It was Judith’s friend Marguerite who designated our occasional Friday evening get-togethers as a salon. It couldn’t be more fitting. Judith is the solonierre. Sometimes other people join us, and everyone is welcome. Okay, I take that back. Not everyone is welcome.
It’s like this is the place where we debate our similar but not-quite identical opinions, in a place where it’s safe to do so. This is where we say to each other, what in the hell is wrong with the Democrats? (Which we all are.) We debate it in the spirit of, Where are we going wrong? Therefore, no Republicans or conservatives are allowed, because we aren’t into being bashed.
Speaking of bashing, we are all women of a certain age, as they say. We have issues. But those issues are not with men; there is no male-bashing during our salons. We are women who get together and talk about almost everything but we don’t talk much about men (much). Marguerite is married, Judith is many times divorced, I’m single (okay, technically, divorced but I don’t look at it that way).
We talk about what we read. What we’ve been thinking about. What we heard on NPR (nobody listens to it but me), what’s on the New York Times or the Huffington Post. Why we hate broccoli. The things we like about dogs and/or cats. I spent half the evening on the deck, sheltering Judith’s sister’s Chihuahua under my jacket from the “cold” (65 degrees or so). You are wrong!, said Marguerite. You are rewarding this dog who just jumped up on the table and tried to eat our ham! I think she walked on our plates! Oh well, lol. She is a dog. Who weighs 3 pounds. She is shivering. I think I’ll get over it.
What is important, what is not? When you sit on Judith’s back deck, and there is a three-quarter moon, and the stars are peeking through the oak limbs, and the bullfrogs on the pond behind her house are having a record singing season (is it mating time?) and you have a little bite-sized dog clinging to you for warmth, how does it get better than that?