The daily digest of Twin Cities culture | Secrets of the City

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I lost a friend about a year ago. Or at least, I thought I did.

Last month she came back. It turned out she and her husband were going through a terrible time when she faded away: he'd been diagnosed with a chronic disease and had to go on disability; they were on the brink of losing their house; they pulled their son out of college because they couldn't pay the bills. She told me all this over coffee but assured me that the situation has since righted itself. Her husband is working, they renegotiated their mortgage. The kid is back in school.

"Why didn't you say anything when this was going on?" I asked. "Why avoid me? I thought I'd done something to offend you?"

"We were ashamed," she answered. "We never thought our lives would turn out this way."

Yeah, well, who did? I wanted to ask. But I didn't. I kept my mouth shut.

The thing is, we're all going through things we never thought we would. Job losses, marital trauma, children who end up. . . .uh. . . .in jail. And it's really humbling when people witness this. Jesus, don't I know? But it's also human. It's what binds us together, I think. If not for the wisdom of good people who can look on as we falter, what good - really - are friends?

I was reminded of this again on Sunday, when two people who were audience to some ugly, altogether-too-human episodes in MY household, showed up for dinner with a bottle of wine.

It was, I'll admit, very tough to open the door. The last time I talked to these two I was at one of the lowest points in my life. They knew the inside of my domestic drama, the same as if they'd carved it open to perform surgery on its heart. They had my dignity in their hands. That, and a bottle of Saccardi Chianti Classico Riserva from Haskell's.

So I took a big breath and swallowed my pride (which I had to do in two parts, the job was so big) and ushered them in. We uncorked the wine and my husband poured it into four glasses and we all toasted the holidays and the year ahead.

It's rare to find a chianti so simple and earthy and smooth, like a single violin note. But that's what a little age can do. And it was, really, the perfect gesture from people who wanted to say - at least I think they wanted to say this - "I understand, your most delicate, private inner workings are safe with us."

So I served them dinner and on Monday I went to Haskell's, where I picked up a couple bottles of Saccardi for my old friend.