Friends + Alka Joshi w Zara Raheem + J. J. Arcanian’s 3 Illusions

Yesterday I phoned a dear friend — alas, he’s in the hospital, recovering from a stroke! I really hope he takes it seriously, cleans up his eating and so forth. But since I know zilch about how he cares for his wellbeing, and less about how anyone besides myself should, my sadness and worry are sincere, but that other stuff is plain selfish. Some sort of health-oriented fundamentalism in me, or call it desperation, wants a one-size-fits-all lifestyle solution. How great it would be if any of the body/mind/spirit potions and scourings advertised everywhere could truly rescue us from what often amounts to ‘sh#t happens.’ I could blather forever about all the cause/effect wisdom-ettes I’ve gathered along my mortal journey, but they all boil down to arguable guesses.

Is it okay to call him my dear friend even though we’ve been out of touch for decades? For sure, he is dear. Unless life deals me with the ‘sh#t happens’ of dementia, I’ll always appreciate the many ways he was kind to me when we were friend-er friends.

When I broke up with a long-time boyfriend, who met him in grade-school, I was too old to be as simple-minded as I dangerously was about dating. Thank goodness my friend helped shield me from some of the borderline stalkers I encountered. Also, he didn’t complain when said boyfriend and I barged in on him over several days of Christmas. We gave no thought to how harsh his work season was and that he cared nothing about Christmas. Still, over that holiday, he…