I ran into my friend, Ron, this morning. I had dropped Edwin at the Alexandria train station for a day trip to Charlottesville to visit friends and had a free hour before an appointment, so I went to Misha’s Coffee Shop in Old Town. Whenever I’m there, I look for my high school friend, Andrea, who is co-owner, but no luck today. However, I ran into her dad, Ron, who had stopped in for his Tuesday morning pastry pickup, so we sat down and caught up.
He and his wife have pretty much been family since my senior year in high school. They stepped in when my older sister died suddenly when I was in Jamaica with Andrea for spring break. They arranged our emergency journey home and stepped in to alleviate the ensuing chaos swirling around our grieving family, which included my three-year-old niece, who was bewildered by her mother’s absence.
They were there at our prom, taking pictures of us with our dates and lending us their red Kharmann Ghia (license plate “Sugar Mag”). Ron made homemade pizza every Friday night, and they hosted my boyfriend’s punk band in their basement before we left for college. They hosted my bridal shower; Ron wore a tux and passed out hors d’oeuvres on a silver tray as Paula poured champagne cocktails.
Paula began an annual tradition of taking my niece, Natalie, to dinner and the ballet at the Kennedy Center on their shared birthday. They delivered birthday and Christmas gift bags every year for all of us without fail until they retired and needed to be more frugal. More than half of our Christmas tree ornaments are from them; elegant champagne bottles marking every New Year’s, official White House ornaments, and glass ballet dancers hang alongside Maxine and Edwin’s preschool laminated handprints.
As we sat at the table in Misha’s, I realized we were being watched when Ron pointed to the backseat of his car that was parked out front. There was their pampered little baby, Brandy, staring right at us. Brandy is their cocker spaniel and the fourth one they’ve had since I’ve known them. First they had Jude. When Jude passed, they got Jojo, then Lady, and now Brandy. The passage of time is funny; it can be measured in minutes, years, decades, and in cocker spaniels. I’ve known and loved them and been loved by them for four cocker spaniels. That’s a good chunk of time.
My Corner of the Village 