Chappaqua

Remember me? I introduced myself and welcomed you to Chappaqua in a letter that appeared in The Washington Post in 1999. You even took the time to acknowledge it, writing me a personal note afterwards. Like other neighbors in our small leafy hamlet (the way it’s referred to disparagingly in the press), we never really got to know each other.

 

Actually, we did speak briefly on three occasions that I am more likely to remember than you---at your book-signing for Living History at the Chappaqua Library sponsored by Second Story Bookshop (our independent bookseller); at a talk you gave for the Wise Wonderful Women of Westchester (held at Temple Beth El); and at a presentation you made at the Crabtree’s Kittle House restaurant sponsored by Second Shift (an organization of career-moms in Chappaqua struggling with work/life balance issues).

 

Admittedly, you’ve accumulated quite a few frequent flyer miles and haven’t had the chance to be here as often as you or I would have liked. As often happens in small leafy hamlets like Chappaqua (and enormous virtual social networking sites like LinkedIn), you only recognize many neighbors by sight and know people who know them (If it helps with the introduction, you’re a friend of my some of my friends).

 

As an aside, I might add that from the time you first moved to Westchester County and were immediately bestowed with a welcoming carpetbagger label, both you and the President have been wonderful citizens and neighbors. My now 20-year-old son, Andrew, heard you speak about citizenship at the Robert E. Bell Middle School and couldn't wait until he was old enough to vote (Unfortunately, the outcome of his first presidential election turned out to be hugely disappointing).

 

By the time he got to high school, you were splitting your time between here and Washington, DC as our U.S. Senator and he had the privilege of being in the audience as your husband addressed the entire school body in the gymnasium at Horace Greeley High School. You’ve consistently marched down King Street in our Memorial Day parades, appeared at local benefits for various health and social causes (without any fanfare or efforts to turn it into a media event), and have made other quiet but significant, non-public contributions as a townie.

 

I think you got shafted in the primaries from every side. But then you’ve been a lightening rod for critics and naysayers ever since I first knew you (once removed) and you’ve been strong and committed enough to take it. I’m writing to remind you that there are many women in town like me who have profound respect for the road you’ve paved for your daughter and other women’s daughters. We appreciate your intellect, tenacity, and your love for your family, community and country.

 

I’m writing now because everyone knows that losing isn’t easy, particularly when you’ve worked so hard and the loss is so public. It has to take the wind out of your sails, at least for the summer. You need a friend’s shoulder.

 

Ironically, I’m completing a book about female friendships and I have never been so lonely---you and I both know what it’s like putting off friendships to focus on work. I recognize through my research and personal experience that you are a prime candidate for a condition that I call female friendship deficit disorder.

 

Women with this disorder simply don’t have enough time for female friendships---even though we recognize how vital these relationships are to our physical, emotional and spiritual well-being. At this point you might be saying, “It’s kind of like sleep. We know we should get more of it, but there simply isn’t enough time!”

 

But when you do have more time, all of a sudden that hole in your life hits you hard. You’re in your house alone and feel awkward picking up the phone to call a friend whom you haven’t talked to in months or years. In short, I’d love you to come over to my house to chat over soft-scrambled eggs (which you say is a favorite of yours on your MySpace page) and a cup of cappuccino---or a glass of red wine with cheese and chocolate if it’s later in the day.

 

Leave your pantsuit home and come casually-dressed. We’ll share feelings, laugh and enjoy the beauty of spring in the Hudson Valley. We might talk about the challenges of taking care of aging moms or raising only-children, but I promise we won’t talk about politics, husbands or the state of healthcare in America. Do you need a female friend?

With warm wishes,

Irene

 

From his hometown and mine---Chappaqua, New York---New York Times columnist Peter Applebome recently chronicled the impact of the Bear Stearns crisis (Metro Section, March 20, 2008) on the local folks. With great sympathy, he described the economic woes of the predominantly male commuters boarding the 6:13AM Metro North train into Manhattan---those affected directly and indirectly by the downtown on Wall Street.

But then his comments turned nasty. He wrote, “At Donna Hair Designs in Chappaqua, the financial meltdown barely registered on the yakometer when compared with the embarrassment of riches from the political world….,” referring to the discussions taking place all over the western world about the Spitzer sex saga.

I don’t know why Applebome’s vision of what women talk about is so skewed and limited. Perhaps, his foils were hanging too low over his ears while he was eavesdropping on our conversations.

Yes, men accuse women of “yakking,” a condescending term (oddly enough, derived from the long-haired ox of Tibet). But when it comes to clinching hard-to-get appointment at a hair salon, it isn’t simply about getting your hair done. Just like old-fashioned barbershops once were for men, contemporary hair shops are vital epicenters of in-person communication for women. Sometimes, the wash, cut, color and highlights are ancillary to other reasons for the visit.

Women truly connect in a hair shop. They form close emotional ties with their stylists, male and female. Like dating, if the personalities don’t click, the relationships break up quickly and the client moves on until she lands “the one.” When stylist and client do connect, the relationship is likely to be meaningful and long-lasting. Clients move out-of-town but they come back to Donna’s to get their hair done. Donna has blow-dried three generations in some families. She’s attended their weddings, christenings, bar mitzvahs, and funerals.

The hair salon is one of the few places (other than a blood bank) where multi-tasking women finally get to sit-down, think about the important issues on their minds, and talk about them to someone who is ready to listen. The stylist hovering over a head is in a perfect position (except for the din of the dryers) ---to question, counsel, and provide advice and information.

What do talking heads---reds, blonds, brunettes, and grays---talk about? They discuss marital and sexual problems (not only Spitzer’s, but also their own). They talk about their health problems, some of which are too embarrassing to talk about to their boyfriends or doctors. They ask where their friend undergoing chemotherapy can get a natural-looking wig and where they can find a financial advisor or lawyer.

They complain about unfair teachers in the elementary schools, bullies in the middle schools, and high school kids gone wild. They solicit recommendations for finding a responsive pediatrician for their children, a therapist for their kid sister, or a compassionate geriatrician for their parents. They whisper about husbands who have been laid off or who work incessantly, and network with other successful career women---often finding serendipitous ways to enhance each other’s careers. They confess when they haven’t been a good friend or when a friend has dumped on them.

In the 17th and 18th centuries, especially in Paris, many sophisticated women gathered regularly at a “salon” in the home of a gifted hostess to learn from one other and refine their tastes. The same traditions of the “salon” of yesteryear bring women together at hair salons today. It’s place where women can let their hair down, talk, and share accumulated wisdom on a range of topics affecting them and their families.

Some balding men just don’t get it.