For the first few weeks back in March, she couldn't understand why I wouldn't come in for my weekly visit and cup of espresso, though she knew that thousands of people were dying in Italy. I would come to her doorway, but no further, much to her frustration, and it got to the point that I decided to stop going past her place. I phoned her instead.
When the weather improved and spring warmed her back patio, I let Lidia know that we could sit outside and visit, socially-distanced, of course. But even that proved to be a challenge. Always concerned about offering hospitality, she would come out with cookies and a bottle of water or orangina. The day after my birthday, when I came to her door, she said, "Come in, come in, I make you caffe!" I could hear her putting together the espresso pot like she would not take no for an answer, so I said, "I'm sorry, Lidia, but I can't do that," and headed for home. The next thing I knew, she was standing on her back step, shouting, "Where you going? Come back!" and waving an envelope. "Your birthday card!"
It held a twenty dollar bill and a note saying that she was glad we are friends. I told her I would take the twenty dollars, buy a rose bush, and name it Lidia. And that is what I did. I also told her yet again that I couldn't eat or drink at her house, but that we could have a nice visit without food, and she finally agreed... though she still insisted on giving cookies to Shadow-dog if he was with me.
Perhaps foolishly, I made a deal with her son, Alfonso, to plant a few tomato and pepper plants in Lidia's greenhouse, with the promise to help with watering. I also put some petunias, clarkia and lavatera in her heavy cement planters beside the house and kept them deadheaded all summer for the most part. It was my reason to stop by each day and check how she was doing without getting too close.
Most times I've gone over to her place to weed or water, we've managed to keep our distance. But once Lidia decided to water the grape vines on the south side of the house, sat on a low step to do it, and couldn't get up. So I helped her. Another time, she dropped her cane and couldn't reach it to pick it up. So I did. And then there was the time that she was expecting an important call, but forgot the portable phone inside her back door and begged me to go get it. How could I refuse when she doesn't have an answering machine?
I worry about my friend with winter coming on. Her 85th birthday is on Tuesday, and though her family is very attentive, Lidia wants to be more of a social butterfly than she can be with two busy sons and a love for company of any stripe. I worry that she's not careful enough when it comes to the covid virus, and wish there was a way to connect her to some sort of video chat program so that she could see all the people she loves online, and chat anytime she feels lonely, as I'm probably not the only one who finds it challenging to understand her thick accent through the phone. But online chats would never satisfy her, I suspect. We all converse so much better in person.
And in person, I could show her a picture of my Lidia rose now that she's finally blooming.
The pandemic vaccine can't come soon enough for our planet, or for friends like Lidia and me!
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