Remembering Margaret

Every Sunday I look at the calendar on my desk where I note things I have to do that week. Then I look ahead to upcoming events. We’ll be going to the Frontiers of Flight Museum on the 17th, and Lois will come for dinner and to go the matinee of “Man of La Mancha” on the 21st.

This month marks several birthdays. I got out the box of birthday cards and addressed three, one to my son Karl, who will be 56 on November 22. I’ve only had one telephone call from Karl since he moved to Arkansas five years ago. But I keep hoping. His brother David is coming from California for Thanksgiving. That will be the high light of the month.

Their father’s birthday was November 11; that’s one I want to forget.

Two of the cards are to friends I’ve known since we were in college more than 60 years ago. Marjorie Lewis and Norma Miller both live in Fort Worth. I have not seen them since the party on my 80th birthday last year. Another college friend was Margaret Cinque, whose birthday was the 7th. She and her husband, Jack, planned a special trip from Houston to come to my party when she died suddenly the week before.

I written blogs about the great hosts the Cinques were when I descended on them in London in 1980. You’d think they would have had enough of me after those two weeks! But they treated me as if I was doing them an honor by welcoming me into their home and letting them take me to fine restaurants, to the theater, and to day trips in the English countryside.

Margaret was a true friend from the time we were classmates at Texas Woman’s College. On my first paid vacation I went to Houston and stayed with Margaret at the YWCA. Neither of us had any money. I was an underpaid reporter at the Fort Worth Press, and she worked for pittance at Foley’s Department Store. We had such a good time.

Margaret was a little woman who kept her light-colored hair in a bouffant long after it went out of fashion. Margaret was not one to worry about style. She went all over the World carrying an enormous purse shaped like a big green fish. It held a lot of stuff, and she thought it was fun.

Margaret liked to do things – eat delicious meals, go to concerts and theater, and especially art museums. (She’d been an art major in college.) Jack also enjoyed these enthusiasms, but if he was busy, she would share them with someone else.

After London the Cinques lived in New York and California before moving back to Texas. They invited me to visit them each time there was a special exhibit at the Houston Art Museum. I flew to Houston and enjoyed their hospitality every time.

When my nephew Rusty was to be married in Houston, I flew in from Albuquerque. Jack met me at the airport. They took me out to dinner and, once again, treated me like I was a visiting duchess. There was no way I could repay them for their generosity. They seemed to enjoy giving me pleasure.

Always cheerful, Margaret looked kindly on everyone. She supported her kind thoughts with actions. I always felt good when I was with her. How could I not love someone who treated me as if it was a joy to know me? She was a dear person, a true friend.

I’m getting old. Getting old? I AM old. My brain is stuffed with memories. I try to forget the bad times and remember my blessings. I had many good times, thanks to my friend Margaret.