My People

from Jacqueline

I once had a conversation with my friend Diane, about the virtues of the computerized calendar/address book – your Palm Pilot, Treo, Blackberry, or whatever – in comparison with the more traditional pen and paper method of keeping your life straight, which for both of us was the trusty Filofax. At that point I was on the verge of transferring my allegiance – I know, me, of all people – but Diane made me think again when she said, “You know, the thing that worries me is that, when I’m flicking through my Filofax to get to a certain day, I suddenly come across the name of someone I haven’t seen for ages, so I give them a call, or I see that note I made about a book I wanted to read, or a play I meant to get tickets for. I’m afraid I’ll miss those things if I have a means of going straight to a date and the time.” Good point.



I was reflecting upon Diane’s insight this week when, surrounded by a box of Christmas cards, my current Filofax and two old address books, I began to write my cards. You see, I’m a collector of people. Not in a Terence Stamp in “The Collector” sort of way – you won’t find anyone locked away in my garage – a but in the way of wanting to keep people with me even when it’s time to let them go, even when they’ve gone. It could be this reflective time of year, but I get rather sad about it, sad that they’ve moved on, that I’ve moved on, and we’re just memories to each other now.



Take Jennifer, my friend from the age of six. Jenny protected me at school when I was teased about my lazy eye and, loyal to the core, she was waiting at my house when I came home from the hospital after the corrective surgery, complete with bandages around my eyes. My mother had taken down all the mirrors so I wasn’t scared by my own painful reflection, with bloody eyes and bruises from my eyelids to my cheeks, and she told Jenny to try to not show surprise when she saw me. I remember arriving at the house and when mum took off the bandages, Jenny pressed her lips together and said, “Oh, Jackie, what beautiful eyes.” Then when I went to the bathroom she buried her head in my mother’s lap and cried her heart out. She emigrated to Canada when we were both thirteen, but we managed to keep a friendship alive until we were about thirty-two. I last spoke to Jen about twelve years ago, and it was wonderful. I’d love to see her again, would love to have a chat. But I don’t know where she is now, just that she still lives somewhere in Ontario, I think.


Then there’s Helen and John, and along with them, there’s Ade. We were all caught up in one of life’s hurricane’s about eighteen years ago. I don’t know what I would have done without their friendship. It was the worst of times, to tell you the truth. But talk about laugh! John and Helen were two of the wittiest people I have ever met – thank heavens they married each other. There were times when we laughed until we cried, and there were laughs when we should have been crying, and we all did just that too. What I wouldn’t give to have just one more silly dinner with those lovely people. I remember once, driving to an appointment with Ade – I was the marketing exec and he was the designer, and our client was in the business of “women’s sanitary wear.” So, along with Ade’s designs (this was before you simply sent a computer link), multiple copies of my proposal and boxes of aforesaid sanitary wear, off we went to the big meeting to make our pitch. The weather was dreadful and although I was zipping along, I also had to keep my eyes peeled to the road. We were bantering a bit, talking about this and that, and suddenly Ade says, “Let’s just hope we don’t get into an accident with a condom lorry – can you just imagine the headlines?” So we did, and it was all we could do not to giggle throughout the whole meeting. We got the job though.




I miss Peggy because she was my first real friend when I came to America. She knew my brother and he’d said that if she wanted someone to ride her horse when she couldn’t, well, his sister would do it. We became firm friends, going to movies together, taking her daughter to Catalina Island for the day, riding horses – nothing spectacular, but lots of fun. Peggy eventually went back to Minnesota and within a couple of years she was married. We traded a few letters and calls, then one day I realized she was one of the lost ones. Her name and the last address I have for her are still in that book, though. Just in case.

Then there are the people I miss because they just aren’t here any more. The ones who’ve died, and whose addresses are still in my book. I find that quite surreal, in a way. My very dear friend, Pat, passed away last year at the age of 73. I had known Pat and her husband, Ken, who died a couple of years earlier, since I was a toddler. They were like family to me. I loved going to their cottage, which seemed not to change from the time I first ever visited as a small child, to my last visit, a woman in her middle years. The cottage itself was Ken and Pat, it was part of them. I remember Ken saying to me, just before he died – we’d been reflecting upon the fact that they had lived in the house some 42 years – “People just don’t seem to stay long anymore, do they?” I wish they could have stayed longer.




All my people are still in my address books, though more recently I seem to collect email addresses rather than those of actual bricks and mortar homes. Perhaps that’s what we are now – people who carry our addresses with us, like snails or turtles. I miss them all, my past people, but know that – as I said at the beginning of this post – not all relationships are meant to last forever. Yet, at the same time, when I send out my cards to friends and family I look at those old names and addresses and hope the ones who I’ve lost, perhaps, out of the blue might recall a laugh, a joke, a good time shared, and know that they are remembered and memories are cherished.

I did finally get a Palm Pilot, but managed to drop it in the driveway and ran over it in the car. So I went back to my Filofax. Much better. You never know who you’ll find as you flick through those pages.