I don’t mean to be a hound dog either, but it hasn’t been all peas and gravy in the past few years. For example, one set of friends moved away to California and although we were never considered a part of their in group, Mary was a good friend with one of the women from way back (high school), and I grew to love her myself. She was eternally bright, wickedly funny and remarkably dear, and what a loss she has been to us and to the neverending friendship we had imagined.
Another woman we knew, and another long-standing friend of Mary’s but someone I also grew to call friend, also moved away to the West Coast, fell in love with a man, married and, despite her years as militantly active lesbian, disappeared from our lives. This isn’t an uncommon or an entirely unexpected response, and you don’t need a Dr. Phil (ugh) to say that the best predictor of future performance is past behaviour. Still, we were deeply disappointed.
Add to that another woman I mistakenly understood as a soul sister – how old am I? – who really needed someone to temporarily help her through a bit of a rough patch away from her usual circle of friends, and a woman who ultimately decided – as many heterosexual women in my life have – that I didn’t quite fit into her world because my choices haven’t aligned exactly with hers, and let me tell you ladies and ginnelmens, it’s been a kicker of a time.
In fact, I have been deeply disappointed most especially in women, and in women of my generation, who claim to be all about 1) women they refer to as their sisters 2) equal rights 3) inclusiveness and 4) generosity. (And I ought to add here, in fairness, that Mary and I have other friends who treat us as if we have deep and real meaning in their lives – but saying this might spoil the begrudging nature of today’s entry. Harrumph!)
Anyway, this all said (and the whole point of this entry is that) every year our neighbours and friends, Mike and Stephan, host a summer party to which we are always invited, included, welcomed, appreciated, and where we can lounge outdoors among the beauty and safety of the stars and the trees, eating and drinking and laughing – relieved that the trip home is about twenty feet away and a dozen or so stairs. We always look forward to this annual event, and even more so this year, given our recent disappointments. The party, in fact, is slated for next Saturday.
Yesterday (this might seem like an aside but isn’t) was a busy and somewhat disheartening day. Despite the arrival of our fabulous new sofa and the expert grout cleaning/sealing job Mary has done on the kitchen floor, Saturday’s downtown violence in response to the G-20 Summit (or so goes the excuse) has been outrageous, horrific, and monumentally disappointing. I am ashamed to call myself a citizen of Toronto, and I uncharacteristically feel deeply for David Miller (and for this city that is soon going to give itself up entirely to mayoral bullying, which is another story, I know, but still makes my blood boil).
At some point during the day we also noticed that Mike and Stephan seemed to be hosting an afternoon gathering. We could smell the barbeque smoke, and heard the sounds of happy laughter coming over their backyard fence. Typically, we wouldn’t think twice about this, but the depression of the day and our pervasive disappointment in people we used to call friends left us feeling a little bit touchy.
“Wow,” I said. “I wish we had friends like they have. I bet they’re all over there ignoring the disgrace of this Summit and having a wonderful time. Can you hear them laughing?” (Okay, so these weren’t my exact words, but they were close enough.) “Does it ever hurt your feelings not to be included?”
“Yes, it does. Why don’t we go to the movies?”
“But why does it have to be this way? I know we’ve been invited to the annual party, and I know people have their own friends, but they sound like they’re having so much fun and we only live across the street.”
“Yes, that’s true. Life can be disappointing. Why don’t we go to the movies?”
“Yes, but wouldn’t it just be kinder if people knocked on your door and invited you to join them? I mean, we’re nice enough people. Or at least you are.”
Etc.
So go to the movies we did and had a darn good time (I even ate popcorn), telling ourselves that it really didn’t matter how things had turned out; that we are not only good but well-intended people, and that sometimes good and well-intended people are a) used as scapegoats, and b) not as interesting as rabble rousers. What this had to do with Mike and Stephan I do not know, but so goes the trail.
Late last night, then, on my way to bed, I, still a little bit mournful, checked my email – only one, somewhat subdued, from our neighbours and friends:
Hey JenniferMy eyes practically fell out of my head, popcorn bits flying from the crevices of my teeth as I sputtered down the hallway: “Mary! Mary! They didn’t forget us! We had our dates wrong! We missed the party! We missed the party! Can you believe that? Isn’t it funny? Oh wait – shit – we missed the party.”
We missed you at the party tonight...hope everything is ok.
lots of wine left for another bbq.
cheers
Mike and Stephan
We missed the party.
I know this is a long-winded entry and somewhat anti-climactic (at least to you, faithful readers), and if you are still with me I marvel at your patience. But I do want to say that I think it’s an important lesson or two that I’ve learned, and I think what I’ve learned bears repeating:
Hope springs eternal.
It is always darkest right before the dawn.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
These things happen.
The best predictor of future performance is past behaviour.
(Or, as we like to say in Germany…)
Wer zuletzt lacht, lacht am besten.
