one of the sweetest evenings ever since Frank died — my friend L. and her 10 year old son Indigo came over for the evening. L. is white, her husband J. is black, and their son Indigo is cafe au lait with blond curls, green eyes, a tall and lanky frame, and the most exquisite face imaginable. I should mention he is remarkably well behaved and thoughtful, and when engaged in conversation is interesting and intelligent. Instead of going to the restaurant where L’s husband is the executive chef, we stayed right here, ordered Chinese food and had a feast along with one of the last bottles of Jamesport 2005 Frank and I had stored away, in spite of the really bad news that all the radiant heat flooring pipes were the wrong kind and would have to be replaced (my beloved Frank’s work), and the even badder news that my health care plan starts off with a four thousand dollar deductible which was fine for last year’s hip surgery but will sink me this year unless I have another catastrophic event but never mind, the company was pure delight, utterly charming, and I get to spend the rest of the night reflecting on what great, wonderful, loving friends I have. Almost every night these last four weeks since Frank died I have spent in the company of truly loving friends. In grief, there is real joy.
Four's Flights 