11/365 Joanne

Joanne is my youngest stepdaughter. When I heard she passed 40, I didn’t want to believe it. To me she will always be 11, sitting on my lap in the speedboat, her long strawberry blonde hair flying in the sun.

10/365 The Famous Poet

I didn’t know the Famous Poet was famous at first. I just knew he was looking. I had no reason to look, even when he looked at me. But language can be so very seductive….especially when it makes us laugh.

9/365 Mary Rose

With a smile as genuine as her hard-working hands, Mary Rose serves my straight-up martinis without spilling a drop. We talk quietly about life, love, worry…children who grow up, men who don’t. We hug, and she thanks me for asking.

8/365 Marcia

When I told Marcia I was happily pregnant, she said, “Be careful. You could still have a miscarriage.” Then she said, “Or maybe you’re not pregnant at all. Maybe you failed to get your period because of a medical problem.”

7/365 Peggy

Cousin Peggy was married to Felix. She was his opposite: industrious, kind, loving—even to him. She took in boarders to support them. He gave her no children. Several of her lovely hooked and braided wool rugs grace my home.

6/365 Alan

When Alan, my first boyfriend, heard I was engaged, he pushed his way to me at the bar and said a little too loudly, “Well, are you glad you waited for marriage?” I replied, “What makes you think I waited?”

5/365 Emilie

When cataracts forced Emilie to stop driving, she hitchhiked to and from work. She was 83. Around the same time she gave up everything unpleasant. Her daughters-in-law cleaned her house occasionally. Now she’s my role model for the next life.

4/365 Felix

Felix spoke French, and that entitled him—in his mind—to do nothing productive for the duration of his life. While others worked, Felix sat with cigarette and wine and passed judgment. He viewed my adolescent awkwardness with complete distain.

3/365 Ray

Ray was a handsome med student, drove an XKE, and was engaged. He suggested we start having sex. When I suggested his fiancée might be a more appropriate partner, he said, “Oh, no—I would never do that to her.”

2/365 Ann

Ann and I were best friends in Manhattan. We worked together, spent every lunch together, shared every thought. One morning I stopped at her apartment on the way to work, surprising her. She asked me never to do that again.

1/365 Dorothy

When her first boyfriend was 80, he still blessed his fortune in having known her. She had perfect coordination and perfect beauty. Affectionate, funny, and brilliant, she was creative in everything she did. For nine years she was my Mommy.