- Chileans comforting one another
I was awoken at around 3 a.m. last Saturday by a call from my nephew, Adam. “There was an earthquake in Chile,” he said frantically. His parents (my sister and brother in law) were in Santiago for the start of a month-long cruise around South America. They had arrived in Chile that day.
“It’s all over the Internet. It was an 8.8,” Adam said, panic in his 32-year-old voice.
I ran to look at the itinerary Shelley and Rusty had studiously left with me to find their hotel name and number. I also started perusing all the stories I could find about the location of the quake in relation to Santiago. Details were sketchy and their were no TV reports. Not a single one.
After fumbling around to determine the city and country codes, I dialed the hotel. The phone range incessantly. Adam remained on the other end, mumbling about tsunamis. I kept reassuring him that everything was going to be fine.
“The power is obviously down,” I told Adam, “but I’ll keep trying.” I called and called. Finally, a man answered.
“Is everything OK?” I asked.
“We just got the power back on,” he said.
I gave him my sister’s name and asked if he could ring their room. Just as he repeated their names, the phone went dead.
Adam and I sent texts to each other for the next two hours, while we both kept up with half-baked news reports. When I heard on Fox that a 60-year old woman was killed, I morbidly thought it was Shelley. We had just celebrated her birthday. Our FOF minds work in mysterious ways.
I must have called the hotel 80 more times and continually reassured Adam that his father would call as soon as he could.
Finally, the call came. Rusty told his son they were fine and everyone at the small hotel (30 rooms) had banded together. “There was no panic,” he reported. “A loud, thunderous sound woke me, and the bed began to shake,” Shelley e-mailed. “I woke Rusty and he thought it was a major thunderstorm. I said it must be an earthquake (doesn’t every FOF sister just know what an earthquake feels like?) The horrendous loud noises, dogs barking in the street, lamps crashing to the floors, the bed moving, and car sirens blasting, were followed by an eerie silence for about a minute. The earthquake lasted about 90 seconds.”
Shelley also said her bed “hasn’t moved like that for the past 30 years.” Isn’t it just like a FOF woman to pick herself up, dust herself off and find the humor, even when the earth is moving beneath her?
Isn’t it a shame there’s usually someone in the crowd who’s guilty of at least one of the following:
She’s never pleased, no matter how much you do for her or how hard you work to make her happy?
She demands your attention, even if you are obviously preoccupied with 200 other things?
She steers the conversation to herself every single time?
She pooh-poohs everyone else’s ideas, but never has any of her own?
She hasn’t learned how to say thank you?
She doesn’t laugh?
She doesn’t laugh at herself?
She lacks empathy?
She can’t give sympathy?
She thinks that her fave restaurants/books/clothes/beauty secrets/ perfumes/are better than anybody else’s?
Are you ever that someone? I know I’ve been. But now that I’m FOF, I recognize when one of these traits rears its ugly head. And I make every effort to stop, right then and there.
Evelyn (right) with Rebecca (center) and another friend (not Lynn) in a photo taken when Evelyn was 86!
I met two FOF women this weekend whom I absolutely adored. Evelyn is 87, looks and thinks twenty years younger, and exudes charm. Twice widowed, she gave up her interior design career when her second husband tired of her business phone calls and incessant worrying about clients. He wanted to travel with her. She’s sorry she listened. She doesn’t have him, or a career.
She’s active in fundraising, travels with her best friend, Rebecca,to places like India–where she has sat atop an elephant–and often attends lectures, the theatre and ballet.
Lynn, a former advertising copywriter with some of the most glamorous agencies during the 60s and 70s, is no nonsense and direct, kind of like I am. “How are you going to make money with your website?” she questioned, after I told her about FOF.
When I asked if she was divorced or her husband had died, she responded in an instant, “No, but he should have.”
The spirit and individualism of FOF women are remarkable and never stop exciting me.
How cool is this: A FOF woman going to a jazz club at 11 pm in New York City with her really cool about-to-be-20- year old nephew.
That’s me. I’ve been learning about jazz from Max, who plays the sax and guitar and occasionally comes into the city from his university to hear groups he loves. How lucky am I to have a nephew who A.) isn’t completely embarrassed to be with me and B.) Is so passionate about jazz, not to mention all-things Chinese, that it rubs off on me whenever I’m with him.
I wanted to take Esperanza home with me
We were at the famous Village Vanguard last night, where I learned what an aulochrome is, was captivated by sensational Esperanza Spaulding, and listened to the titillating sounds of Joe Lovano’s “Us 5.”
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