Carol Blitzer —
Thirty-five years ago I wrote a column for the Palo Alto Weekly entitled “No time for friends.”
It was a rather sad essay on how the stresses of working, being a couple and raising two children pushed out the possibility of meeting a friend for a cuppa. It mentioned longing for the day when I could just sit down with a friend and bemoan weight gain, lippy teenagers or thoughtless spouses (why do I have to ask him to wash the dishes after I prepared the meal?)
Thirty-five years later, we’ve passed our 50-year mark, our adult children are well launched into the world and we’re no longer working (or at least not consistently). But are we now making time for friends?
A few years ago, my dearest friend developed a nasty cancer and a scary diagnosis: Median life span with that kind of cancer was one year. Before her illness, we had a steady, weekly walking date at the Dish above Stanford, where we shared our ideas, told each other stories, asked for opinions. It had been twice a week for nearly 20 years, until the birth of her first grandchild sent her off to be with him, creating a wonderful bond that nurtured her through her illness.
But even once a week was special. I could still pick her brain for story ideas, since I was still working at the Weekly; she could share her patient dilemmas (with no identifying details) that she’d be presenting to her group later that day.
Too soon once a week became too much. Instead I dropped by her house at least once a week to chat and later bring a meal or drop off a new tool useful for opening jars. Our chats devolved to what clinical trial she might be eligible for; I felt guilty talking about my work or travels, knowing she could no longer participate in the work she loved.
Halfway through the year I decided to retire earlier than planned. With time on my hands, I could finally visit my friend more often… but it was really too little, too late. By then, her illness was limiting her enormously. She could no longer drive or take care of her grandson. Instead, her family began coming to her, taking her out to Baylands in a wheelchair.
She never lost her focus on what’s important: being with family and friends.
Not long after she died another friend’s cancers took a turn for the worse. This time, I was fully prepared to drop whatever I was doing and focus on what she needed. Instead of splitting a sandwich after exercise class at the JCC, I would pick up that sandwich and drive it over to her house for lunch together. Or I’d do a little marketing for her, and share some of the goodies. She craved the company as much as the food stuffs – as did I.
Even gravely ill, seated in her family room with an oxygen tank by her side, my friend never lost her need to feel fully connected to the world, to keep up on current events, relationships, her beloved children and grandchildren. To this day, I see her as my role model for being a grandparent. She set a high bar.
So now I’m retired with theoretically unlimited time available for friends. As an introvert, it’s never been easy to reach out to make new friends. I do have some – but none anticipate the moment I walk in the door after a trip and call to see if we’re OK. None call close to daily – just to check in.
And, of course, there’s the Pandemic, so most meet-ups have to be pre-thought, indoors or outdoors, masked or not? I’ve found new walking buddies for a once a week in-ink date. And I’m just beginning to schedule lunch dates that don’t coincide with birthdays, but just are.
And I’ve discovered that Zoom meetings can lead to relationships. When I retired six years ago, I joined the Peninsula Quilters Guild and began making baby quilts and larger quilt tops for charity (for homeless shelters and fire victims – hey, this is California). But going to large meetings with 60 members and a speaker didn’t really allow me to get to know anyone.
During the Pandemic, we started a Zoom sewing event every Friday for a few hours. We usually drew close to a dozen quilters, all working on their own projects, with computer or iPads adjacent to their sewing machines. We chatted about challenges we encountered – and tapped each other for areas of expertise (What is the easiest way to whip out placemats for Meals on Wheels?). And sometimes we ventured into more personal areas: where to get vaccinations, Covid tests, how the grandkids are coping, how some gravely miss their offspring.
So, the first time we met in person, instead of being daunted by approaching tables filled with strangers, I plopped down next to one of my new Friday Sew friends and felt right at home.
Carol Blitzer 10/14/2021