Time

Time

Last night as we got into bed, it occurred to me that Athena, our dachshund, will be 8 this year.  I'm not entirely sure how that's possible for it was just yesterday that she was placed on our front porch while my sister and brother in law anxiously hid behind the bushes waiting to yell "surprise!" My husband did not have pets growing up and when we received her the South Florida (read national) economy was plummeting due to the housing crisis.  It was a scary and difficult "time." He was very apprehensive those first few weeks with her.  Today, their nightly goodnight kisses could make the warmest of Hallmark cards seem steely and cold.

8 years, how could all that time actually have passed? For all that we as a global civilization have learned, have we fully come to comprehend the concept of time? My answer is: no.

The English language is riddled with sayings and quotes about time, in fact, I'm sure you could think of two or three this very instant.

Time waits for no one.

A stitch in time saves nine.

Time is money

What a waste of time

Equally, we toss about the word "time" flippantly and almost irreverently. "Yea, I do that all the time" or "did you have a good time?" When we ask someone "did you have a good time?" What we are actually saying is "did you enjoy yourself during that increment of your life?"  Increments, the building blocks, the atoms, of time.

As is our inherent nature as humans, we try in vain to manipulate time in the same fashion we try to manipulate so many other cosmic forces in our life.  We try to speed time up, slow time down, and in what is probably our most foolish mortal endeavor, we try to stop time.

We need only to look at a current magazine to see how many celebrities do their best to stay "frozen" in time. Only by going online and researching can we know a celebrity's actual age.  It would seem that 90 is the new 40.

As I walk through our home, every item has a marker, a time stamp on it. My wall of Greek icons, I started collecting those almost 30 years ago.  I got my first one as a gift when I was 13.  They speak to my soul, they ground me. The oil painting of the yachts in the harbor, we picked that up at a thrift store about 6 years ago. I still smile at its beauty every time I walk by it. My favorite Harrods mug which I bought on a New Year’s trip to London 11 years ago, I keep it towards the back of the shelf. I only use it on weekends and special occasions.  In fact, I hand carried it in a backpack along with my jewelry during our last move.

These markers although they can be quantitatively frightening at times, are scenes in the movie of my life thus far.   They speak of the time I have spent on this earth.  While the physical items give us a timeline to our existence, it is the things which cannot be physically touched that truly allow us to appreciate the sometimes harsh and sometimes splendorous qualities of time.

Through time, I've come to realize that my parents are my closest friends. At this age, I am beginning to relate to them, their struggles, their stories.  I enjoy spending time with them, having them over for Sunday dinner brings me joy.  It's great fun at the time and a deposit into my memory bank for the future. We seldom realize that bank needs to be funded constantly. It is the mental IRA of our tomorrows.  I’ve realized that my husband is one of the strongest and most selfless people I know.  I thank God daily for bringing him into my life.  I’ve realized that I see different stages of my life in the lives of my younger siblings.  I’ve realized that watching my best friend of 27 years battle cancer is one of the toughest scenes I’ve ever had to watch.

I’ve also learned that there are several simple things in life that make me happy at a basic core level.  I’ve learned that few things can replace the feeling of reading a good book.  I always have one on top of my nightstand and two or three waiting to be devoured on the shelf below.  I’ve learned that sparkling water lifts my spirits, I buy it by the case. I’ve learned that I love taking care of my rose bushes, I anxiously await each new bloom.  I’ve learned that the aroma of fresh baked bread is as intoxicating as the stiffest martini.  I’ve learned that watching the full moon rise over the ocean can center you like few things can.  Have I learned everything I “should” as I’m about to turn 40 this year, I can’t say, just give me “time” and I’m sure I will. 

"I want my MTV!"

“Care bear stare!”

‘Say hello to my little friend.”

“Transform and roll out!”  

“Who ya gonna call! Ghostbusters!”

“Now we do the Meposian dance of joy!”

“Never feed him after midnight.”

I miss the 80’s.  I truly and honestly do.  The 80’s were a huge part of my childhood!  In 1986, my childhood home consisted of gray tile and Pepto-Bismol pink walls.  Our couches were teal with huge (quilted) oversized peach flowers.  The rest of our furniture was either teak or brass or a combination of the two.  We had a standing lamp that would change intensity when you tapped it in a certain area.  Totally rad! 

Dad sported a blazer with a t-shirt and shoes with no socks, drove a metallic gunmetal gray BMW 318i that was completely tricked out with the spoiler kit, running boards and all.  He had one of the first car phones available.  It was a white monstrosity bolted to the center floor of the car which gave you about 90 seconds of talk time per charge.  Shortly after that came the brick, the “portable” cell phone.  The one that weighed about 12 pounds and could also be used as a deadly weapon if thrown at someone.

Mom was the epitome of 80’s fashion.  Alexis Colby and Crystal Carrington had nothing on her.  Mom sported her jumpsuits, bandanas, slicked back pony tail, football sized shoulder pads, and sky high heels with an elegance few women could master!  These were the Miami Vice days, brunch at Sunday's on the bay on Key Biscayne and dinner at Café Tanino in Coral Gables.  We had a J24 sailboat which we docked at Monty’s and on the weekends when we weren’t in Nassau, we would participate in the Biscayne Bay races.  Our boat was even used in 1988’s “Midnight Crossing” starring Faye Dunaway.  We raced in the Columbus Day Regatta every year which was the first time I ever saw live naked people (lots of them)!  When the artist, Christo, did the “Surrounded Islands” in 1983, we went by boat to see them.  Dad got close enough so that I could touch the pink plastic.  Christo hand signed a poster for us.

Because of Dad’s business we would take the Chalks afternoon flight to Nassau almost every Friday.  I’ll never forget those water takeoffs and landings.  It was always a bit worrisome to see the water come in to the cabin as they took off on the waterway.  On Sunday night’s flying home, I would do my homework.  The stewardesses thought this was adorable and would help me with my math problems.  During the summers we would live full time in Nassau.  Dad would take me to St Andrew's school on his way into the office.  My classes were shell craft and Bahamian history. 

One afternoon mom and dad picked me up from school and instead of heading to the seaport to fly to Nassau, they surprised me by saying that we were headed to MIA and would be flying to St. Croix for the weekend!  Imagine hearing that as an 8 year old!  That same weekend, Whitney Houston had just released “The greatest love of all.”  We sang it all the way to the airport.  “If I fail, if I succeed, at least I’ll live as I believe.  No matter what they take from me, you can’t take away my dignityyyyyyyy!”  Boy, could Whitney belt it out!

The 80’s were over the top and extravagant in every regard.  During this decade, Miami experienced a huge economic boom.  This decade put Miami on the map.  Before then, Miami was where you went to retire.  South Beach was God’s waiting room, an incredibly long row of crumbling hotels with senior citizens securing the fort as they rocked in synchronicity on the porch. 

Until 1987, I was an only child until my sister, Kelsey, was born that February.  I was ecstatic when I knew I’d have a sibling.  I had been alone for 10 years!  The first gift I ever got my sister, before she was even born was a teddy bear I bought for her at Lord & Taylor with my allowance.  She’ll kill me for this, but she still has him.  

Through all the glitz and glamour of the 80’s I can’t help but remember it as a decade of fun.  I remember the huge parties my parents would have after the sailboat races.  Whether we won or not was irrelevant, it was an occasion to throw a party.  I love parties, I always have.  My family jokes that I’m always looking for a reason to throw one.  I celebrate my birthday for the entire month of November.  Ironically enough, I throw parties for a living.  If we learned anything from the 80’s it was how to party.  As Matthew Broderick said in 1986 “Life moves pretty fast.  If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” – Ferris Bueller

Hey babe, what's your sign?

“So, you’re a Pisces, cool! What sign is Santi?”  “He’s a Scorpio.” “Ohhhhhhhhhhh.”

My husband, Oscar, and I have a joke that this is always the reaction when people learn that I’m a Scorpio.  To be honest, it’s the same reaction I get when people ask me what sign I am.  We Scorpios get a bad rap; we’re the black sheep of the zodiac. 

Whether you are an avid horoscope reader or a hardcore astrological aficionado, we all have a little bit of knowledge when it comes to the subject.  Throughout life, we learn about each sign.  We learn that a Taurus may tend to be strong willed.  Gemini may have two completely different personalities inhabiting one body.  Pisces may be pacifists, optimists, peacekeepers.  Scorpios though, we’re known for having the stinger.  We’re the ones that attack.

Yes, we have that capability.  However, not unlike a Scorpion in the animal kingdom, we do not attack unless we are provoked.  What is rarely said about Scorpios is how passionate and devoted we are.  We are driven.  We are calculating but not necessarily in a bad way.  We are planners, we are thinkers, we are always pondering the “next big” thing. 

We will often go without so that we may help others.  We can be crusaders for causes we truly believe in.  When we gain momentum we can be a virtually limitless powerhouse.  As the saying goes, “with great power comes great responsibility.” As with anything in life, channeling your attributes correctly and positively is essential.  Some of the more famous Scorpios throughout history and present day include: Pablo Picasso, Bill Gates, Marie Antoinette, Goldie Hawn, Marie Curie, Theodore Roosevelt, Voltaire, and Diana Krall (who happens to share my birthday).

Interestingly enough, Oscar and I met because of my birthdate.  We met through Facebook.  We joke that we’re still waiting on our free T-shirt.  We both came up on each other’s page as “someone you might know.”  His opening line to me…”Hi there, you and my sister share the same birthday.”  Cool, I thought, but who are you?  That opening line led to messaging, which led to a conversation, which led to a date ( I was late), which led to dating, which led to a relationship, which led to marriage.  We actually got married twice, but that is a whole other story. The clincher-his sister, my sister in law, and I do share the same birthday.  We actually share the exact same birthday; month, day, and year!  I mean seriously, what are the chances of that! What’s more, Oscar's father and my grandfather used to work together.  We used to vacation at the same hotel as children.  We’ve always said God meant for us to be together. 

We Scorpios are charming, empathetic, charismatic and compassionate.  We are intuitive, mysterious, emotional, and anxious. We are sympathetic, obsessive, dynamic, lively, chatty, and observant.  We are funny, independent, resourceful, and imaginative.  We protect the ones we love at all costs. What’s interesting in my particular case is that I was born premature, very premature, at 6 months.  At 19 my parents were faced with almost $30,000 in medical bills.  That was a whole lot of money for 1976.  They finished paying it off when I was about 10.  If my mom would have gone full term with me, I would have been an Aquarius.  Actually, both of my sisters are Aquarius.  I’m not sure if that sign would have suited me.  Truth is I’m happy being a Scorpio even if I’m often misunderstood.  

90 days till Christmas

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!  Time to deck the pumpkins, trim the scarecrow and carve the tree!  Wait, what? The other morning on TV they were announcing how we were only 90 days away from Christmas.  Costco has already begun selling trees and décor.  Cracker Barrel looks like Santa’s workshop with carols playing non-stop and Santa’s Enchanted Forest is scheduled to open on October 29^th. 

Perhaps, it is selective or false memory but I don’t remember it being this way when I was a kid.  Halloween came in October, Thanksgiving in November, and Christmas season began the day after Thanksgiving.   Every holiday had its day in the sun….in its own time.  Beyond the inevitable confusion, I can’t help but think that this clustering of holidays only serves to produce anxiety, unrealistic expectations, and a perfect opportunity to not live in the present. 

True to our current selves, we can’t wait to experience the next BIG thing, so much so, that we are not experiencing the moment at hand.  It’s like the people who record the entire concert on their IPhone.  You know they will never go back and watch that video but rather than enjoy the current, actual view from their $1200 front-row seats, they’re opting to view the whole concert through an 8” screen. We want to experience the very best of everything simultaneously in a constantly climactic, multi-orgasmic, 24/7 high.  We want to carve the pumpkin while singing Christmas carols and eating our turkey dinner with Halloween candy stuffing, swallowing it all down with an eggnog Slurpee (in a big gulp).

They joy of the holidays is that each one comes but once a year.  Halloween is supposed to kick-off the festivities of the holiday season. Thanksgiving is supposed to make us focus on the family, center on our loved ones and truly “give thanks.”  Christmas, the Super bowl of holidays, to say nothing of its religious significance to those of faith, is supposed to be the one holiday that enters your heart.  It has the power to end long held quarrels and makes us all believe in a little bit of magic.  Is there any feeling in the world better than the one we experience on Christmas morning regardless of our age?

The problem in wanting to “bottle” this feeling and enjoy it before its time is that it loses its charm, its mystique, and its intrinsic qualities.  Corner brownies and end pieces of lasagna are the best because there are only a few of them.  They are scarce and getting one is special, a treat.  If you ate corner brownies all the time they wouldn’t mean anything to you.  It may sound oversimplified but it truly is that simple.

As I near Forty, I’ve come to realize that some of life’s greatest joys are things that you must wait for.  You must wait to graduate high school, wait for your first “real” job, wait for your soulmate, and wait to own your first home.  Equally, it is unbelievable how quickly time goes while we are waiting. I swear, I was 13 just yesterday standing in my mother’s kitchen begging her to buy me those Z Cavaricci pants.  For me, I am content to wait.  I will put my Halloween decorations up tomorrow and will buy my tree the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  What now may seem like endless waiting is actually a blip on the radar of life.  So, we may now be 85 days away from Christmas but I refuse to count.  Instead, tomorrow will just be Thursday and I will be thankful simply for that. 

European adventures, Friendship, and the stigmata at Estoril

“I can’t walk any more in these shoes!” she says.  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I respond. “You always do this; you always wear the wrong shoes, Missy!  Listen, just take them off.  We have to find Terminal Un,” I tell her. “I am not about to walk barefoot through Charles De Gaulle airport!” She says.  “Well, it’s either that or we miss our connecting flight to Lisbon because your feet hurt.”  “Fine!” She responds.  In the 25 years of our being best friends, the one flaw in our friendship has been Missy’s poor choice of shoes, often opting for fashion instead of comfort.  This is an issue she’s worked on in recent years, and it’s been quite some time since she’s had an SSS (Shoe Selection Situation.)  However, during the adventures of our mid-twenties and early thirties, we spent a lot of time discussing her shoe selection.

About ten years ago, I worked as the Business Center attendant at the newly opened Four Seasons Hotel Miami.  That will be another story for another time.  One of the most amazing benefits the company offered was five free nights yearly at any Four Seasons hotel or resort worldwide.  In 2005, I chose to use my five free nights at the resort in Lisbon.  I was single back then and my best friend, Missy, was the obvious travel companion choice.  On a sweltering South Florida summer evening, we began our journey: MIA-CDG-LIS.  Two flights consisting of 15 hours total including layovers.

As with most long-haul flights, the beginning was all cocktails and excitement, 7 hours in it was a different story.  Sitting in coach for that long does something to your psyche.  You become irritable, uncomfortable and you begin to smell.  I’ve often compared these transatlantic flights to a huge slumber party in the sky with 250 complete strangers, and not all of them have good bathroom habits or good habits in general.  Yet, as we started descending into Paris, the excitement began to build again.  I’ll never forget the look on Missy’s face as she saw the Eiffel tower for the first time out of the plane’s window.  We had made it across the pond, only one more flight to go!

For anyone who has ever landed at CDG, it is a quixotic airport at best.  Nothing makes sense, basic airport patterns are thrown out the window and it is virtually impossible to find anyone who is willing to help you.  We should have been tipped off when French customs officials didn’t even bother to look at our passports upon entering the EU.  With my high school French and scavenger hunt instincts, we learned that we needed to find “Terminal Un.”It was in this elusive terminal that we would find our connecting flight and our next carrier TAP, The Airlines of Portugal.  Much later in this trip, we would learn that what it actually stood for was: Take another Plane.

After about 4 hours of wondering if we would ever leave CDG or if it was our destiny to spend our vacation at a Paris airport, our connecting flight arrived.  To say it was a no frills airline is an understatement.  They offered you a seat and a partially working seatbelt, with a good air stream and a prayer they hoped to get to your destination.  Again, as we flew over the Alps, our (albeit tired and weary) excitement returned.  Missy put on her torturous shoes and we began to attempt to put ourselves together for our arrival “em Lisboa.”

If there’s one thing I learned from working in a luxury hotel, it is to always arrange your airport transportation beforehand.  Few things are as welcoming and comforting as a sign with your name on it being held up high in a crowd by a sharply dressed chauffeur.  Finally, we arrived!  Now, it was time to get our luggage.  “Sua bagagem não chegou.”  The pretty blonde airport attendant said to us.  My Portuguese may not be perfect, but I fully understood that statement.  The dreaded and feared statement no traveler wants to hear, your luggage did not arrive.  With little energy left in us to argue, we filled out the necessary paperwork, boarded the sedan, and made our way to the hotel.

The hotel, originally a Ritz-Carlton was one of only two hybrid properties which Four Seasons owned that was a Ritz-Carlton and a Four Seasons at the same time.  It was the epitome of luxury with massive marble halls set high atop a hill overlooking the Tagus River.  It remains one of the most beautiful properties I have ever stayed at.  Our room was a sprawling suite with a cavernous pink marble bathroom and a balcony overlooking the city and the river beyond.  It was simply spectacular! 

                                 

A very important note to this story is that the very same day that we departed Miami, I had just arrived that morning from a week long cruise through the Western Caribbean.  I literally had enough time to do laundry and repack before leaving to the airport.  I made many questionable food choices on that cruise, mainly one involving my eating something called the “Royal Rat” in Belize.  That along with the copious amounts of drinking involved with any cruise led me to feeling quite ill when we finally made it to Europe.  Once we were settled in our room, I called for a doctor who true to Four Seasons style visited me discreetly and said I was suffering from a stomach virus which “could” be contagious.  He wrote me a prescription and asked for a pot of tea to be sent to our room.  I explained to Missy that I needed to sleep and rest for a day or two, to which she replied “I have not flung myself across an ocean and into a new continent to watch you sleep.  I don’t care if I have to put a cork in your ass; we are going to go see the city.”  I, of course, agreed.

We put ourselves together and set off to go sightseeing.  It was the middle of the day and it was warm, very warm.  Perhaps because of our time together during the flights or because the travel had taken a toll on her, too, Missy began to feel ill as well.  It became imminently evident that we both needed a bathroom, stat! We searched our surroundings and saw an archeological museum was a few hundred feet away.  We quickly made our way to the Museu arqueológico do Carmo, paid the entrance fee and frantically searched for the “banheiro.”  Few things solidify a friendship like experiencing simultaneous explosive diarrhea in the outhouse of the ruins of a medieval convent perched high under the blazing Portuguese sun. 

To say the beginning of our trip was a bit challenging is to put it lightly.  The days passed and we began to realize that our luggage may never arrive.  “Talvez amanhã , ele vai chegar.” We were told every morning when we called to inquire.  We finally decided there was no option but to go shopping.  Remember that scene from National Lampoon’s European Vacation when they go shopping in Rome?  It went something like that.  The fashion was so much better than what we currently had in the states, so, against our better judgement; we did quite a bit of damage.  Decked out in our new duds, and with the prescription pills making us feel better, we set out to see the splendors of Portugal!.  We took the train to Cascais and had a two bottle of wine lunch at a clifftop hotel overlooking one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen.  We ate and drank our way all throughout the city.  It was in one word: magical.

With both of us having a gambling streak in us, we decided to hit up one of Lisbon’s many casinos.  Luck was truly on our side as we deposited our Euros into the Cleopatra themed slot machine, and to our amazement, won almost 900 Euros!  This was enough to recuperate the money we spent shopping and gave us some extra spending money for the rest of our trip and for our next stop, London.

On the 5^th day, our luggage arrived.  However, it arrived in pieces, held together by duct tape, and contained many items that were certainly not ours.  Feeling high on our recent win at the casino, this really didn’t bother us much.  We decided to visit the Casino in Estoril, touted as the largest casino in all of Europe.  We dressed in our new snazzy clothes and went on our way.  As we were about to enter the complex, Missy tripped on the cobblestone street, due to her, yup, you guessed it, poor choice in footwear.  This was made all that more troubling by the scraped knees and hands she suffered from the fall.  So, there we stood at the entrance to the casino, Missy in her white linen skirt, blood running down her knees, the stigmata at Estoril.  Passersby looking worried commenting, “Ela está bem ?” 

"a pic right before the fall, doctored up by my graphic designer sister in law:-)."

This trip was really the last big adventure Missy and I had before she and her husband had children and I met Oscar.  It was the experience of a lifetime.  Few people get to share a friendship like the one Missy and I have.  In the past 25 years, we have seen each other through the many trials and tribulations that come with adulthood.  We have known each other since we were 13.  I am the Godfather to her first born child and she was the maid of honor at my wedding.  We call each other best friends but it goes so much deeper than that.  She is another sister to me.  Throughout the day, I have a constant conversation with her in my head.  She gets my dark and often twisted sense of humor.  I think of her as a sounding board, a confidant, and an integral influence on the man I am today.  We often laugh at what the next 25 years of our lives will be like, when we are in our 60’s.  I can tell you this, I plan on being there.  Besides, who else is going to tell her that the heels she wants to buy for her vacation are probably a bad idea?

"Bring your neighbor a cake"

We are living in a most interesting age.  Never, in all of humanity, have we been as technologically advanced as we are now.  We have an International Space Station, we can Facetime with anyone, anywhere, at any time.  We can transmit millions (even billions) of dollars from one location to another instantly.  Remember that song you heard the other day and absolutely fell in love with?  Search for it, buy it, download it, and in 2 minutes, probably less, you now own it-forever!  The next generation will wonder what a CD, a mix tape, a Filofax, a floppy disc, or an 8-track was. 

Yet, we are living in a paradox.  All of this technology is astounding in the areas of medicine and healthcare, for example.  As a race will we ever have to worry again about the black plague or scarlet fever? However, what has this constant connectivity done to our thought process, our expectations of each other and of life in general?  What has it done to our souls?  We only need to logon to Facebook to read captions such as “what happens next will blow your mind!” or “This [man’s, woman’s, father’s, mother’s, daughter’s] reaction will leave you speechless!”  It’s like we want the cupcake and only want to eat the icing, every single time.  We want the best of the best, the rawest of emotions, and the very core of a feeling.  We want it in high resolution, with a deeply moving soundtrack and perfect lighting.  We want it to be quickly downloadable and shareable. 

Will this generation know the joy of receiving a hand written letter from a dear friend or relative? Will they experience the feelings that come from reading their handwriting and sensing the emotions in their penmanship?   How about the unexpected “long distance” call from a faraway loved one, the surprise at hearing their voice, not knowing who may be calling during those days before caller ID.  For as much as we’ve advanced, I feel we’ve lost some of life’s simplest pleasures, the ones that elicit genuine emotion.

Sure, we’re connected on Facebook, Insatgram, Twitter and Snapchat, but are we really?  Does my “liking” the picture of your new couch convey the same sentiment as my paying you a visit and commenting on what a wonderful choice you made, how well it goes with your home?  When was the last time you went over a friend’s house for coffee or to a play a board game, remember those?  The countless hours of our youth spent calculating how exactly could we buy Park Place.

Interestingly enough, there is a resurgence of all things antique and vintage.  Everything old is new again.  We are longing for genuineness in our lives, items with a sense of history.  How many Great Gatsby parties have you heard of recently?  We want to relive those exuberant days of yore.  We’re yearning for something tactile to make us feel less computerized, less predictable, and less robotic.

Recently, my husband and I moved into a new home, our very first home which (through great sacrifice) we purchased together.  We live in a rural area of South Florida and, I’ll be honest, we were worried as to how the neighborhood would welcome the new gay couple on the block.  I’ll tell you what they did.  Our neighbors on one side, an elderly American couple, brought us a beautiful planted orchid a week after we moved in.  Upon delivering it, they said “Welcome to the neighborhood, we hope this helps make your house a home.”   Our front door neighbor, the retired soldier from Alabama and his restaurant-owner wife, brought us her famous coconut-rum cake along with mangoes and avocados from their back yard.  Since then, we’ve all continued to share homemade treats with one another, a bottle of guava preserves made from guavas on my family’s farm in exchange for a couple jars of mango butter and strawberry jam.  It may sound very “Peyton Place” but what it actually is, is real.  These individuals took the time out of their busy lives to think of us, to make something with their own hands and share it with us.  It involved zero technology.  There was not one emoji to be found. 

Am I guilty of succumbing to technology’s embrace? Absolutely.  However, I try to achieve a balance.  I mainly listen to public radio and do not watch much TV.  We only recently got cable, and we opted for the most basic package, about 70 channels total.  I get my news from the radio when the BBC announces their hourly updates.  My husband and I anxiously await Saturday’s broadcast of Prairie Home Companion and challenge each other by playing along to “Says You” after that.  I bake a loaf of banana bread every Sunday.  I make my own pasta.  There is a sense of comfort that can only be achieved with these tasks.

So, the next time your friend updates their status to inform you of their latest accomplishment, surprise them with a visit and something homemade.  Granted, it takes more time and effort.  However, I’d like to think that when I’m old and gray (although the gray is well underway already) that those are the moments I’ll look back on.  You won’t be able to hold on to the 73 “likes” you received on your Facebook picture, but that handwritten card you received that, that you will be able to clutch close to your heart forever.