Yesterday I had a good 3-hour pre-Christmas phonecall with one of my dearest friends. She’s the kind of friend where we don’t need to talk every day or every week or even every month, but when we do, the three hours feels like ten minutes. I count it a good good blessing to have friends like that.

Three hours on the phone does give you a lot of time to discuss what’s new and also, as good friends will do, rehash what is old. Especially since we are getting old or – at least – old-er. We talked about how we are celebrating our respective Christmases – what’s the same and what’s different from the usual: her mom is in Mexico, mine is in heaven. Her grandchildren will be with her ex-son-in-law, I haven’t got any (yet). We both get to spend most of it with our best friends (our husbands), but there are other things that are different because the one thing you can count on is change.

And then, maybe around hour two, when we had pretty much solved the problems of the world – according to us – she quoted something she heard from Oprah that had stuck with her, something like: enjoy what’s good while it lasts, because it won’t last forever. And – know that what’s bad also won’t last forever.

It’s the kind of wisdom that at first blush, sounds icky, like a parent admonishing a child: Be THANKFUL, dammit! But then, the wise-ness seeps in, especially if you’re not a toddler or a teenager, because growing older teaches us the hard and the good way that this piece of advice is TRUE.

Do I wish that my mom, gone these seven years now, was here so we could enjoy another one of her special Christmas Eves? Or that, for heaven’s sake, we could go back to proceeding as normal without masks and admonitions, that Covid and all its iterations would just skedaddle already? Or even that it might warm up to oh – minus 5? – so that my front door would shut properly again and my kids don’t have to worry about their cars starting?

Well, sure. But in the grand scheme of things, I wouldn’t know such goodness if I hadn’t already witnessed it for myself, in all its smallness and bigness.

Here’s wishing that your ten minutes of goodness this Christmas feels like three hours – and even more.