It was too heavy to carry the book I bought them at the Newberry Library book fair last week to their going-away party at Blackie's tonight--a party complete with sliders, spinach salad and renewed wedding vows. It's a book of old pictures of, and great text about Brooklyn. Instead, I just came back from leaving it in front of their door, a couple of hours since the party ended earlier this evening. The lights in their family room were off already and I didn't want to ring the bell and disturb them. I doubt anyone in the South Loop will care about an old book about Brooklyn--so I think it will be safe until morning when my friends Jan Huttner and Richard Miller pick it up at their doorstep.
Readers know
I don't like it when South Loopers leave the South Loop
for anywhere else. And I'm not thrilled that Rich got a dream job at the
medical college in Brooklyn and leaving they are. But I do like the fact that they have already become
friends with my cousin--a dedicated Brooklynite--who will be showing them the ropes and who shares my blood and will serve as a surrogate for me in their lives.
Jan--a film critic and film scholar--and I met many years back when I was the long-time treasurer of the
Association for Women Journalists. She called me one day, stating that she noticed the address on her dues bill was just on the other side of the Roosevelt Road viaduct from her own home, and why didn't we just meet for coffee
at Starbucks and she would give me a dues check at the same time. It was a good idea. I liked that she was reaching out and wanted to make a new friend.
And friends we've been. We've
won awards together. And we've supported each other's causes (like
this and
this). We've discussed films, watched films and loaned each other films. I've attended her many film gatherings where I could see the best of the best in the country (in fact, the world) and meet prominent filmmakers. She
brought them into her sphere and shared them with her friends. And it was all so heady: Hollywood and Sundance rolled into one.
When her mother passed away, she invited just a few friends for a service and a lunch and I was very proud that she invited me and my daughter Molly to be among her innermost circle of friends. We were soul mates but we never seemed to have the time to get together as much as we should have. But we read each other's
blogs and
columns, congratulated each other on our successes and commiserated with each other when we had disappointments.
I will have a lump in my throat when I pass her empty cream-colored townhouse on the other side of the viaduct this fall. When the cold winds start to whip up, so will my sadness.
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