Just Like High School

For all of my years as a student, I consistently received two comments on my report card:

"Excellent student" or "Talks too much in class"

Forgive the distinction but although I did talk in class, I was responding! Someone ... usually one of the girls above had asked a question, made a comment, sent me a look or passed me a note.

Our girlfriend reunion weekend was magical. I expected it to be great and I was not disappointed. The four of us could sit in a room with nothing to do but watch paint dry and we could not run out of conversation or laughter. We ate a lot of junk and tried to fill it in with some healthy stuff. We asked our questions and they ran the gamut from funny to morose to reflective.

They all went to my church on Sunday. I tried to be an excellent student. And yes, we were a tad disruptive.

To my goldies, thank you!

A Friendship Story

In The Big Chill, there's a scene where the group of friends is reflecting on their friendship. One of of them says, "It's no surprise that our friendship could survive that (referring to their youth) -- it's out here that it gets tough."

The four girls in this photo have survived our childhood friendship with each other for over 3 decades. And this weekend, we have set aside a few days for our girlfriend reunion. Deb, Jan and I have done this for eons -- some years more than others. For the first time, our friend Lynn will also join us. We lost contact with Lynn for a while and are now making up for lost time.

It's not fair to give them labels but I'm going to do it anyway.

Lynn is the funny one. As young girls, she was also the brave one. I never know what will come out of her mouth. Last night she told me she was so excited about this weekend, she felt like "a d**k on a date." Not quite the phrase I would have chosen but I'm equally excited.

Deb is the serene one. People might think she's shy or quiet but she's not. She's just smart enough to assess people and situations to avoid putting her foot in her mouth. Under the surface is the teenager I remember. We all revert to high school when we gather.

Jan wears her heart on her sleeve. She would've made a great Miss America -- her passions have always been children and animals. (Plus I"m pretty sure she wants world peace too.) She also holds the unenviable position of the first person I call for almost any crisis or disaster -- real or imagined.

We all have a little bit of crossover. We can all be funny but we're not quite as "out there" as Lynn. We all have a hesitant or shy side but I'm not sure we do it with Deb's studious style. We all try to be kind but we won't measure up to Jan. We shouldn't even try.

My oldies are a little paranoid. They have heard me talk of these reunions for years and they know no topic or question is off limits. They are convinced that we might discuss them a bit. Hmmm ...

So, I toast my golden friends as I count the days until I get to spend a little while in celebration of love and laughter.

My Girl

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day.
When it's cold outside I've got the month of May.
I guess you'd say
What can make me feel this way?
My girl (my girl, my girl)
Talkin' 'bout my girl (my girl).

I've got so much honey the bees envy me.
I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees.
I guess you'd say
What can make me feel this way?
My girl (my girl, my girl)
Talkin' 'bout my girl (my girl).

I don't need no money, fortune, or fame.
I've got all the riches baby one man can claim.
I guess you'd say
What can make me feel this way?
My girl (my girl, my girl)
Talkin' 'bout my girl (my girl).

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day
with my girl.
I've even got the month of May
with my girl.

This is an old Temptations song that we all know. I'm sure it's meant to be a love song between a man and a woman but I'm dedicating it to my girl.

She's the one who has a separate ring tone for me. She's the one who answers my phone calls in the middle of the night. She's the one that I can say "to the grave" and she knows I am serious. She's the one that can make fun of my middle-aged pooch and still make me laugh.

She's the one that's allowed to open my mail.

We both have bad days and this has not been a great year for either of us. In the midst, we've swapped some clothes, swapped some stories and laughed. just like old times.

I called her this morning and said, "I have to tell you something horrible I did." Without missing a beat, she said, "Tell me. It's to the grave."

I'm still standing on her shoulders.

Water Heaven

We just returned from our friends' lake cottage. It's a lot of packing and driving for less than two days but I don't care. We have a system and I can pack in 10 minutes as long as someone as done the laundry. Ooops! That would be me. We haul the dog, her crate, her bag, nine million toys and tennis balls. It would've been easier to adopt a baby and take his or her stuff along. (Of course, Child Protective Services probably frowns when you get tired of them and throw them in a crate for a break. -- Wait a minute! In my childhood, those were called playpens.

The weather forecast was lousy. I didn't care. After driving through some rain Friday night, we arrived to friends sitting on the patio. Saturday morning was gray, rainy, etc. The women of the cottage took the dogs for a romping walk in the rain, mud and muck. They had a darn good time.

Then, the skies cleared. The sun came out. I did my best to stay outside. Oh, I slept inside, went in to make a sandwich, etc. but soaked it in. Wet dogs shaking off after a swim. Little children on neighboring piers learning to flip and dive. Sunsets over the water. This is the womb for me.

We had six adults, one teenager plus dogs: two golden retrievers, one yellow Lab and our maniac black Lab. They could all get a job at Walmart because they are excellent greeters. Gabby plants herself on the stairs between the house and the pier in case anyone needs to go up or down. There are many dogs on both sides but somehow, they all get along.

Today, we took a long boat ride, courtesy of some friends, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch. Then we packed it all up and headed home. The husband headed to the driving range and I headed to the laundry room.

Health Scares

I don't like health-related scares. I realize that is a ridiculous sentence -- no one does. Although, Hangdog used to love to dream up symptoms and find any excuse to go to the doctor or the emergency room. Some were real and some were imaginary but I often wondered if this is an old person's version of a social life.

The goldies weekend is in full swing and a lot of our questions seem to come back to health and body: ours, our spouses, our parents, etc. Some of our parents are alarmists, others are secret keepers until the crisis is over. My parents are not secret keepers but they often don't give me full disclosure. I see and talk to my parents A LOT more than the other girls. It's kind of hard for us to keep too much from each other.

But my parents also know, I go immediately to "Jump in and fix it" mode. If there's a medical issue at hand, I have my doctor on speed dial. I will call every person I know in the medical field. I will have a list of the best specialist and the quacks that you shouldn't take your bird to. And if it's necessary, I WILL get you in to see the right person. (I'm very polite about it.)

We're not obsessed with it but I admit to some comfort in knowing my body is not doing anything that they are not also experiencing. There's a sisterhood in knowing that they also lose sleep when their husband is stressed or their parents have a scare.

Plus, our wacky senses of humor come through. One of us can be describing some non-life- threatening but disgusting ailment or disease. Instead of getting somber and sympathetic, we tend to burst into laughter.

Every little bit helps.

Airports

Forget about the hassles, the lines through security and the over-priced food. There are several things I love about airports:

People watching. There are some weird ducks out there.

Seeing someone embrace. Maybe it's a father returning from a business trip or a person serving our country returning home.

The anticipation of getting on a plane and going somewhere fun.

Picking up someone you love.

In less than two hours, I am going to the airport. I'm going to pick up someone I love who I have not seen in a year and a half -- just wrong! I am certain I will burst into tears the moment I see her.

My parents do not spontaneously combust every time something touches them emotionally. I have no idea where I got this gene. It does kind of freak people out.

In some undefinable way, the airport allows us to explore all kinds of feelings and emotions. It may be:

Relief: Bye Bye
Sadness: Bye Bye
Fear: Did I leave the coffee pot on?
Love: Welcome home
Jealousy: No one's here to greet me.
Envy: I want that luggage.
Gossip: She's wearing that on a plane?
Stubbornness: I will take my seat and half of yours.

The airport is a sociology experiment brought to life every day.

Bittersweet

Today is Jan's birthday! I hope she listens to Lynrd Skynrd. I hope she knows that she is one of the most treasured people in my life.

On her birthday eve, I was listening to music and the husband was trying to figure out chords on the piano. Time flew by and the next thing I knew, it was 11:15 or so. At night! (I am the Queen of early to bed, early to rise.) Then it became a mission -- I will stay awake until midnight so I can call Jan.

I have my own special ring tone on her phone. She always knows it's me. Here I'm thinking I'll just leave her a sweet birthday message but SHE SLEEPS WITH THE PHONE AT HER EAR! Instead of voicemail, I hear, "Hi Sheri, What's wrong? You never call me at midnight." I felt kind of stupid saying, "I just wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday."

The bittersweet part is that today is also Patsy's birthday. I still miss her. It's one of those aches that will never go away, although the pain has changed from stabbing to a dull throb.

The photo above was taken at the beginning of my sophomore year of college. We're not discussing how many years ago that was. We're upbeat. It's our birthday week.

Impromptu Parties

If you're with the right group of people, a party can break out at any time. I live with an "out there" person. A lot of my friends can turn any occasion into a party. I used to think I was a victim of circumstance but now I accept that I am often the instigator.

Jan has a routine that cracks me up. She will call twice on the home phone. If I do not answer, she will call twice on my cell phone. If I do not answer, she will walk into my kitchen. When a girl needs her girlfriend, the barriers go away. Strong people just knock them out of the way. The message is, "I will find you." I am always relieved to be found.

Houseboy came in for a cold drink after spending many hours loading the fallen tree and many limbs into the chipper. (Abby calls him Poolboy, although I do not have a pool.) My next door neighbor's daughter, and my friend, came over with her puppy. We passed him around like old women do with an infant. I played referee with my maniac dog.

The iPod was rocking. We discussed children and dogs and storm damage. It was an impromptu party and the most fun I've had in weeks.

Walking Into a Memory

On Saturday, the husband and I went to a friend's home for dinner. He and his girlfriend prepared a fabulous meal and could not have been more gracious. It was a roller coaster of laughs, food, music ... and tears.

My friend, Patsy, was his wife. The last time I stepped in this house, I was visiting her after surgery. I knew he had remodeled/recedorated and I was anxious to see it. I was also just plain anxious. I used to be able to drive to this place in my sleep. We have had girlfriend sleepovers and SuperBowl parties there. We sat in the kitchen and solved the problems of the world.

Crossing the threshold was like walking through foam. I expected her to walk up to me, cup my face with her little hands and kiss me in greeting. (Then she would tell me what was wrong with my life.)

I didn't exactly boo-hoo; I just couldn't escape the memories. I really like the girlfriend but I'm sure she wanted to slap me: Just stop it!

Although she was Jewish, Patsy's final days were spent in a Catholic hospital. Crucifixes everywhere. My super-funny husband would walk into the room and say, "Love your decorations." She was in a coma but her machines would go crazy.

The house has changed and although it was beautiful before, it better suits her husband now. Plus, his girlfriend must appreciate the changes.

One thing he kept was a large frame filled with friends and family. She inspired me to do this myself and it's a tedious yet worthwhile project. People get enthralled with the search. Am I in there? The husband couldn't find himself. I pointed out: she didn't like you.

The truth is she did like him but she enjoyed the dance of poking and prodding, as does he. They disagreed on so many things that it made my head spin. I learned many years ago to get out of the way.

So, I went to Patsy's house. I loved it. Patsy wanted nothing more for her husband and children than to be happy and I felt nothing but love in the house. Could anyone ask for a better legacy?

That's When I Learned

When I was seven years old, I had a sleepover birthday party. My favorite gift was a Barbie Pool. One of my friends threw up in it. That's when I learned that I liked my friends more than material things.

I had a few babysitters. One of them used to serve her husband Club Crackers and a Pepsi when he came home from work. We were not allowed these items and I coveted them. That's when I learned there are different rules for grown-ups.

Once I pined for a neighbor's son. I mean serious angst. Unfortunately, I carried this little spark for years... to the point of almost obsession. We went on a date once. I loved the movie; he hated it. That's when I learned there's a gift in letting go of a fantasy.

I've admitted it before but I've stood on top of Jan's shoulders (literally and figuratively) more times than I can count. That's when I learned a friend will catch you if she can.

College. That's when I learned a lot of stuff.

I had a six-pound dog that could eat quadruple her weight in carpeting, door frames, and anything in the path. That's when I learned about dog crates.

Another friend has lived in different towns for almost thirty years. That's when I learned friendship has no boundaries.

The oldies embodied grace and southern charm. Living with them taught me I have more to learn.

Golden Girl Reunion

The Golden Girl reunion is coming up. It's been more than a year and I can't wait. They tease me about my choice of words but yes, I am giddy.As you know, we play the question game. We all submit questions and then dump them in a bag. No subject is off limits. We never run out of things to talk about but the questions help us catch up.

You would think we know everything there is to know about each other. We've known each other more than 30 years (and I'm being kind.)  We email (almost) every day. Jan and I talk (almost) every day. Deb is far away but we are in constant contact. If she needed us, Jan and I would be on the next plane. 

I loved school. I used to make up homework. (Yes, I am that dorky.) Plus, the journalism training kicks in and my questions need to be relevant and poignant.


I am always blown away at our ability to get to the heart of the matter.  A question may provoke a tear or a great memory laugh.  Then, we realize we're in the safety zone of our friendship and we're allowed to ask, "How are you going to handle that?"  We don't have to say it aloud.  It's implied, "How can I help?"

The husbands get a little nervous about our reunion.  I'm sure they think we spend the entire time talking about them.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  We stroll memory lane and advise each other about jobs, kids, pets, etc.  We eat and drink with abandon.The three of us have seen it all.  For the most part, we've held each other's hands (or been handed a margarita.)  Death, childbirth, marriage, loss, biopsies, menopause, puberty, etc.  

My favorite part is that we don't have to explain ourselves to each other.  I/we can say, "I'm feeling weird today."  The other girls perk up and pitch in.

Letting Go

I don't let go easily. It may be people or things but there's a reason they're in my life and I'm a clinger. Within the past few years, I've had to let go of:

The oldies -- shocking.
The daughter who moved to Texas. Expected, but hard.
The baby who grew up and moved to the college life.
Mentors and business associates who have retired or moved on.
Friends who died too soon.
A beloved pet.

I've also had to let go of some dreams and perceptions. That "slap-you-in-the-face" reality is a downer.

I need to let go of some clutter. I'm being swallowed by books and papers.

Mostly, I need to let go of some expectations and the load of guilt I can't seem to shake. I wish they made a magic pill for that.

It's Mandatory

Like all of you, I've lost loved ones to accidents, disease, and plain ol' old age. It shocks and rocks you. It is the cycle of life but it never gets easier.

Here's what I've learned. The words, "I love you" are always welcome. I rarely end a conversation or an email to a friend without them. I say them to my parents, the daughter and the baby, and my friends every day, in every conversation. It's a genuine feeling and no matter what is going on, I want you to know that you take up a space in my heart.

It's a Sheri Rule. It's mandatory for me.

There are k'jillions of children who have never heard this phrase.

Quakin'

We had an earthquake Friday. I was clueless until my phone started to ring and I turned on the news.

Indiana is known for snow storms and tornadoes. We don't deal with earthquakes often, although we are close to a fault line. This one took every one by surprise.

I thought maybe I could count on the dog to clue me in on aftershocks. Since she barks at air, this does not seem probable.

I'm quakin' for other reasons:

Is the oldies' paperwork ever going to diminish?
Can I take some of my knowledge gained through my conference and turn it into productive activity?
Is my judgment so askew that I have misread situations and friends?
What can I do (more/better) to help friends in rough times?
Will I ever feel up to speed regarding technology?
When the husband and I have different goals, will I find the compromise? Will he?

A minor earthquake doesn't rock my world. The daily questions make me shake, rattle and roll.

Punchlines

The oldies did not always get our humor. I'll be the first to admit that the language can get raw and and the subject matter can get out of hand.

Some people are really good at telling a joke. Some people, like the husband, get accused of turning every joke into a shaggy dog story.

Within your family or your close circle of friends, there comes a point where you don't have to tell the story. You can just blurt out the punchline and everyone cracks up.

When we go to the lake or on vacation with friends, we have it down to a secret language. (There might be some wine involved.)

My faves:

They stuck me with a chihuahua?
The Thompson twins are drunk again.
A good goat will do that.
Two pickets to Titsburg.

That last one isn't the punchline but you'll know immediately if you've heard the joke.

It's kind of like a song you've heard before.

Being (self-diagnosed) slightly autistic, I laugh every time.

Sprouting Tubers

This is a phrase my friend Deb made up. She is very creative and I'm a little jealous.

A definition: Sprouting tubers is taking the couch potato thing to a whole new level. You've been sitting there so long, you're sprouting tubers.

I'm trying to figure out why the oldies don't sprout tubers. Their life is eat/sleep/repeat.

Other than falling into my bed, I haven't spent much time off my feet. In a few days, I plan to grab a book, nestle in and sprout some tubers.

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

I love Dr. Seuss. There was a point in my life that I could recite Green Eggs and Ham from memory. For a while, it was one of the baby's favorite bedtime books, along with The Very Bad Bunny.(This is not Dr. Seuss but it's a good one.)

Thanksgiving is next week and the Christmas ads and catalogs are already plentiful. Unless you are hibernating in a cave, you know the holiday season is upon us. Here's what I love: the husband and I negotiated years ago that I can only begin the Christmas music in the house on the day after Thanksgiving. But, he can't control what I listen to in the car or in my office. I love putting up the tree with the exception of the year I had to move it three times. I love the parties, even when I'm exhausted. Most of all, I love the cheesy Christmas movies and specials:

National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation
It's a Wonderful Life
Miracle on 34th Street
A Christmas Story
A Charlie Brown Christmas
Frosty the Snowman
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
A Christmas Carol
Scrooged

My favorite is How The Grinch Stole Christmas. I've loved it since childhood but it has taken on new meaning because I live with the Grinch.

Last year, the Unabomber made a short appearance on Christmas Eve during our annual party. He did not get out of bed on Christmas Day, even though his granddaughter was here from Texas and the rest of the family was gathered around the tree. I got a serious attitude. The husband advised me to let it go and for that day, I took the advice but now the holidays are here so I have to remind myself again.

Before the oldies lived with us, I used that bedroom as Christmas Central. I piled presents and stocking stuffers. All of a sudden, it was the day before Christmas Eve and I was overwhelmed. My friend, Mickey, came over. We sat on the floor, popped movies and Christmas tapes in the VCR and wrapped all of the gifts. It was one of the most fun afternoons of my life.

I may live with the Grinch but he's not going to steal Christmas.

The Road Trip to See the Mansion

A friend of mine just moved. She and her husband have done very well for themselves and they just built a new house. It's not a house -- it's a mansion. I haven't seen it yet but I get regular emails about the progress and the stats. It sounds fabulous and I can't wait to see it. When I visit, I get my own wing.

I have known this friend forever. She's one of my Golden Girls. Her mom used to tell me a story of her 5th or 6th birthday party. Apparently, I cried because I didn't get the pink balloon. Go figure! I can still be reduced to tears if I don't get what I want.

Visiting will require an 8-plus hour road trip. I like to get on a plane, cross check and call forward, and simply get to my destination. The other Golden Girl insists that we drive. (By the way, we're not that old but they are my oldest friends and that qualifies them as Golden.) It's a lot of driving for a long weekend but we'll do it.

This is one of the most down-to-earth people I know. Plus, she has a gigantic heart. Their old house was only about 40 minutes from where the oldies used to live. Once we got the oldies settled here (1 year, 11 months and 2 weeks ago,) the mother-in-law had a freak out of things left in their old house. My friend took the time to go there, dig through cabinets and go through closets. She found everything on their list and shipped it here. This was way beyond the call of duty. At one point, she kept calling me to say, "I'm under the bed. Here's what I found. Do you think this is what they're searching for?" Eternal gratitude is not enough.

I don't like road trips beyond three hours. I get tired. My limbs start to ache. Two women alone makes my mother nervous so therefore, I get nervous. I'm a little more comfortable with my Big, Black Dog in the car. She's a sweetie but maybe it would deter someone from messing with us.

Thank Goodness, this wonderful woman is also a dog lover. She said, "Pick your dates and bring the Gabster." Her husband agreed to this. I'm pretty sure Big Daddy would not have done so.

So, there's a road trip in my future. She sent me an email this morning with various escapades about her dogs. Gabby will fit right in.

The REO Speedwagon New Year's Eve

It was 1980 or 1981. I'm fudging this a bit because I honestly can't remember. Here's what I do remember:

We went to an REO Speedwagon concert on New Year's Eve. Waiving your bic lighter was huge. The drunk woman behind me caught my hair on fire. My friend (J) put it out.

Someone put me in a gigantic trash can. Then, he put the lid on it. (My boyfriend rescued me.)

Later we wound up at some hotel. One person ran through the halls and pulled all of the fire alarms. Hello Policemen! They took all of our keys away and put us through the sobriety tests. I'm proud that I was totally sober. No one went to jail. The nice Officer Friendly gave the keys to the sober people and we were allowed to drive the other people home.

There's a lot of REO on my iPod. It reminds me of high school and college. It reminds me of my girlfriends. It reminds me of the time I spent in the trash can.

Sometimes I call (J) and say, "Just listen." It's usually
Time For Me to Fly. She humors me and sings along.

Married to Your Best Friend

Are you married to your best friend?

When anyone tells me she is married to her best friend, I do three things in my mind:

1. I applaud her because she is that much in love.
2. I calculate how long she's been married. In my experience, the only people who ever say this have been married less than three years or more than 40 years.
3. I say a prayer for her. I want her to continue to love her husband this much but she desperately needs some girlfriends.

I am married but I am not married to my best friend. I love him and as husbands go, he's a keeper. We can talk and we can spat. I think he's brilliant. Occasionally, he thinks I'm pretty ok too.

Living up to the idea of being married to your best friend would involve changing my sexual orientation. I don't think I'm up to it. Plus, I would have to become old school Mormon so I could have more than one spouse at a time.

I asked the oldies this question. They both said "Yes, I am married to my best friend." That should be applause worthy but secretly, it made me a little sad.

Maybe I'm greedy. I love the relationship with my husband -- the good, the bad and the ugly. We are friends in a weird and intimate way. We share things that will always remain between the two of us. But, if I didn't have girlfriends and best friends, who would I talk to?

A best friend is the one you vent to about the husband. Then, she takes your side. Later, she has the class to be nice to him anyway. With a best friend, you can discuss your gray hair roots. Or, she'll be the one to point out some random hair that's growing out of your chin. This is not sexy stuff. Husbands are best left out of these conversations.

If you ask a husband, "Do I look fat in this?" and he's dumb enough to say "Yes," it hurts your feelings. If you ask your best friend and get the affirmative answer, it's a wave of relief that she didn't let you make a fool of yourself.

Marriage is a sacred institution. I want Big Daddy to be my husband -- not my best friend.