Make My Day

(Apologies to 'Dirty Harry,' 1971 film, Clint Eastwood.)

I can text, IM, and email with the best of them, but there's nothing quite like the sound of a real live person on the line, especially in these days of the constant, oh-so-irritating (and sometimes dangerous) robocalls.  Yesterday and the day before were red-letter days for me.

Joan, a longtime friend, called.  When I say 'longtime,' I mean it.  We were in high school together and graduated in 1957.  We've stayed in touch all these years, and she has visited Farview Farm several times in the past.  We were making plans for another visit when the virus hit.  Dang!  Joan is now also a widow and recently moved to be close to her daughter in North Carolina, more than a hop-skip-and-a-jump for a California girl.  She called to tell me that she'd just bought a condo in a small town and was excited and happy.  The leaves were turning color, something she'd not experienced down in Venice Beach, CA.  That was a good call.

Later in the day, I got a call from my niece in New Hampshire.  I'm her last remaining relative of my generation (we're six years apart).  Sometimes I'm her surrogate mother, sometimes a sounding board, and always her friend.  Yesterday was a just-for-fun call and the topics bounced back and forth like a ping-pong ball.  It's always good to hear from her.

The day before, Tinka phoned.  We don't see each other often, but have become close friends.  As widows of a 'certain age,' living alone in very rural areas, we have a lot in common and never run out of topics to chat about.

In the evening, there was a text from Michael's 'brother,' the son of the woman who had been Michael's prior owner, saying he'd be coming for a visit soon.  I'm sure he'll have stories to tell.

To put the icing on my conversation cake, when I picked up my mail (it was Trash Day), there was a sweet card from a dear cousin.  Every so once in awhile she does that, and it makes my day every time.

It was a good day.

Stay safe.  Be well.