Hanging out with the beloveds

Donna tries out new knee

     We were in the bar of Huber's, the oldest restaurant in Portland,  celebrating Donna's new knee.   The outing was Fuey's idea. "I could have sent you flowers or a plant, " she said to Donna, "But I thought this would be much more fun. " The three autoharp players sipped their Spanish coffees, while I, the  designated driver, savored strawberries in lemonade.

Fuey

     Fuey told tales of fishing and smoking salmon in Alaska in the '70s.  "It was a blast, " she beamed,  "I didn't want to leave."  She talked about covering  the night shift in an 11-bed hospital, when so many nurses were gone for World War II. Fuey was only 16, but the  head nurse slept upstairs, and could be  called on  for any emergencies.   Fuey reflected on her mother's more circumscribed life in small California towns, an intellectual life filled with books and music but not much adventure. " I made a list once of all the things my mother didn't get to do."  She talked about how her parents treated her.  "It seemed like they thought the sun rose and set on me," she beamed.  And then she mused, "Sometimes I wonder how my younger sisters felt about it."
    Fuey is one of the people I think of as"the beloveds."  My sister Rose is like that, and my friend Nell.   They reflect a sense of having been cherished from birth, of feeling that sun and moon rising and setting on them throughout childhood.  It is wonderful to be around them, to dance in the happy circle they cast.

Nell tires out the ukulele

     Judy and I felt cherished when we went to dinner at Betsy and Les's. Betsy's gracious and perceptive welcome brings out the uniqueness in each of us. The conversation was rich, as always, even though we were fretfully aware that the second bomber in Boston was still at large, and that our young relatives there were living in a locked-down city.  We kept coming back to the question that nagged us--what makes a young man set a bomb in a crowd?      I am always fascinated to hear Les's perspective, and usually want to have more time trading ideas with him.  Sometimes he comes to our weekly coffees with Betsy, but those mornings are usually reserved for us girlfriends.

Dinner at Les and Bety's

     The meal would meet with the approval of the hippest Portlanders--comfort food,  expertly prepared,  using the best ingredients. In this case, brisket and kugel.  The view from Betsy's place is so fascinating that I kept interrupting the conversation  with,  "Oh, look at that!"  and "What is that building?"  It felt as rude as someone watching television during dinner, but I could barely help myself, and our old friends are indulgent.
    This time of year, the flowers are blooming for all of us.

Our lilacs