Last night I was sitting out on my deck as the sun was setting, doing some writing, reading New York Times recipes, looking out over my pretty back yard and pondering going to bed when the doorbell rang. That happens so rarely that it’s always a little bit exciting and one of the last few, true surprises that seem left in life: who could that be? Dr. Marry, poor soul, caught my second summer cold and had begrudgingly shuffled off to bed hours earlier, so I had been having a quiet, solitary Friday summer evening until that bell rang. I opened the door, and there stood my friend, my Master’s…