Yesterday, I got to talk with an old friend.

I used to see Cheryl almost every day. But for the last several years, we have seen each other once a year, at most. She’s going to direct my show, so we’ll be working together again. We had coffee and soup on a very cold day, and I had this strange feeling I had slipped back in time. I didn’t need to explain a thing, talking to this old friend. I knew her and she knew me, and I lost track of the number of times we finished each other’s thoughts.

“If we can’t find a chair that looks good ...” I began.

“You could bring a throw to toss over it,” she finished.

“Exactly,” I said.

We did that all afternoon.

This is also the week my editor, Patty, is retiring. Patty has been editing my columns for most of the time I’ve been writing The Postscript. She’s repaired my fractured sentences and added literally thousands of missing commas to my writing, as she has for writers for the last 44 years, and if anyone deserves a restful retirement from all that bad punctuation, it is her.

But I can’t imagine not talking with my friend Patty every week because -- although I’m sure she is one of the best editors in the business -- that is not what makes her really special. What makes her special is that every week she says something nice about my column. There is no need for her to do this, but it means the world to me. She does this every single week, and I will miss her terribly.

But I somehow feel that Patty will remain in my life, just as Cheryl drifted away for a bit and circled back. The people who are meant to be in my life have a way of staying there, in some form or another, sometimes taking a step back to make room for the new friends in my life.

And sometimes friendships end. I had a friend who ghosted me years ago. She did it three times and, finally, I decided I would stop reaching out to her except on her birthday. One year, on her birthday, she responded. She said she was sorry she had ghosted me. She said she had a lot going on in her life that made her anxious and insecure, and this was how she dealt with it.

I’ve learned that almost always, when people do something that hurts me, it has much more to do with their own hurts than me. And those hurts were usually there long before I met them. We had a good time, while we were friends, and the memory of her leaving is forgotten, replaced by memories of the lunches and laughter we shared.

Relationships change. One thing leads to another and, before I know it, I’m spending my time with new people, talking to new friends, without realizing how much has changed. I’ve met a couple of people in the last few months that I suspect (and hope!) will be friends in the future. And I know, as I grow older, keeping in touch with old friends and making new ones is important.

My grandmother lived to be 100 and outlived all her old friends. So she made new old friends. By the time she passed, many of her friends were closer in age to her children than to her, but she always seemed to have someone to talk to. And that is what matters.

We all need someone to talk to.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION

I don't normally tackle controversial issues, but today I'm going out on a limb.

Baths are better than showers.

I don't care what my husband, Peter, or my mother and father have to say on the subject. I don't care about those people who take samples of bathwater and look at them under microscopes and tell you that you are bathing in miniscule amounts of dirt and microorganisms. They are all wrong, and I will tell you how I know.

I looked at my ankles.

When Peter and I stay in Mexico, I do not have a bathtub. I will admit, when the sun is shining and we are eating outside in February surrounded by the friendly staff at our hotel, I am not exactly hankering to get back to the gloom of the Midwest. I can go for days without being under a cloud, wearing shorts and sandals and eating fresh avocados every day. If it wasn't for missing my family, I'd be happy just to stay, and I can't honestly say I would miss much -- except for my bathtub.

I love a hot bath. And baths are better. I have proof. The proof is on my ankles.

When I get home after a long stay in Mexico, I sit in the bathtub and give myself a good scrub, and the things that need scrubbing the most are my ankles. It would be only a slight exaggeration to say that they are filthy. And this is no surprise.

Anyone who has tried to properly scrub their ankles while standing in a shower should save their skills and become a yoga instructor. Or a stork. It is not physically possible. There are creative ways to get one's feet clean, but the ankles suffer in a shower. And before anyone tells me it doesn't matter because ankles are covered by socks, I'd like to point out that this could apply to a lot of other body parts. It's a slippery slope. If we're going to be OK with dirty ankles, what's next?

Baths are also much more relaxing. I don't have to be worried about how much water is running down the drain while I wash. I can be concerned about the environment and the cleanliness of my ankles and my need to relax all at the same time. I can simply lie still in hot water and enjoy the sensation of nothing to do (other than wash my ankles, of course) and breathe in steamy air. It is the perfect way to relax after a long day. I get out of the bathtub, and I am never cold or rushed or bothered by the microscopic organisms I hear are rumored to be clinging to me. I am at peace. I have never felt truly peaceful getting out of a shower. (But then, how could I with dirty ankles?)

I realize I will not win this debate. There are houses that don't even have bathtubs these days. I hear people say they are dangerous and take up space and no one has the time.

My feeling is that, if I run out of time for a hot bath, I need to reorder my schedule. I will always have time for a hot bath. I will have time on good days and bad. I will have time when I'm actually dirty and on days when I just need to feel warm and relaxed. I take a bath and feel as if I get out ready for a new beginning, each and every time.

And I have remarkably clean ankles.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION

It's been a big year for our cat, Felix.

Sometime in late 2023, Felix was scooped up off the street in Mexico by a teenager and brought to the home of her mother and aunt. I'm not sure how he was received when he arrived. They already had 11 dogs, at least a couple of cats and several birds. They gave him food and a home, and I imagine the teenager, Daniela, thought that the fostering arrangement would eventually become permanent.

But that's not what happened.

Daniela's aunt, Marcela, works at the environmental preserve where my husband, Peter, hikes every day, and one day he asked her, "Do you have a cat or a kitten looking for a home?"

Probably, the way Peter asked was a little less elegant, because Peter does not speak Spanish. But she did -- have a cat, that is. She still had the cat her niece, Daniela, had brought home two months earlier.

Daniela and Marcela and Daniela's mother all came over in a taxicab with Felix to our little apartment and we met him, who I expected would be terrified in a new place with new people.

But Felix was not afraid. He sprawled across the couch and looked at all these people looking at him and seemed to feel he was right where he belonged. And so he came to live with us in February. Daniela came again when they dropped Felix off, and we could tell she was sad. But we promised to send pictures and take good care of him, and we have done both.

And Felix seems to love his new life.

Instead of sharing a house with several cats and a rotating cast of dogs and birds, he is the only nonhuman in our house. He plays games with Peter and gets snacks several times a day. He talks a lot and has two people who listen to whatever he has to say, even if it is just his regular announcement of when he is going to have a bowel movement -- which I'm sure is newsworthy as far as he is concerned.

"Meow! Meow!" he announces, before and after the big event.

"That's wonderful," I assure him. "Well done!" (I seriously doubt he would have had this quality of attention competing with 11 dogs.)

Today, we are "up north" visiting my parents, and Felix is with us. Katie, my parents' cat, does not care for Felix at all. Katie is annoyed with the casual nonchalance Felix exhibits wherever he is -- the sense that he owns whatever home he is in and deserves whatever treats come his way.

Felix plays with Katie's toys, sleeps in her bed and eats up whatever snacks she may have left in her bowl. He watches the gray squirrels outside and sleeps on my mother's chair every time she carelessly vacates it. Felix is very much at home.

And it is good to be at home with Felix -- wherever he is. I think he has lessons to teach me -- as all animals do.

He has shown me that where we start may have very little to do with where we end up. He has shown me that it's possible to feel comfortable and enjoy even the most radical change in circumstances. He has shown me that life is full of surprises and it's the way we react that usually determines how good or bad this change might be.

And he's shown me that everything can be enjoyable, if viewed from the right perspective. Even if it's just a trip to the bathroom.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION