While my life is clearly not well-heeled, it features one priceless
element: friends. Midday Monday I drove up to Madison, WI and met my college
roommate for lunch.
Though she lives in New York and travels around the country
selling wine, when she lands nearby—Madison or Coralville—she always invites me
to drive there, spend the night in a posh hotel and eat nouveau cuisine in a
trendy restaurants, where often her high end ($50 a btl) wine is served.
Which I enjoy immensely, but not nearly as much as our talk.
This year what with the “Spy” Project and the death of my funny Valentine, Pat
Kurt, I have boodles to share.
The special part of all this, however, is that there so much
I don’t have to tell her, so much she already knows about then—the continuum of
my life.
Sometimes I feel sad for young people. By the number of
their years they don’t have old friends. And this is wonderful week. Having
seen my college roommate on Monday, next week I will see another of my old best buds from the
70s when we were Denver roommates.
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