Like That Sugar Bowl

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In the course of our 30-year friendship, Donna and I usually spent time together in ways that involved bicycles and babies, but formidable geographic distance came between us early on. Those babies grew up rather quickly, and our visits lately have been few and far between.

When we discovered that we'd both be in Orange County last week, we decided to at least have coffee together, and we chose a setting purely on the basis of convenience: an early-in-the-morning mall. Most of the stores were still closed.

I like malls (and cities) early in the morning when everything is still sort of sleepy and quiet. The shops are locked and dimly lit, maybe someone's dusting or pushing a broom, aromas of coffee and pastry prevail.

This one happens to be a particularly high end mall: I peer into the windows at opulent displays, posh designer clothing, blank-faced mannequins that only evoke alienation and loneliness to me.

And oh, it feels so good to see my old familiar friend! Even in this odd context and the un-cheerful circumstances that we are each confronting in our separate lives Donna, in her casual jeans and sandals, has an easy, Saturday morning aura about her. We're instantly in sync.  

Donna and her husband Mike are making some big life adjustments, looking for a place to rent, figuring out dynamics and how to make it work, feeling new and unsteady all over again. We were all living in Orange County when we first met, but that was so long ago...and it comes as a surprise that we will likely reconvene here now on a regular basis, older versions of ourselves, as changed as the hills and neighborhoods where we once rode our bicycles. 

When the stores open, we look at home furnishings and beautiful objects, blinking at the prices. I almost buy a sofa pillowcase with a tapestry-like pattern in colors perfect for the rug in our living room, but it feels pretty optional, and I'm not in a shopping mood. We look at shoes and buy some candy and walk the perimeter of every level.

But Donna has a flight in the afternoon and I need to get back to Santa Ana to see how my mother is doing before the drive back home, and we knew this would be a quick touch-base kind of visit.  

 I have come bearing a gift: an old-fashioned china sugar bowl that I found for Donna in a thrift shop. It has an ornate border of blue flowers and it's made in Bavaria, very pretty indeed.  

I was remembering Donna's thrift store quests for sugar bowls, glasses, and butter dishes when it caught my eye, so I bought it for her. I realize now that I could have hardly found a less appropriate present. Not only is Donna traveling, but she is trying to lighten up in general, getting rid of stuff rather than acquiring, and she has decided that her aesthetic in the new place will be minimalist and modern. Adjectives like airy, spare, clean, and functional come up, anything the opposite of clutter and fuss.

"It's okay," says Donna graciously. "This one sugar bowl will be nice." 

And I think how funny it is that every phase of life is like its own adolescence, requiring new adjustments and adaptations, prompting questions, decisions, and resolve, forcing growth and hard learning.

Even when you thought it might finally be time to just settle in and relax, there's another great upheaval. Something will be lost, or something changes.  

But a few sweet things are constant, and I'm thankful for that. May the sugar bowl serve as reminder.