Remembering One Friendship

This time of the year I receive a call from my friend G who lives in Texas. The other day I thought, "I'll surprise G with a call from here." Then I remembered: G died from cancer in the summer. I knew I should make the call to check on her husband, B.  Their daughter answered to say that her dad had died a month after her mother of an aneurism. Gone, two special people.

I'd met G during classes in 1959 at Mexico City College in Mexico, D. F. There was a six-weeks session given in Spanish. She and I shared one grammar class and  ate together for lunch. This was the only time we could speak English. She'd tell of living with a Mexican family and I'd share my living experience in a motel-like setting with a huge dog who only understood Spanish.

At the time she was a college student and I was married and expecting my first child. The ages didn't seem to matter. We shared the fun of learning.

When we separated we stayed in touch via letters: her graduation, her marriage, her children. Then emailing developed and we kept in touch more easily. We both  continued to learn. We  planned to have a reunion 25 years later at Mexico City College, which had changed its name and moved south of Mexico City. I couldn't spare the six weeks, a disappointment for me. She went alone and kept me up-to-date on her experience.

I saw her after that reunion-that-didn't happen, when our family traveled to Dallas on our way west for vacation; she in turn with her husband visited us years later on their way home from a conference.  Then it was back to emails.

Her last contact with me was by telephone: "Vivian, I'm calling to let you know I'm dying. I don't have long to live. I want you to know how much I've appreciated your friendship."  I found few words to reply, but I did with, "Are you OK with this situation?" She said she was surprised that she was. She worried about her husband who wasn't well.

She entered hospice and died a month later. Her husband called and that was the last time I heard his voice.

Dying is difficult on those who remain alive.  I miss my dear friend.

Travel Fever

After reading "Moosehill Journal" recently and reveling with the author's visit to California and Yosemite National Park, I felt the deep down tugging of my travel heart. I, too, was ready for a journey, not necessarily the usual ones taken to see grown children.

It was prophetic that I received a call from Sis telling me SHE was ready for a trip and did I want to hike the trails of Santa Fe? She knows as well and I that we aren't gen-u-wine hikers, but we have been walking a mile a day for the last three weeks to slim our torsos. That very day I checked Elderhostel for their April 15-21 trip to Santa Fe and Abiquiqu and signed up. Now Sis and I are walking four miles a day, hoping to meet the Level 5 guidelines, which seem daunting for novices. We figured we could bluff our way with a hiking stick, backpack with a water pouch, and a floppy hat as part of a hikers uniform.

We are dressing as most catalogs indicate. I remember an event many years ago that still brings smiles to the faces of my husband and me.

I was working with a young man new to my company, and my husband, after my encouragement, asked Joe if he wanted to play golf with him and his friends that Saturday. "You play golf, don't you?" To which Joe responded, "Sure."

The threesome waited that morning for Joe to arrive, two asking R about Joe's handicap. R simply said he didn't know and they'd all have to find out. Just then this figure, decked out in typical English golf fashion--his argyle socks pulled to the knee where they met his knickers, a jaunty knit hat ( with a red ball, no less)askew on his head, looking like a golfer of ages past. Joe didn't know anything about the clubs he owned, how to line up the ball, hit it or retrieve it. His stroke off the tee carried 200 feet rather than 200 yards. An embarrassment for R, who had to endure teasing from his coworkers the following Monday.

Sis and I will have the appropriate gear. Our legs will be in fair shape, our hiking boots will look worn, and although our clothing will appear to have been ordered from the Eddie Bauer catalog, they will not be brand-new. We'll fit in with other hikers discovering what the New Mexico landscape can reveal us in six days of exploration.