Not One More

I have known such incredibly interesting women, and blessed to call more than a few, “My friend.”

They never lost their ability to imagine other possibilities, and change the dynamics of mundane reality for a few savored hours or even on a rare occasion, days.

Several of these amazing ladies have since departed this troubled world, but as I remember their innovative method of “dealing with life,” I try to imagine their reactions to self isolation.

Jane, who dispensed cigars one rainy afternoon, when all nine of our combined children (4 of mine, 5 of hers) had a lengthy unexpected vacation from school, might have suggested listening to Frankie and just indulging daily in long naps.

Pat, who wore a long blonde wig over her ink black curls and ever so often took off alone for a respite day in a Vermont cabin, would have said, “Pretend you are in a spa. Order dinner and a drink, and watch all the Hallmark channel you want. With no apologies.”

Jean, who was the essence of physical perfection, undoubtedly, would have preached, “This is the ideal time to heal your body. Exercise, daily and often, drink lots of water and emerge beautiful.”

We were the women of the 50’s, with loving soul mates, whose careers demanded more than the traditional 40 hour week. We were transplanted from city to city dependent on the whims of government, and learned to solve as many family issues independently as possible.

We clung together for moral support and the strength of laughter. We leaned on each other for medical advice and occasionally, emotional valleys. We encouraged each other to maintain the image anticipated by not only culture, but society. And when in need, we bonded together.

If my friends were here today, I know they would look at me with askance, and ask in unison, “Are you kidding?”

“No one needs anything from you now. You can sleep, eat, read, watch TV without an ounce of guilt. Okay, so it’s lonely, forget it. Remember when you wondered if ever again you might enjoy a minute of utter quiet and absolutely nothing was expected to be done?“

I hear them, and I remember them, and I know they are totally right. Then as the wind whispers, I hear another voice, eerily like my own, reminding me I have been given the gift of time that my wonderful friends did not share. It is not to be wasted.

And not one more word of complaint will I utter about isolation.