In April my long time friend Carolyn drove from California north to Playa retreat in Summerlake, Oregon. I drove south to same from Salem and we spent five wonderful days, talking, laughing, working in the studio there.
It was quiet…only two other people there and we rarely saw them. It was beautiful. Birdsong all day.
Carolyn’s a painter. We met in 7th grade art class…which was a long time ago, a whole world ago. Our conversations now span some 65+ years and many shared studio weeks, so you might think we’d said it all, but no. After coffee and morning chat we went to the studio and dived in to work…and as I thought my way through the tangle of process and idea and “forward motion” I realized there were several topics that I wanted to ask to her about…to get deeper into how she’d felt at certain times, what really happened, how did she feel now? Concurrently I was reading a book from the Playa library on the native land we were on, it was Paiute land. Who were these people who lost their beautiful land. What were their symbols…their origin story? I found this image on line of some Paiute women of southern Oregon…the book I was reading had some symbols.
So working and talking started…a painting of mine had to be discarded, then some new things began that I worked on while I asked her questions,and listened to the “before” stories unfold…things I hadn’t thought to ask at the time out of politeness or some other hesitancy. Age allows you more conversational latitude, I’ve discovered. And she asked me. We talked about dying, about addiction, about mental illness, about our parents (and how lucky we are to both have known the other’s parents) and our siblings, our relationships and what they brought us and what they took from us. It was a remarkable few days for me, for us both. She put up a long piece of black paper…and we started another “conversation”…this one with no words at all…only marks. And at workday’s end we returned to our little house and made dinner together and sat at a small table, and talked some more. By week’s end we were exhausted, without masterpieces, but with an even deeper appreciation for this connection we have. She took home the giant cooperative drawing because she has a giant studio to hang it in…and I have a tiny tiny studio. Saying goodbye is always hard for us. Then, off we went. Keep in touch with your loved ones.
On The Way 
i love that our delving into ourselves and each other came about on this stay, so much went deeper, so much to continue to say and ask and savor. i love you so much, bon
I love you Carolyn…and that so much was said in the studio…that’s us. Xo
Dear Bonnie: Aaah, the blessings of long-term friends.
Here I am, sixty-five years back East, where I’ve befriended all sorts of beloved friends from all over the world (including Heather, an Inuit, who’s coming for brunch on Sunday with her Malaysian husband). Yet the “heart of my hearts” (as Nana would say) are still Jan, who grew up in northern Idaho about five miles from my house), and Clarice, whom I met in 8th grade at Sacajawea Junior High School in Spokane.
I also keep in touch with Carol Brandon, my best friend growing up in silverton; she moved when we were in 7th grade and I have not seen her since. Still, we write each other often, occasionally talk on Zoom, and last week, at an all-school reunion in Wallace, she met Jennifer.
Jeff met his best friend, Frank, when as 23-year-olds they were both—and are you ready for this?—bill-collectors in Brooklyn. Both went on to be phenomenal human beings. For the last 40 years Frank has lived in Davis, California, but the two manage to meet at least twice a year.
Here’s to Old Friends!
Lisa