Not particulary cheery, this message

Every morning, or almost every morning, I wake early, by 5 or before. Yesterday morning, no exception, but yesterday morning I heard my mother's voice call my name. It was so clear that I sat up and answered, "What?"

When I was fully awake and able to think, I knew I was scared. It scared the soup out of me, in fact. I do not want her to call me home. Not yet.

Such things have been on my mind since that Friday night, two weeks ago, when Kathy called to tell me our very dear and long-time friend Mary Ellen had died. It was a strange call, much later than Kathy knew, because I was still in Pennsylvania and we were up with the baby. And it was a sad message. 

Mary Ellen--Mame, as her husband and sisters called her--was a striking tall woman, who knew how to dress and who played tennis with friends as long as I knew her.  For so many years she cut my hair--yes I paid her--and for many more years than that we went to Petersons' house every New Year's Eve. They, Petersons, moved to Utah a couple of years ago. She was 75. Two years older than I.

Then Wednesday of this week Jackie told me Val Feller died. He of round trampoline sales and the little amusement place up on Canyon Hill, The Chalet, that never quite made a go of it, even with its miniature golf and go-carts. Val had served his mission in Switzerland and from then on loved all things Swiss. Don't know his age. Jackie said, "He was old, old for a long time." I'm not sure what that means.

Hard when your friends start to die.