The start to summer has Sylvia and Erma discussing the joys and ravages of basking in the sun, literally and figuratively.
Sylvia: Sun on my face. Sand between my toes. Fresh ocean air.
Erma: Sweat dripping from my brow. Sand in my car. The lingering taste of salt in my mouth.
Sylvia: Long walks enjoying plush, verdant paths. Sun-kissed cheeks. Evening cocktails on the patio.
Erma: Bees and bug bites. Crow’s feet and weathered skin. Sugary spills and the ensuing march of ants.
“Well, aren’t you the definition of a curmudgeon? A true crank,” remarks Sylvia.
Erma, tongue-in-cheek and with her signature sarcastic tone, lobs back, “Yep, that’s me. Ageless and timeless, my dear.”
“What? Ageless? Timeless? Those choice words are used to describe a woman’s looks,” Sylvia counters.
Erma, ever the teacher and always poised to debunk her younger friend’s perceptions, staves off any further commentary in one thought-provoking and accurate analysis. “Who says that ageless and timeless have anything to do with looks? Both are so much more!”
“She tells her story in her face. When her life comes to an end, she can only hope that others see what she aspired to – a life well-lived and well-loved with some very juicy parts that kept her going.” ~ K. Morgan
Up early, coffee-inspired, dressed, and ready to cross the threshold into a new day, Sylvia smiles at the prospect of the here and now.
In our 20s, we live with anticipation and energy; the goals (for most of us) are to make tomorrow come faster, have fun today, and remove ourselves from what we looked like yesterday.
The 30s hit and we live with hope that tomorrow will be easier; today we will get ahead a bit or at least stay afloat and that our mistakes from yesterday will not be repeated.
The 40s for many of us are wrought with anxiety and fear that tomorrow we will find that we do not have enough of anything – time, money, love or patience. Today we went through the motions and have little recall of what actually transpired. We long for the lack of accountability and responsibility we had in our youth – yesterday was not so bad.
Ah, our 50s and 60s? Well, we live with intention and purpose. Tomorrow is getting close and it promises nothing, so we focus on what absolutely must be accomplished today. Today we will carve out a little bit of time for ourselves, even if it’s only a second to reflect, breathe, write, or have a bit of conscious “me” time, for yesterday, though we intended to do just that, time slipped away and we cannot get it back.
And here’s where Sylvia & Erma stop and welcome the many wise and witty friends of a certain maturity to add their two cents which has infinitely greater value than anything either of the gals could pretend to know or even imagine.
This Sylvia knows: tomorrow is not guaranteed and yesterday is done. Here and now is all we have!
With Erma’s steadfast friendship and support, Sylvia has come to believe that she has the strength and power to sprout wings on the way down. Today, both admonish the danger of standing in the doorway. The gals recommend crossing the threshold into here and now. No hesitation. *********************
Thresholds are dangerous places, neither here nor there, and walking across one is like stepping off the edge of a cliff in the naive faith that you’ll sprout wings halfway down. You can’t hesitate, or doubt. You can’t fear the in-between. ~Alix E. Harrow, The Ten Thousand Doors of January
Yesterday, Sylvia was serving up slices; today, the helpings are not as pretty. Crumbled, in fact, but nonetheless fulfilling.
Erma: I can’t believe you are making pies from scratch, Sylvia. You have many talents, but as you and I know, baking is not among them.
Sylvia: You are assuming I am starting from scratch—a mistake on your part. I have all of the ingredients, but I know my limitations. Well, I’m beginning to anyway.
Erma: Ah, so you are cheating a little. I love that. What did you do? Store-bought crust? Canned fruit filling?
Sylvia: Neither of those. I started out making a whole pie. Rolled out the crust. Cored, peeled, and sliced up the apples and pears. Right on track to make a perfect pie, and then…
Erma: Then what? The phone rang? A neighbor dropped by? What happened?
Sylvia: I changed my mind. I decided that I didn’t want a slice or two of anything, so I let go of the idea of an entire pie. I made a whole cobbler instead.
Erma: You do realize that “whole” and “cobbler” don’t go together. You kind of took the easy way out, don’t you think?
Sylvia: Maybe, but I know that what I wanted today had nothing to do with nice and even. Big, heaping, crumbled scoops are what I needed today. I may not be a slice type of woman. Perhaps I need to accept that what I want is immeasurable and imperfect.
Erma: Syl, you are doing it again. You are overthinking. Some days a pie is simply a pie. Let it be a pie.
Sylvia: Not true, Erma. Pie is never simple. Why should I settle for a pie when a cobbler can be equally satisfying and a whole lot more fun to indulge in?! **************** March 14th, 3/14, is “Pi” day. Pi is an irrational number, but it can only be used as an approximate value. Irrational: unable to be expressed as a fraction.
And there it is… Sylvia and Erma remind each other that they are not pieces of a puzzle in their lives or the lives of others; they are whole just as they are! Nothing irrational about that. ***********************
There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.
Sylvia has been unusually preoccupied these first few days of March. The end of winter always has her dreaming and reflecting—even more than she ordinarily does! She dreams of places not yet visited, renewed purpose, and endless possibility. She reflects on the many stories Erma shared with her about how women wear different hats during different stages of life. Student. Sister. Wife. Mother. Executive. Housekeeper. And the list goes on. Erma always said that the most amazing friendships between women happen when we take off our “hats” and allow ourselves to be in the moment for and with each other.
When Sylvia happens upon a lovely duo who appears to be mother and daughter, she smiles and approaches them to gush about their obvious fun-loving nature and friendship. “M&M“—as Sylvia lists them now in her cell contacts—laugh; and then M, the beautiful, young brunette who looks ravishing in every single hat, offers, “She isn’t my mom. M is Mom’s best friend. We have become friends, too.”
The other M, the more experienced, mature, and equally lovely lady, adds that they have enjoyed a glorious and heartfelt day of love, laughter, and overlapping life experiences. Both of them said final goodbyes to very special people this past year. A powerful connection, indeed.
Sylvia, after sharing her personal story of loss from this past year as well and engaging in a bit of fun with her new friends, wonders, “What if Erma were here to share this experience? Sylvia is certain her best friend would be rolling her eyes and then nearly wetting her pants from laughter as each woman tried on hat after hat. Sylvia and the younger M would then have reminded their more seasoned friends of this new trend, “They are not hats. They are fascinators.”
Yes, fascinators! An absolutely fascinating connection between women that is sure to become a favorite memory. **************** “When women hear each other’s stories, told from the heart, it gives us inspiration to keep on going.” – Elizabeth Lesser ****************
Routine. Wake up. Make coffee. Tend to dog. Drink coffee. Walk dog. Household chores. Write. Shower. Write. Periodic glimpses of social media. More chores or errands. Etc., etc., etc. Wait, Jeopardy. “This is Jeopardy.” (Oh no, Alex Trebek passed.)
Coffee and conversation with a friend. Lunch with a friend. Walk or ride the bike. Dinner or drinks with a friend. Shopping with a friend. Or maybe all of the aforementioned absolutely solo because you don’t wish to inflict you on anyone else. Read a really good book.
Wake up next to the person you love. Wake up next to a person who makes you feel loved. Wake up and laugh with a person who makes you laugh. Spend the day with someone special who gets you, makes you feel alive, and who makes you laugh, cry, and feel all your feelings without shame, guilt, or a need to apologize. (Okay, this part might be a dream, but it could be true–especially if you ever recognize that you are the person you need to love; you are the person who makes you laugh; you are the person who gives yourself permission to feel all of your feelings.)
Read everything you have written thus far and resist the urge to scrap it.
Do all of the above every God damn day of the week and realize that this is your life, but it doesn’t have to be.
Write about how God damn grateful you are to be here.
Now, think. Are you living or lying in state or in a state?
Erma: Live a little life today, Syl. Remember yesterday- all of the yesterdays- but learn from them, muster strength from them, glean hope from them, and corral courage and confidence from them. I learned this from a very wise woman- my mother- in her final stages of life.
Sylvia: Well, right now you caught me. I’m sitting here for a moment making my mental list of things to do today, and at the very top (after “have two strong cups of coffee and a daydream” perhaps) is move– move forward with a bit of abandon; move forward with intent and purpose; and move forward knowing that those you love know you love them. Yep, Erma, I’ll live a little life today– or maybe quite a lot.
******************* Now, go ahead and make your move.
Erma: We lift each other up, Syl. That’s what we do. We save each other!
Your angel, my angel, and our angels are out there. They are the lady at Dunkin Donuts who knows you get two jellies each day and who periodically throws in an old-fashioned because she sees you’re having a rough morning; the neighbor upon whom you can rely in an instant to pack up her kids, your son and father to follow you in her car as you transport your ailing mother in an ambulance to the hospital an hour away; the friend who takes care of your crazy dog because she knows you are crazy for your dog, and she genuinely wants you to have those three days of respite you have needed forever; the woman who phones you or texts you each morning to remind you of how wonderful you are because you have forgotten- she does it under the guise of a conversation over coffee, but you both know.
Angels are everywhere.
They, our earth angels, may not have wings, but they all have something in common. They recognize need, and without being prompted, they willingly, lovingly, and compassionately perform an act that brings comfort and peace to you even if only for a moment. For a split second, a minute, an hour, a day or a week, they breathe life into us.
Your angel is there…I promise. And if he/she is not, it’s because you are likely someone else’s angel at the moment. Lift your wings and fly.
A room can be dank because you have closed the windows, you’ve closed the curtains. But the sun is shining outside, and the air is fresh outside. In order to get that fresh air, you have to get up and open the window and draw the curtains apart. Forgiveness is like this. (Desmond Tutu)
As Sylvia looked out her bedroom window this morning, she noticed the sunlight hitting it in such a way that she was struck concurrently by two thoughts: the first was pretty matter-of-fact, that she must stay home on occasion and get some cleaning done; and the second thing, well, that was a bit clearer, that even when we allow something into our hearts, minds, and souls, there is no purity in it unless we invite it without any preconceived notions or expectations. (Sylvia’s second cup of coffee had begun to work.)
It’s the most difficult thing to do, I believe, to forgive. Forgiving means you’ve been wronged or hurt. More precisely, it means you feel wronged or hurt. When Sylvia opens the windows, she becomes vulnerable, and it is that vulnerability where she risks being hurt. It is also that vulnerability that allows pure joy, love and peace to enter.
Hmm. So, you decide. Doors and windows open or closed? Forgive yourself first, and then open. Fresh air never felt so good. That’s what Sylvia has been doing on this summer day. The windows look much cleaner now.
“Wide open. Closed. Squinting. Teary. Winking. They say it all, don’t they?” Sylvia asked of her friend rhetorically. Erma, with a quick roll of hers, replied.
At once, the two friends sitting across from each other with masks covering all but their eyes, broke out in laughter. Their friendship was so easy because they knew each other deeply and could read each other’s movements. Words, though never lacking, were rarely needed these days. Their eyes always recounted their stories.
Almost nothing need be said when you have eyes. ~Tarjei Vesaas