“Wish You Were Here”

by Ann Winters

I’ve always thought of myself as someone who could dash off a few appropriate lines, as the subject required, or at least summon a quip or quote. However, I recently hit a stone wall when it came time to write a birthday card message for a dear friend of many years on the occasion of his 70th birthday.

It was especially important to me to convey a range of emotions, since after more than 40 years of living in close proximity, this friend, Doug, has moved two states away. We stay in touch, of course, but what Zoom, email, phone calls, and all things technological can provide does not take the place of face-to-face moments in time—moments rich in shared history. This is a man I long ago dubbed “a prince of a fellow” and hold in such high regard that I refer to another man I know with the same first name as “The Lesser Doug”—and believe me, it’s true!

About that card—I couldn’t quite determine the right note to hit. Humor? Nostalgia? Love? What do you say to someone with whom you’ve shared the best and worst that life holds in store? “Friends are the siblings God never gave us,” said the Chinese philosopher Mencius—a thought especially resonant for someone like me, an only child. And, of course, Shakespeare never fails: “But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored, and sorrows end.”

However, this sent me off in a somber direction, since the 30th Sonnet, referenced above, also contains the line: “Precious friends hid in death’s dateless night.”

In recent years, I’ve lost friends from my youth before their allotted “three score and ten”—like David, whose high school jock exterior concealed not only a thirst for knowledge but also a generous spirit. Even if he did badger me into reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy—yes, I know it’s beloved, but I can get along just fine without Hobbits. And most recently, dynamic, vivacious Venus lost a battle she had chosen not to fight.

As always, when faced with such losses, you tend to think that you didn’t hold up your end of the friendship—didn’t make enough effort. But really, the thought behind that is the longing to turn back time. The flip side of that wish: through the wonders of social media, it’s possible to find old friends (or be found) from high school and even earlier. Often, those online “Whatever happened to…” searches yield happy or entertaining results. One interesting discovery I’ve made is that the people I can’t exactly place often remember all sorts of details about me—and vice versa—which is vaguely insulting.

Speaking of life on the Internet: several years ago, I somehow “bumped into” a young Indian woman on Facebook who was describing various culinary uses for mustard oil. We started chatting and discovered a shared love of literature. Mickey mentioned taking online classes at Oxford; I was thrilled by the opportunity and signed up for a Shakespeare course. Through additional courses, I “met” other people with whom I developed what can only be called friendships—one of which I consider quite close.

Sometimes it seems odd to care so deeply about someone whose voice I’ve never heard and with whom I don’t even share a continent. But then I remind myself that, in the days when written correspondence wasn’t confined to the pages of Jane Austen, friendship could blossom through the personality and character revealed by pen put to paper. And this circles back to “Wish you were here”—the cliché of choice for decades when one was stumped about what envy-inducing observations to jot on postcards to those unfortunate souls stuck back home.

Recently, Doug sent me an email with that phrase in the subject line. (The message itself was audio: frogs croaking merrily away. I’m a longtime frogo-phile, and frogs often make friends think of me—this is more flattering than it sounds!). Doug’s choice of subject made me not only wish I were “there” as well, but also prompted me to ponder all the implications behind that seemingly benign phrase.

This wasn’t getting me beyond “Dear Doug” for what to write in that card. I use a few online greeting card services, and one offers AI to write a card for you–just fill in what the person likes, the tone you want, and the occasion (age optional). I gave an encouraging pool-playing (he got a pool table for his birthday) 70th birthday a try:

• Wishing you a day filled with joy and laughter as you celebrate your 70th birthday!
• Like in pool, may you always aim true—toward your dreams, your joys, and the next perfect shot.
• Keep shining and savoring every moment, both on and off the table.
• Here’s to another year of great games and even greater memories!

Whoever this annoyingly perky “voice” is supposed to represent, it sure doesn’t sound like any possible incarnation of me. Definitely not bowled over by this “creation,” although it was tempting to try various tones for the heck of it. Ultimately, I decided that I wasn’t yet ready to jump in the AI pool, and finally came up with this in time to get that card in the mail:

70! How did this happen?? I know that,
theoretically, (I consider it a matter of opinion)
this has already happened to me, but I think
my age ranges from 40 to 123,
and imagine yours does as well!
In any case, I’ve known you for over half
of these years, and without a doubt my life
has been the better for it.

So, while this is unlikely to make the Hallmark cut, a sincere and succinct sentiment surely counts for something. Hmmmm…It occurs to me that another longtime friend is hitting the same milestone this August. Good thing I’m such an assiduous recycler.

A life-long devotee of the written word, Winters has a degree in English and has continued online studies. She also loves the theater, movies, music (“not quite all kinds”), and art. Her interest in art resulted in owning an art gallery for several years with her husband. “Overall, I like to think that in earlier times I would have given Dorothy Parker a run for her money at the Algonquin Round Table.“

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