When Maria and I got together a decade ago, both of us were essentially friendless.

Because of our divorces – we both were shunned –  and other issues, we leaned heavily on one another and spent almost all of our spare time with each other.

I think it’s fair to say that both of us supported each other in a transformative way and that may have saved both of our lives.

We have both grown up, matured, learned, worked hard to face our own different truths, and heal. And to a large extent, we have done that. There is always more to do, but we’ve come far.

Our lives have widened, broadened, there is much more than just the two of us.

Love is a powerful thing, often underestimated in our world.

In the past year or so, Maria has opened up to new friendships, and it is a beautiful thing for me to see.

I’ve never been good at keeping friendships; I think I just make too many people nervous. Good friends have come out of my work at the Mansion and with Bishop Maginn High School.

I’m doing better with friendship; I have two or three close friends, all women, and our relationship is healthy, bounded, and nourishing. I’ve never had a lot of friends and never really needed that in my life.

I’m hardly in touch with anyone I knew before my crack-up, I often feel I’m ten years old.

I’m pretty happy where I am. I’ve pretty much given up on male friendships, and don’t really think I want any right now. I guess I’ve always been a girlie man.

A couple of years ago, Maria met her friend Emily Gold, an artist, mother, wife, and baker in her Belly Dancing class, which seems to draw independent, fiercely loyal, and fascinating women.

A few months ago, their friendship blossomed. Two peas in a pod.

Two artists in need of someone to talk art with and share the artist’s curious life, a pressured and often lonely life. I don’t think anyone who isn’t an artist can really comprehend that life

You might say the same about writers, but they always work alone and are notoriously odd and quirky.

They have each helped the other, trading ideas, offering feedback, love, and support. This is something some women do, but few men do.

Maria and I share almost everything, but we keep some space around our work. She rarely comes into my study, and I never enter her studio without being asked. We both need this distance and space. It makes our time together all the richer.

Every Monday evening since the pandemic, they ZOOM with each other for several hours. Maria goes into her studio, and they talk easily and meaningfully, or so I am told.

I love this friendship; it is full of humor, trust, and connection. I sometimes see Emily at the Bennington, Vt. Farmer’s Market, where she sells her muffins, cakes, and scones and also her wonderful collage portraits and still-lifes. Emily and connect with each other. Maria says she gets me.

I don’t know what that means, but it sounds good.

Emily is much like Maria, creative, energetic, honest, and lots of fun. She has a wonderful blog and gives popular collage lessons on ZOOM. She’s teaching a whole family tonight.

Like the writer’s life, the artist’s life can be lonely. This is a good thing to see.

Maria needs her privacy for her talks with Emily, and I enjoy the evening reading in the farmhouse or writing on my blog.

Last night, I went out to close up the chickens. I really have no idea what they talk about, and it’s none of my business, but I do see how much this time means to Maria.

I passed by the studio window on the way to the chickens and saw Maria in the window and heard her laughing and talking.  She sounded so happy and full of life.

She said I could post the photo; it caught the essence of Monday’s with Emily. They both seem to love knowing one another.

As close as we are, we both recognize the importance of having our own lives, friends, and identities. I think friendship, like love, comes when we are open to it.

Maria has been opening up for years now; Mondays with Emily would make a great Netflix series on creatives and creative life.