I remember the first day I met Marjorie in 2006.  I was moving from New York City to Southern California, with a job prospect in Los Angeles.  I needed to find a place to live, and I wanted to be in Marina Del Rey, near my best childhood friend who was living there already. I had visited him several times, and I loved the idea of living near him and living in the beautiful beach community of MDR.  With limited time to secure a place to move to before I flew back to NYC to pack up my apartment, my friend directed me to a local newspaper that had listings for apartments and houses in MDR and the surrounding communities. After a whirlwind of frustration, I finally saw a listing for 21 1/2 Yawl Street.  I quickly called, and this lady told me that it wouldn’t be possible to see the apartment that day, because there was painting and work being done to it. I explained my urgency in finding a place before I flew back to NYC the next day, and I begged her to let me see it.  With several more cautions about the apartment “not being ready to be shown,” the lady relented.  My friend quickly drove me down to the end of the peninsula (he lived almost at the start of the peninsula, on Buccaneer),  I immediately loved the apartment, and I immediately loved “the lady.” She was in khaki colored pants and a pale blue linen shirt, with the sleeves rolled up; I was in a red sweater and jeans.  Little did I know that this was the beginning of a new and beautiful friendship with “the lady” whose name I now knew: Marjorie. 

Through the ensuing years of my brief stay in SoCal (I had to later move to Laguna Beach with my work), and the ensuing years after I returned to NYC, Marjorie and I emailed, texted and occasionally spoke on the phone.  We would reminisce about that first day (she would always tell me she remembered me in that red sweater), about our many chats at Yawl Street {“Come down and meet me in the carport.”) when we solved the World’s problems and some of our own, about family and friends, and about Life.  I learned of her fierce love for her family, of her friends, and of her love for her dogs.  She spoke of her “home up North” where she found peace, contentment, and joy in her cabin and that beautiful community.  She asked about my life, my work, my family and friends.  When I was back in NYC, we continued our communications. She knew that I missed my friend and my life in SoCal, but she also reminded me that I was in the right place at the right time in my life.  Her wisdom and observations helped me through many career decisions, family and friends drama . . . and losses.  Marjorie’s wisdom and her life experiences proved so valuable to me, particularly as I was experiencing loss.  Her spiritual nature and her down-to-earth lessons that she imparted, based on her experience, always seemed to be the warmth and comfort that I needed to move on with acceptance and healing.  

Marjorie and I were friends; and I don’t say that lightly.  If any of us are lucky, we will manage to find a handful of people in our lives that take up residence in our heart and mind, with whom we share and about whom we care.  I found that when I answered a classified ad for a residence at 21 1/2 Yawl Street.  As I said before . . . little did I know.

I am comforted in knowing that some day I will again meet Marjorie—she in her blue linen shirt, me in my red sweater—and we will have a chat in the carport, or we will walk with her dog along the beach, or she will show me her beautiful community in Northern California, or maybe she will meet me in NYC and I will show her my small world that I’ve carved out in this big town . . . Or maybe we will just sit or walk quietly, knowing all of the goodness that came from our friendship.