9.19.17

September 19, 2017

“I got your postcard from Chicago,” Maga said.

“And one from Nantucket. And I sent one from Newport this past weekend.”

“My goodness you’re busy. What were you there for?”

“Two of my friends got married.”

“Oh, how lovely. Did you know the bride or groom?”

“It was two brides and I know them both. They live up here.”

*silence*

“Maga? You still there?”

“Did you say two women were the participants?”

“I did.”

*silence*

“Why I didn’t know that was possible?” Maga said.

“I don’t know. It is. Federally, for about two years. In Massachusetts, for longer than that. Maybe 5-6 years?”

“I am absolutely astounded.”

“In a good way?”

“Well, I guess it depends on the people.”

“How so?”

“If they’re good people and love each other…”

“They are. They do.”

“Do men marry other men too?”

“In fact they do.”

“You’ve just opened a whole new chapter for me.”

“Happy to have done so. I mean, come on, finding love is hard. I should know. If two people can find happiness and love together, what’s wrong with that?”

“I guess so. I just didn’t know this existed.”

“You read the newspaper every day. You’ve never seen an article about it?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Keep your eyes peeled. It’s very common. You’ll start seeing news about it everywhere.”

“You’ve opened my eyes tonight.”

I’m not sure if it was leftover from one of the most beautiful weddings I’ve been to or a new addition from the act of educating my 96 year old grandmother, but as I hung up, I was glowing.

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9.12.17

September 12, 2017

“Before I forget to tell you, I got your lovely postcard from Chicago,” Maga said.

“Oh good. I was thinking it should have arrived by now.”

“Who did you travel with?”

“It was a mini high school reunion.”

“You didn’t go to high school in Chicago.”

“You’re right. All of the ladies I was with I met while in high school, though, which is why it was like a mini reunion.”

“How delightful!”

“I think so.”

“It’s fun to collect postcards from all over the world. I don’t even throw them away!” Pride slathered her words, but I couldn’t help but cringe as I thought about how her extensive postcard collection is one of the smallest piles remaining in her house. So. Many. Collections.¬†She barreled through my train of thought, “Your Aunt C and Uncle N are going [abroad] soon, right?”

“I prefer to call them Mom and Dad, but yes, they have a big trip coming up to celebrate Mom’s birthday.”

Maga laughed. “I sure am foozeldee tonight. Of course, you call them Mom and Dad.”

Knowing how her brain works, I suspected she had some sort of earlier adventure. “What sort of trouble did you get yourself into today?”

“Oh my. I’m not sure I’d classify it like that. I had lunch with some friends at Cherry Hills. It was an absolutely glorious day. The mountains were out. The blue sky. New landscaping on the grounds. We sat on the edge of the patio so we could really look out at the mountains and the beauty.”

“That sounds spectacular. Who were your dining companions?”

“Well, M of course because she drove me. And Bubbles. And someone else who, my goodness, I cannot think of the name.”

“Did you say Bubbles?!?”

“Yes. It’s kind of a nickname. Gosh. I can’t think of her first name right now either. What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It was a long day. And by the way I love her nickname!”

Maga may have been mixing up names and relationships tonight, but with a name like Bubbles, there’s no need for any other moniker.

In the absence of quality time together, we hung up thrilled with the company the other was keeping in the meantime.

9.5.17

September 5, 2017

“Now how will you get to [your next destination]?” Maga asked. “By row boat or motor boat.”

“By row boat?” I burst out laughing. “Not exactly.”

“Oh, I thought you might go on a personal boat or something.”

“I wish, but no, we’re not rich. We’ll go by ferry with the rest of the people who need/want to go there.”

“Oh, okay then. Wow. That was a good shot. I’m watching the US Open. Tennis. Did you ever play?”

“Well, not like you did,” I had to speak up over the volume of the TV. “Or like my mom did. I didn’t play in school or in organized sports, but at Nyoda [summer camp], my last year there, I was a counselor and I taught tennis. It was a bit silly because I didn’t have many technical skills, but the girls just wanted to hit the tennis ball, so I happily let them do that.”

“Nyoda! I forgot you went there.”

“I did. From ages 7-15. My formative years.”

“You went much longer than I did.”

“But it’s still so amazing that we ended up at the same camp all those years apart.”

For someone who was born in NJ (Maga), but lived the majority of her life in CO to go to the same camp as her granddaughter, who lived her childhood years in MD, but went to a camp in NJ, but then moved to NJ due to her father’s job…and then stopped going to that camp because if she wanted to make something of the sports she did play, she needed to go to specific sports camps to improve her skills. Wow. What a crazy, overlapping world we live in and even though we’re related, the threads were far apart.

If only everyone took the time to listen and learn to each other’s stories, imagine all the overlapping threads to be discovered. Imagine all the commonalities between us. Even if we don’t have genes connecting us. Life does. Amen to that.

8.29.17

August 29, 2017

“And where are you?” Maga said, sounding like she had a wad of cotton in her mouth.

“I literally just walked in the front door to my apartment. I’m home now. Is everything okay with you?”

“No. I’m in terrible pain. My mouth. I had a toothache. They took my tooth out this afternoon. I’m in terrible pain and no one knows what to do to fix it.”

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry to hear this. I can call back tomorrow.”

“No. No. I like talking to you.”

“Oh, but Maga. If you’re in pain, we can talk at another time.”

“No, no. Now is fine.”

Not entirely sure this was a wise course of questioning, but hoping to distract her from her pain, I went for it. “Have you talked to Uncle D lately?” (He’s the 3rd of Maga’s 4 kids, and he lives in Katy, TX, which is about 20 miles from Houston.)

“I have. Can you believe what’s happening over there?” Her voice was now clear and apparently sans cotton swab shoved in there.

“I was following along through updates from my mom, but I found I had Uncle D’s number and I checked in with them today. It was nice to be able to reach out directly.”

“I imagine so. It’s so wild what’s going on down there.”

“Terrible. I’m so glad they’re okay.”

“Me too.” Maga’s voice took on a more dreary tone.

“Are you in pain again? I can call back tomorrow when you’re feeling better.”

“No, no. I could use a cheery voice right now.”

I’d actually needed the same thing earlier tonight, and had received it from one friend far and one friend near, and so, I was more than willing to pass on that cheeriness to someone suffering from both tooth and heart pains brought on by recent events.

8.23.17

August 23, 2017

We were wrapping up the conversation when Maga said, “And it’s Tuesday, so thank you so much for calling.”

“Actually, it’s Wednesday.”

“IT IS?!”

“Yup.”

“Well where were you yesterday?”

“It’s more like where were YOU yesterday?”

“Oh, you know, I was out to dinner with T & B.”

“…dinner with T & B.” (I chimed in since this wasn’t the first time we’d talked about her dinner companions tonight.) “I called you twice last night!”

“You did? Did you leave any messages?”

“Yes. Both times with your caregiver. The first time she told me when you were expected back home. The second time when you still weren’t back yet (that T is a talker!), she told me she’d tell you I called.”

“She didn’t tell me.” Maga sounded mildly, borderline enraged.

“Not to worry, Maga,” I soothed, giving the caregiver the benefit of the doubt over Maga’s short term memory. “That’s why I called back tonight. And that’s why I said ‘Is it really you?’ instead of ‘Hi, Maga’ when you picked up the phone.”

“Oh. Well,” she chuckled. “Good thing you’re persistent. I appreciate it more than you know.”

Such a sexy character trait. Hmm, maybe I should add that to my dating profile?