Lunch with Judy and Candy

Computer-generated Image–surprisingly close to reality

Monday, June 02, 2025

I had lunch yesterday with long-time friends I hadn’t seen in years. We first met during a pivotal chapter in my life, when I was a breast cancer patient participating in a support group. They were the group’s unofficial leaders—steady and compassionate, offering wise listening and unwavering kindness. The connections forged in that group felt deep and enduring. Despite years and distance, our shared strengths and vulnerabilities still feel familiar.

It had been a long time since we’d laid eyes on one another, but recently, they wandered separately into the department store where I work. We recognized each other immediately—like “old friends,” which we are—and promised to meet for lunch soon.

Judy and Candy are continuing to nurture the cancer support group–welcoming women facing breast cancer and other illnesses. Their dedication says much about their character, and just as much about our deep human need for community when we’re navigating illness. Sitting with them again felt comforting as they shared how the group continues to evolve.

Conversation came easily. We didn’t need to fill in every gap—we simply slipped into the familiarities of our old connection: talking about our lives now, the realities of aging, fond memories, and the ever-present question: What may come next? There was laughter, warmth, and a few comfortable silences. Our lunch felt less like a reunion and more like a quiet rekindling—an affirmation of ties built during significant uncertainties and shared strengths.

They spoke of their early lives—how, as young women, they each bravely moved to Alaska during its formative days, just as it prepared for Statehood. They met there, in a time when its cities were small and its spirit was wide open. Those were the early days of loosening social constraints for women, and they embraced the freedom and opportunity. Eventually, each moved—independently but around the same time—to Central Oregon, where they reconnected.

They asked after my donkey, Pimmy, who is doing well—her illnesses are stable and under control. They asked about my other critters: sweet turkey Lacey, noisy Cockatoo Peaches, and Chase (yes, that Puppy-from-Hell, Chase, who still lives with me).

The best part of our lunch was simply knowing—knowing one another well and knowing where we’ve been. We didn’t just share memories; we shared something more enduring–a kind of bond formed while at our most human, our most open. That’s what has made the cancer group so special, and it’s what made our lunch such a gift.

Dear Friends: Like Alaska in its frontier days, Central Oregon is an “honest place.”—Diana

Rambling

Tuesday, September 24, 2024

The days go flying past! Is it possible, this day is a Tuesday already!

That summarizes my weekly mantra: “What happened to Monday?” Usually, this day initiates adjustment so that Wednesday’s appearance isn’t as jolting. Essentially, time flies.

I went to work yesterday, and as suspected, the store was short on employees. Instead of selling jewelry, I was assigned to cover the Intimates Department. The first half of my shift was spent straightening and rehanging bras, and I listened to women complaining about their breasts and having to search for bras. In an Initimates Department, breasts and bras are never-ending issues.

Some sort of variation occurs in every department. I’ve listened as customers talked unendingly about bed sheets and being willing to sleep only on certain types. Jewelry searching, of course, brings up lots of focus on oneself. A good seller does what’s needed in every product situation and listens.

Monday barely is history, and I rattle on. Maybe I’m slightly rattled after those few hours of listening to unresolvable complaints. Right now, I am considering the extent to which advances have transitioned the human condition.

Technology has given us almost endless choices. Once upon a time, a person who slept nights on a substantial straw mat was lucky. Back then, too, women typically used rag-type materials to bind their breasts and control menstruation. Nowadays, with many sophisticated choices, it seems they’re not enough, and people are restless.

In the late 1960’s, there was an enormous public movement to “Burn the bras!” Women’s bodies were becoming less idealized than those ballyhooed by the popular movies. That refocusing has continued and is an issue today.

And today, a woman is campaigning, she’s popular and might be America’s next President.

Dear Friends: I will be at work today listening to whatever anybody wants to say. Diana

I’m With Charlie

Saturday, February 10, 2024

I laughed at his mom’s capture of Charlie while she tried on Intimates.

The Store’s customers make it fun to be a part-time worker. Charlie’s person is the sort of pleasant customer who eases my “afterward job” of picking up and putting away. At the bottom line, fun wins everybody over.

Working in Intimates has taught me that “women and bras” are a phenomenon more interesting than I could have imagined. Many women out shopping try on bras, not a few at a time, but dozens at once. Often they leave without purchasing or complain that nothing “works” for them.

Upon entering newly vacated dressing rooms, I often see masses of bras hanging randomly or tried on and dumped on the floor. Yesterday, my inner-self cheered kudos to Charlie’s mom for having picked up and neatly re-hung her try-ons. We working in Intimates must ensure that tried-on bras are correctly rehung (yes, there’s a formula) and then we search to relocate each among a baker’s dozens of bra racks.

So much bra trying-on makes me wonder if it’s a fetish among some women. Of course, there are good reasons, like post-surgery or weight changes, for trying on lots of bras. What strikes me as odd is the high number of customers who try on lots of bras all at once, surely outnumbering women who have genuine needs.

Reasons matter little as to why so many shoppers select bunches of bras, try them on, and then hang them loosely or toss them onto the floor. What’s real is the complex business of selling bras. Customers in Intimates clearly articulate their intense and common dislike for having to shop for and wear bras. Anyway, I knew this; we all know this.

Dear Friends: Psychological babble from an observer in Intimates. Diana