Copyright The New York Times
Sisterhood of the White Gloves We met because of our careers — social work for crime victims — and called ourselves the Sisterhood of the White Gloves. We donned my mother’s gloves to celebrate anniversaries, promotions, birthdays. At Sunday lunches we caught up on lives lived, political actions needed, books read. There’d been six of us until Susan (Xenarios) died in September. Now, there are five: Mary, Louise, Ruth, Pam and myself. A sisterhood of committed, passionate women in their later years, still trying to make the world a better, safer place. In our first meet-up since our friend’s death there were tears, laughter, memories and community. — Jane Seskin Equally Lucky College. His skinny legs, funny pointy shoes that his grandmother supposedly got off a dead guy, his black Members Only jacket. He taught me about punk and jazz; I taught him about food, theater, travel. We taught each other love. After graduation, he was hesitant about our multi-week trip to Europe; I said, “Pack.” So many adventures, so many years, so many moves (overseas, careers, homes). For three decades, I felt so lucky that he chose me. Since separating, I’ve realized he was equally lucky that I chose him. — Ruth Redlener Uncle Bud’s Respect Uncle Bud was a gruff fellow, with a deep voice and serious demeanor. I was a little afraid of him. The principal at a high school in Towanda, Kan., he revered education. He died when I was quite young, maybe 9. But the moment I remember most was the time I was at his house, sitting on the couch, reading a book by the light of a lamp. Uncle Bud walked in and turned off the overhead light. I looked up at his warm gaze. “Bother your reading?” he asked. And I knew then that he loved me, after all. — Karen Lynn Guest Reciprocal Blessing For years I sent my sons off with the same blessing: “Take care of your little selves. You are precious and irreplaceable, and I love you very much.” At the end of a recent visit with my son Matt, now 50, things had changed. We had aged. Roles had reversed. After a final hug at the airport, Matt whispered to me, “Take care of your little self. You are precious and irreplaceable, and I love you very much.” Our roles may have changed, but the blessing endures. — Cathie Gandel See more Tiny Love Stories at nytimes.com/modernlove. Submit yours at nytimes.com/tinylovestories. Want more from Modern Love? Watch the TV series; sign up for the newsletter; or listen to the podcast on iTunes, Spotify or Google Play. We also have swag at the NYT Store and two books, “Modern Love: True Stories of Love, Loss, and Redemption” and “Tiny Love Stories: True Tales of Love in 100 Words or Less.”
