Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Like An Old Friend

Oh, my. It's been quite some time since I blogged, something I started doing because I was alone and afraid and in need of a listening ear...and here is where I found it. And oh, the hours I spent pounding on my keyboard and working out the kinks! In my wee house in Sully, in the wee hours, I wrote and wrote and wrote, while my wee children drooled on their pillows (or mine...let's be honest).

Some of those thoughts I shared right here...and so many I didn't. Those remain unpublished and unread, and tucked away...beside the worst memories, the worst nightmares, and all things unspeakable. They can stay there. I might read them one day. I might share them with a soul or two....or I might just let them rest. The beauty lies in knowing that I get to make those decisions.

So. Why did I stop writing? That is simple. I'm no longer alone, just a tiny bit afraid now and then, and thank the sweet Lord, virtually surrounded by listening ears these days. But truth be told, I really miss writing. This blog is like an old friend that knows nearly everything about me, demands next to nothing, and sends me a card every birthday, even if I don't deserve it. I'm happy to see this old friend again - to talk about old memories, that crazy Kentucky Brown Bear recipe I tried tonight (I swear to God, that's what it was called) and about what may or may not happen tomorrow. I'm looking forward to writing without a dark cloud hanging over my head. It's not all sweetness and light, but I have fair doses of both and man, I dig that.

Speaking of old friends...just last night I was involved in a group chat on Facebook that nearly had me whizzing my drawers. I will identify the other parties involved as only C and J, as they may not want to be named...and I, of course, am playing the part of D.

C: OK you two...I just couldn't help but send you a quick note. I was going through some of my crap and found a stack of notepaper notes (how much do I love that she described them that way?) between the three of us. I was sitting on the floor of my basement snorting and laughing out loud. J is constantly apologizing for her handwriting (which is perfect, by the way) and D is telling me exactly what she is wearing, and all about her torrid love affairs. (And folks, there were none. What an imagination I must have had!) This is some pretty intense reading!!

D: Please. J had the most perfect handwriting EVER. And she got boobs first. So unfair!

C: I know! She was so advanced.

J: OMG. How embarrassing!

C: Oh yeah, baby! You had it going on!

D: Remember when Mr. Becker read one of our joint notes OUT LOUD? Mortal embarrassment!!

At this point, we talked about whether or not we would be attending our upcoming 25 year class reunion. I couldn't help resorting to a bit of peer pressure when J seemed reluctant to commit.....


D: J. You MUST attend. Or C will publish your notes in our hometown paper.

J made some completely desultory (and ridiculous) comment about herself. And wisely, I responded with this nugget:

D: Stop the madness. Wear a low cut shirt and all is well.

C: I also found a pic of us being grapes for some Homecoming thing. Our. Hair. Was. HUGE.

And then...the three of us went on and on, complimenting each other on our respective bleached, permed and spiral curled hairstyles, thanking each other for friendship, and simply being supportive, kind long-term friends. I've been on this earth for 43 years, I've been a girl for all of them, and I know the rarity of that type of genuine, uncalculated kindness. I think we all need a little more of that. I think we all need to give a little more of that.

It's funny how things come full circle. I've lived in my new hometown for over a year now, and I have had the good fortune to make some seriously cool girlfriends. I call them hens, and the name fits. They strut, they fluff their feathers, they peck at the varmints. Simply put, they took me in. And not so many evenings ago, they came to my house with their childhood photos in hand, and we laughed until we cried. We were rowdy and bawdy and crude...but not - never - towards each other. In fact, I held on to some of these comments that night,

"I love how you feathered your hair! It was so....artistic!"

"Wow. I didn't know you were born a boy, but you made an excellent boychild. And I'm sure your weiner was superb."

"Your bangs were crooked, but in a very shabby chic way. Honest."

I think the lesson here is clear. Be kind. Give it away, because there is so much more to be had. Get out there. Cook that Kentucky Brown Bear. Tell one of your girlfriends she had a great weiner.

There is something good to be found in nearly everything, if we just push back our permed hair and look for it. I'm looking. Are you?


And speaking of pictures, this here is Miss Penelope, biking her little legs off in pursuit of corn.