Ada Alden Ed.D.

According to John Welwood, an intimate relationship has become the new wilderness that brings us face to face with our gods and demons.

My elderly aunt and uncle have few pleasures in their waning years. They eat out every Thursday and have for over 40 years cherished playing bridge with another couple. The foursome have been through many transitions and managed to keep dealing the cards and keeping score ---until the cat died. Granted this was no ordinary cat and did rule my aunt and uncle. The cat was called CAT and her routines were sacred. The cat's death left their small home quiet and their daily things-to-do list in disarray. The 40 year friends came one evening to play bridge as always and with a replacement cat. My uncle was livid. He yelled, stomped and asked his friends to leave immediately and take the cat. That was months ago. Now my uncle says there will be no more bridge. There are no more visits. The relationship has been severed. Although conversations were enjoyed for 40 years, now there are no words to reconnect. They are unable to get over the wall that suddenly appeared redefining friends as antagonistic strangers.

I have a wooden bowl like that. I have had it for 39 years. It was made in Norway and it was supposed to last a lifetime. Suddenly, there is a crack in the side. Where did that come from? I never put it in the dish washer, rolled it down the hall, or tossed it off the porch. Suddenly - it is cracked and no longer safe for food. I thought I could count on that being a forever bowl.

I know people who are afraid to tell friends or relatives that a gift received really wasn't what they wanted. For years they keep stuff because saying. "Thank you for thinking of me, but this isn't something I will use" is too difficult. There is hesitancy in being authentic. There seems to be confusion about giving a gift that is meaningful. Would the gift giving be easier, if both parties knew that a conversation would be possible? I owned boxes of Avon because I was afraid to tell my stepmother I didn't want it. I never used it. I never threw it out. I just squirreled it away in a dark corner. I never did develop a trusting relationship with her. I wonder if the Avon got in the way? I know a woman who received a pillow she disliked. She scurries around putting it on a couch when the gift givers show up. The pillow is tossed in the back closet when the gift givers go home.

A woman, who had been my friend for years, with whom I had played a thousand sets of tennis, got furious with me because I went into a theater when she was late for the movie. I sent her a card seeking forgiveness. She mailed it back unopened in a brown envelope. Our friendship could not survive a movie ticket. I think being human takes diligent practice. Becoming and being friends, be it with family members or others, can be a mine field. I ache for my uncle and aunt. I still have my bowl. I can't toss it. I still think about my friend every time I pass a tennis court.

Oh the comfort, the inexplicable comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them right out, just as they are. --Dina Maria Mulock Craik, English poet.