Old Ladies Club

When the first of the Nine turned 25 I started the Old Ladies Club. I know, I know. We are not old. It was a joke. Kinda. So many life changes made us feel old. Well, older. The changes made me feel old. Well, older. But I had my friends. Good friends who just happen to be hitting the same age milestone. Celebration was in order. So, at every birthday I would write, call, or sing something about entry into the Old Ladies Club. Yay? Yep, yay! For being 25.

The last one of us turned 25 last week. "Welcome to the Old Ladies Club!" That's how she was greeted in her emails. It is sorta like the Pink Hat Society, the entry level or precursor to the Red Hat Society. I don't like pink. Never have, so I want us to have our own rules. Renegades. Rebels. Nonconformists. Something our own where we create the standards and expectations.

Things like...

1. No pink. Or no forcing of pink.

2. Little to no make up is required.

3. Laughter. Lots of laughter.

4. Yearly gathering. (Try your hardest to be there.)

5. Submit a Grateful List weekly. (Try your hardest to create.)

The list will continue to grow. Explicitly and implicitly. Written and on our hearts. We do most of these things without thinking. Nothing too new. And my goodness, like we need another name for our group. Like discussed, "best friends" is such a fine title.

I am a member of the Old Ladies Club. There are eight other members. Dues are cheap! Just regular increments of love, kindness, support, and understanding.

It is a fun group. Everybody knows my name.

Growing old(er) isn't that bad.

BEAT

Just one?

Growing up I would always say, "But you can only have one best friend." I meant it. From an early age, I would only allow myself to have one best friend. And I made that clear to others. I would declare, "No, This is my best friend. You are not."

The word "best" denotes special, extraordinary, better. Most think of that in a singular form. One best friend. One.

What a fool. I'm talking about myself. Unless of course you hold the same notion. Foolish.

I went to college and the world changed. I changed. I brought along Amber. Well, not really brought along. But we were roommates for four years, yet we've known each other since sixth grade. Amber and I, attached at the hip for those first days at LaGrange, met some folks. It started on our hall, Hawkes 3. Our neighbors would be the first contacts; then quickly followed a curly haired girl down the hall. By the end of that year I was connected to Amber, the neighbors, a curly haired girl down the hall, a girl the floor below who loved turtles, another red head the floor above, and then another set of roommates who just happened to live in the next dorm over. Count it up, that makes nine.*

The next three years created a bond that has lasted. It has not been easy. We moved away. Some got married. Some didn't. Some are still in school. Some work 50 hour weeks. Different stages. Different steps. Different.

But there is a bond. I call these ladies my BFFs. And I mean it. Forever. Always. I know, I know. Sounds even more foolish to say forever than just having one best friend. But I have a feeling. It's okay; call me a fool. Even crazy.

I have some other BFFs. Good BFFs. One recently visited. I'm lucky. I might even call her my sister before my best friend. Her family is my family. My family is her family. Yep, we'll go with sister. And still there are more.

As you can see, I've been pondering this whole BFF thing for awhile. One person in particular has been on my mind. We've been friends since my birth. (Literally.) Our history is deep and wide. We fall a part from one another, but we always find the paths that lead back to the rhythms and patterns of friendship. We'll find our way back. I've got this thing called hope.

The moral of the story, don't be a fool. Have a whole gaggle of best friends. It makes life special, extraordinary, better. And tell'em if you have them. Tell'em you love them. And if you don't have them, well then, I will be praying for you.

Not just one,

BEAT

*There were a few that ebbed and flowed in and out of the circle, but they did not stick around. I mean it, they made the decision to quit us. We can be a hand full but well worth it. Something you want to hold on tight to and never let go. Promise.

Road Trip

Megs is my best traveling buddy. Even when I asked if I could take out my contacts and switch to my glasses while driving, she politely agreed. No worries, I pulled off at the next exit to change them out. 

I wish I had pictures to share, but that will probably not happen. The weather was mostly rainy and cold, so nothing special to look at. Unless you count the man in uniform that shared Sunday brunch with us. Talking about hot stuff. 

Megs and I spend many moments planning our next trip. Especially on the drive or flight back. We figure we are going to be single for, well, a long time. And just so you don't worry, we are a-ok with this reality. A-ok. Some may call it independence. Others feminism at its best. Still some, something about being picky. Whatever, I am single. We are single. (Megs doesn't mind me speaking for her. Right, Megs?)

I love road trips. Tough this one did me in for a while. I did about 24 hours of driving over a five/six day period. I enjoy just talking and catching up. I even like the getting lost part. Bad words and all. Bad, bad words. It makes Megs laugh. And we are never bringing that damn GPS. 

I like the moments of silence when the conversation lingers and then trails off. Creating an easy silence. 

Then there is that moment when the silence breaks. Usually by a question. In this case, Rush Limbaugh. Before Megs could even finish the question, I let out the exaggerated sigh. Come on, do you blame me? But I listened. She did repeat the question. And then again. Repeated her concerns over the media's betrayal of his "fail" comment. She made me listen. Take note of the other side. And be more attentive to the whole story. And I didn't want to. But this what we do. Ask the hard questions. Be honest. Listen. Share openly. Dialogue. Curbside conference. Holy conferencing. (FYI: I have a bigger bone to pick with Mr. Limbaugh. Not so much about what he says but more about the enormous contract he recently signed.) 

The silence was broken. And thank God. We've got to do this more. Agree or disagree. Heated or mellow. The questions must be asked. The silence is comfortable. Easy. Safe. Unremarkable. 

The silence must be broken. At some point we have to ask the burning questions. The questions of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. The questions that change us. The world. To create and maintain relationships. 

The problem, I can't wait for another road trip. We can't wait for the next road trip. 

BEAT