On the drive back from Monterey, I left drizzling rain for half the drive and headed north into puffy white clouds and blue sky. Cumulus clouds, Iowa clouds.
I got home at 1:30 and knew it would be a Bridges kind of evening. Bridges is the local watering hole with outdoor seating, cheap eats, happy hour all night, and live music. I put out a group text.
Who wants to meet at Bridges tonight?
By 3:00 I had two definitely replies and two maybes. That was good enough for me.
I walked the nutty dogs, then ate half a salad (Dang! I’d left my last ripe avocado in Monterey), ran to Costco to get my sis two fresh bouquets of carnations and me a stainless steel kitchen garbage can. Then I went to see Sis in her board and care, made four phone calls about getting her a hospital bed since Hospice was going to take back theirs, watched part of Ellen, read her the newspaper, fed her a piece of cake, and headed home to feed the dogs and put away the groceries.
By the time I got to Bridges, it was 5:30. I walked the whole place, inside and out. No girlfriends. So I grabbed a good table for four in a corner and sat down to wait.
I knew someone would show up. Ten minutes later, the two sisters arrived. Then a surprise visitor – a friend who had moved to Tiburon and had just moved back. She saw us and came over to join us. Then two more friends came and at last a final surprise addition. Our little table for four had seven women around it – a widow, a married woman with a husband in a nursing home, and five of us divorced — one cohabitating with the bf, and another on the verge of moving in with her bf.
Lots of conversations were going on, as usual. I heard laughter on my right as five of us had a more serious discussion. At one point, the married woman said to the woman regretting her cohabitation, “Unless he adds to your life, who needs it?”
At that point, I raised my glass of water and said, “To the Who Needs It Club!”
Everyone laughed and clinked their glasses of wine, water, or margaritas.
The woman from Marin County said her good-byes, and we all wished her well in her pursuit to end the cohabitation. It was complicated. She said she was exhausted. It had only been eight months.
The women at the table ranged in age from early sixties to mid seventies. Everybody looked good, three blondes, two redheads, two with darker hair, painted toenails in sandals on four of them (one had blue!), everyone in Bridges attire (nice jeans, pretty tops, leather jackets), and everyone happy to have a table of girlfriends to discuss their issues and announce their happy events.
Or unhappy events. I am so glad the Tiburon woman stumbled upon our table. She needed her girlfriends.
She needed to vent.