Ladies on a Lake

Sunday, I was invited to join a bunch of girls to go out on a boat on Westlake . Debbie, Vickie, Diane, Janice, Rica (the recently turned 50 Rica) and me. Four of us are here in this photo. During opening confessions, we learn that I am the oldest. But I was going to be pleasant. I digress.

Westlake is not a natural lake. It was built years and years and years ago and I don't know why they built it. But if it was for no other reason than to allow me to spend a few hours floating on a boat with some girlfriends in the middle of it, it was an excellent idea. For me, floating through the fingers of a man-made lake, big beautiful homes with beautiful landscapes and mature trees along the "shores" is like floating through a Ralph Lauren campaign - a fantasy where candle lit dinners after tennis, on your outdoor deck, waiving to your friends and lifting your wine glasses to them as they breeze by in their boats, are routine. (As if I ever played tennis.)

Wait, don't leave - I'm coming back...

So we boarded at 4:00 and after some initial hysterics as we headed toward the rocks, we were off. I knew how lovely this afternoon was going to be because Bob and I had the pleasure of a pleasure cruise with our friends Wendy and Ed recently - they also live on the lake. Diane had brought her iPod filled with "Meet the Beatles" and early Motown. I have to tell you that I almost started to cry when I heard Paul McCartney croon "I'll Follow the Sun". I don't think I've thought of that song in 45 years (I'll do the math for you - I was 7), and it had been my favorite as a little girl Beatle fanatic. It was an absolutely perfect moment. I was wholly happy.

Two of us are married, three divorced, one widowed. We talked about our kids, our jobs (or lack thereof), and music. I got a call from my daughter Jenny telling me about something very romantic that had just happened to her. When I hung up the phone, I told my friends and we all sighed and giggled like a bunch of schoolgirls. Then we all told of our most romantic date. We talked about men. We talked about dogs (well, they did). We talked about being kids and being friends and being unsure of the future. We talked about sex. We told funny stories. We told funny stories about sex. We laughed. Our "captain", Rica, would go out to the middle of the water and turn off the boat, and we would just drift - toward oncoming traffic, bouys, whatever. Occasionally, we would nervously say: "Rica, we're going hit that boat", or "Rica, you're going to hit that buoy", and she would just say calmly, "oh, thank you" or "they'll go around us". She was very calm. And why not?

We imagined what it must be like to live in one of those houses and all wished we could. We pretended we would all retire there. With or without husbands. We ate brie and crackers and veggies and hummus and chips and cake. And we drank - me water but there was wine and margaritas. And slowly we sailed and we sailed and the world just disappeared.

Mostly, there wasn't much going on. Nothing significant to write about. But it was significant because it was about being comfortable in our own skins, with people we trusted, to say everything wanted to or to say nothing at all, to relish a few hours where we could slip into a world where nothing else existed but floating with a warm breeze in a world we don't live in - before heading back, at 9:30 to a world where everything had been on hold and waiting for us to attend to it. And I am reminded of yet another Sondheim lyric from his show "Into the Woods":

Just remembering you've had an "and" when you're back to "or"

Makes the "or" mean more than it did before.

Now I understand!

And its time to leave the Woods.

Now its time to leave the Lake.