I saw in the local newspaper on Cape Cod that the last of my mother’s monthly luncheon crowd died a few days ago. They are all gone now. I want to take a moment to give you the best of what they brought to me. When my mother died more than a decade ago, I was living on Cape Cod taking care of her cancer ridden end of life. At her funeral I was invited to take her place at the monthly luncheon she and her friends had been doing for years. They met at a different restaurant each month, where they asked for separate checks, heard one another’s reviews of the past month, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. When they asked if I wanted to come, I said, “Oh my God, you mean like the Sisters of the Ya Ya? I’m so excited. Thank you. I’m there; just tell me when and where.” None of them knew the Ya Ya Sisterhood story, and I tried to explain, but it fell on deaf ears. Literally. You had to speak up with the YaYas. I gave each of them their own copy of the movie for Christmas that first year, and since none of them mentioned it afterward, I don’t think they watched it. Or worse, they watched it and thought I was nuts, which is the more likely scenario.