience, including seeing the physical setting, chair, and backdrop for when Peter joins our virtual group. And Peter and Mary were so gracious in their beautiful home in the woods.
However, it reminded me of when my 6th-grade class visited a local TV station and saw the set where the afternoon kids’ show was staged. I remember being slightly disappointed that everything was smaller than it looked on TV.
Some vision of mine had been punctured. Afterward, I never watched that show in the same way. In a way, it was like seeing the wizard behind the curtain. Part of me preferred the myth.
So perhaps, just perhaps, I’m really OK with not visiting your home and seeing where you write your Medium stories. I prefer you to remain as you are in my imagination, Hemingway or Smiley at their desks.
Of course, if you’re ever in my northeast Iowa vicinity, you are welcome to stop by. I’ll even let you sit in my writing chair.
