At the height of the pandemic, Abigail and I braved forth to attend the Eric Voegelin Society meeting in Seattle. Its members are truth-seeking, spiritually open thinkers. As we arrived, attendees were dropping like flies. One scholar, there for a panel discussing his book, reported that every single panelist had reversed course and would be AWOL. It felt bizarre. Sometimes the two of us were almost the whole of the audience.

It did give us a chance to know better the select few who did attend, but also to visit Abigail’s dear friend, Arlene, who goes all the way back to the New York High School of Music and Art. There are, indeed, no friends like old friends. Their conversation was as familiar and lively as if they had spoken just yesterday.

The widow of a distinguished University of Washington professor, Arlene lives in a beautiful, tastefully decorated, culturally rich home. Her eyes sparkle with intelligent vitality. Abigail recounted the many ways Arlene had made a success of life. They talked about friends from yesteryear, some of whom had not.

After their talk wound down, Abigail was delighted to meet her helper, who turns out to be a descendant of the great Indian chief Red Cloud. Abigail loves Indians! They had a great talk. With her, the fact that I have Indian – probably Comanche – blood on both sides is a feather in my headband. But she did not know that when she married me. So I won her on my own!