April 22, 2006
I keep forgetting, O Best Beloveds, when I write these things, to ask a favor, and now I have two. The first is because my excellent friend Janet is currently going through treatment for ovarian cancer, a treatment that makes breast cancer chemo look like eating couchon de lait sandwiches while being fanned by the Armani-clad sex object of your choice, who also fetches you chocolate and reassures you that you are pretty when hairless. Janet has proven herself one tough Cancer Chick–her very first night out after shaving her head, despite a resolution to go through her follicle-ly deprived months in an assortment of wigs–she ended up doffing said wig and sailing proudly and baldly through the night with a radiant demeanor I could never come close to replicating. She rocks. Nonetheless, if you could, occasionally, send some of that healing energy you are sending my way to her, I would be most grateful.
Then there is this. Some time ago, I now can’t recall if it was during Cancer: The Beginning, or Cancer: The Return (as opposed to this round: Cancer: The Extended Dance Remix), my friend Arlene introduced me to a glamorous older woman, Dolly, a fellow Smith alum (as Arlene proudly is), a Carrie Donovan type in her big round glasses and bobbed styled hair, a woman of independance means and mind, a woman who made aging look desirable. She insisted on joining the Merrie Maladies list, and sent me beauty tips (she worked in make up for many years) and generous loving support. We should all be so lucky to have a Dolly and, one day, be a Dolly. Arlene and the rest of us lost Dolly this past Thursday. If you would, spare a thought for them both. I’m sure Dolly is fine, but that doesn’t mean those who are now without her are, and that’s the nicest, best legacy anyone could hope for. That, and to grow up and old like she did.
Here’s to friends, past and present,