February 21, 2018

“Tell me about Wellesley,” I said.

“How’d we get on this topic?” Maga asked.

“Well, I was bragging about you at work today and I thought I should get some more stories to add to my arsenal. Who was the most famous person you graduated with?”

She started to (re)tell me the story about her famous classmate, but got bogged down by the details and with nary a pause, “Oh my, did you see that girl’s dress?”

And famous classmates be damned, us ordinary ladies proceeded to watch the Olympics together on a typical Tuesday evening.



February 13, 2018

“Excuse me.” Maga’s words were muffled by the food in her mouth. “I shouldn’t be eating this gooey thing while talking to you, but it’s so delicious.”

“What are you eating?”

“Something your mother sent me, I think.”


“No. Chocolate covered strawberries.”

“You do love your sweets.”

“I always have.”

Her obvious enjoyment outweighed the garbled words. Is this what things sound like to her when she doesn’t have her hearing aids in?

“I think your mother sent these.”

“She might have. She was just there.”

“Chocolate covered strawberries. Is this something she’d send?”

“It does sound like her, yes. It’s probably an early Valentine’s treat.”

“Did I send you a Valentine?”

“You did. I have it right here in my hands. I haven’t opened it yet. I’m saving it for tomorrow.”

“Don’t open it yet,” she said at the same time as me. “Save it for tomorrow.”

Looks like I inherited my sweet tooth and patience from her!


February 6, 2018

It had been a day of meeting after meeting after meeting after meeting and I changed my plans at the last minute and so I went from a YA reading to trivia night. As such, it pushed my time clock back and I was forced to rely upon the two hour time difference between east and central time zones in order to maintain my Tuesday Maga call.

I called the moment I was free, but, being in a cab, the ambient car noise didn’t jive with my 96-almost-97-year-old-grandmother’s ears. Our conversation tip toed the line of weather and time and and and we’ve had these conversations so many times before…I can hear the worry behind the “how’s your weather” and the boredom behind “have you gotten snow” and the caring behind “what temperatures are you having?”

It was the kind of simple conversation you have once you’ve already had 1,000 others like it before now. It’s a privilege and an after-thought and an honor.


January 30, 2018

“You know,” Maga said. “I think I forgot your birthday.”

“No worries.”

“You were about 3 months early, weren’t you? And all four of you and your siblings were born in January.”

“I was. We were.” I marveled at the purpose in her voice. All these details she couldn’t remember earlier this month were at the ready.

“You were born on the 9th?”

“The 8th,” I said. “You were married on the 9th.”

“Why, you’re right. How did you know that?”

“It’s the day between my and [Sister J]’s birthdays. I never forget it.”

“Were you around when we got married?”

“Not quite. I couldn’t have been there if my mom wasn’t even there!”

Her laughter was quick and nervous. “My gosh. What am I saying? I’m a little crazy tonight.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“Weren’t you a premie? How early were you?” All those statements from earlier, now questions.

“Three months.”

“My word. What did you weigh?”

“Two pounds, 6 ounces.”

“And you overcame all the problems and turned into a decent sized person.”

Back to the statements and if her tone was any indication, me being an average sized person means fame and fortune are inevitable.

*fingers crossed for luck*


January 23, 2018

“So what have you been up to lately,” Maga asked.

“I watched my team win the AFC championship game this weekend.”

“Oh, yes. My caregiver and I watched the other game. What fun.” (An interesting response for a woman who held Broncos season tickets, but rarely went to a game. She stayed home while Jobo went to the stadium.) “And what time will the Super Bowl be?”

“It’ll be at nighttime to take advantage of the viewership.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure I’ll be able to read about it in the paper. Who is playing?”

“The Philadelphia Eagles and the Patriots!”

“Who are you cheering for?”

“The Patriots, of course.”

“Oh yes, because that’s where you live now.”

“And who will you be cheering for?” I asked. It had been a long day, so yes, dear reader, I was digging a little bit for a compliment.

“The Patriots, of course,” Maga said and my ego soared, “because of my connection to Wellesley.”

Hopefully it’s just my heart that crashes and burns tonight and not my team in two weeks during Super Bowl LII.