The Value of Friendship

 

It was a cold January day.  Not that bright, sunny kind of winter cold when you watch snowflakes glisten as they drift past your window and you look forward to skiing or snowboarding.  No, this was the dark, damp, depressing, foggy, kind of day when cold rain puddles on the ground and you wish you had airline flights to the Caribbean.   

 

Trying to make the best of it, I was busy writing and searching the internet for information – and that’s when it happened.  A popup on my computer screen announced that I had been hacked and my computer was frozen. 

 

After several frustrating calls to apple support, I still could not do anything on the computer and was worried about losing the important data that we all store on our devices.  So I got in the car and drove across the bridge to the Apple store in Annapolis.  After waiting over an hour, in the crowded, busy confusion of the store, a technician tried to help me, but he explained that it would be a long process to get back to the point of having full use of my computer again.  I left, feeling only slightly more encouraged that my computer and the information on it were safe, but dreading the long road of technical challenges ahead of me. 

 

I was frazzled, anxious and downright depressed, and as I started driving home I realized I needed something to distract me from my computer problems and help me calm down.  That’s when I put in my earbuds and said, “call Michele!”    

 

Michele and I had been friends for many years – before we’d even met our husbands. We had supported each other through hard times and celebrated good times together. But as often happens with friendships, life took us in different directions, to different parts of the country, and we began to lose touch with each other, connecting only by cards on holidays and infrequent phone calls when we would promise to “call again soon” but never did.

 

Busy with our own lives, we let the years slip by, but I knew she had never remarried, and on that dark rainy evening, she might be alone.  Michele answered immediately, and it was like old times.  We talked a little about where we each are right now in our lives, but mostly we talked about the things we did together – the adventures we shared, the fun we had and the challenges we met together.  We laughed and talked and laughed some more as I drove back over the bridge to our home on the Eastern Shore. 

 

When I was nearing my driveway and it was time to say goodbye, we were each more honest with each other.  We recognized, without any guilt, that realities in both of our lives make it difficult to stay in close touch, but that the friendship, the memories – especially the laughter we shared — will stay with us and be there, ready to add a little light when our lives seem dark – as mine did that night.

 

By the time I got home I felt refreshed.  I left the computer and its’ problems in the back room to be solved in the light of the next day – and I gave thanks for Michele’s friendship – and for all those friendships that have enriched my life!

 

PS – I just got my computer back online!  So now that I’m able to share this story I want to acknowledge some of the other special friends who, like Michele, have made a difference in my life – some who are no longer with us but continue to make me smile just thinking about them, like Judy and Barbara from the lake and Anne and Marilou from college – and those “long-distant-friends” like Carol, Margie, Kristine, Jan and Sandy who, even though they are scattered from California to Maine to Florida and Texas, are still only a phone call away and add so much love and beauty to my life.  And of course, those wonderful women who are a part of my everyday life here, especially Carol and Sally.  Thank you each! 

 

 

My First Date

 When my brother, Harold and I were little, we shared the same bedroom.   One night, with all the innocence of a 2-year-old, I said to him “I’ll show you my bottom if you show me yours."  Harold, who was three years older than me, got mad and told me to lie down and go to sleep!   He must have told my parents what I said because shortly after that my father started working on the attic to turn it into another bedroom.  

 

But the stairs to the attic were in my bedroom so my brother had to go through my room to get to his room.  Of course, there were very strict rules: “Always knock first and wait for an answer before opening the door.”   

 

The arrangement worked pretty well, but it seemed like there was always a parade of boys going through my bedroom.   I could care less about the boys from our neighborhood, but when Harold started college, he was meeting new friends and bringing them home.  By then I was 16 and I began to like having all these cute college guys walking through my room.  I started making sure that I was always dressed in a pretty skirt and blouse and would sometimes even make his friends wait outside my door while I brushed my hair and put on makeup.

One day Harold knocked on my door with a new friend, Paul.   Paul was tall and cute, and I gave him my very best smile.   But he just stared at me and barely even said hi.  When they knocked on the door again to leave, Paul stood for a moment, looking at me with a silent stare, and I thought to myself “the heck with Harold’s college friends.  They’re just a bunch of snobs!”  

 

That night Harold came home and announced that Paul wanted to take me to a dance … the first college dance of the year … at the Biltmore Hotel in New York City!

I was just sophomore in high school, had never even been on a real “date” and now I was going to a college dance at a fancy hotel in New York!

My mother took me to Altman’s, the best department store in White Plains, to pick out a dress.  I chose a short, brown dress with a very modest square neckline.  Looking back, I think the dress was more appropriate for a job interview at a stodgy law firm, than for a dance at the Biltmore Hotel.  Why I decided on that dress I can’t possibly imagine … but that’s what I bought and that’s what I would wear to the dance on my first ever date.

The dance was a week away.  Time seemed to drag by, and my excitement and anticipation grew.  When the big night finally came it seemed to take me forever to get my hair and makeup right, then I quickly put on my dress.  I didn’t want to keep Paul waiting.  When he arrived at our door he smiled, handed me flowers and said “These are for you, Judy.”  

 

Obviously, we weren’t off to a great start.
 
But the evening was like a fairy tale!  We walked into the ballroom of the Biltmore Hotel and the scene took my breath away – especially the beautiful ball gowns the other girls were wearing.  I felt completely out of place in my modest brown dress, but when Paul asked me to dance with him, I forgot about the other girls and their fancy dresses.  We danced and talked and laughed and had a wonderful evening.

Driving home, Paul and I were sitting in the back seat of my brother’s car (the fact that Harold was driving was really the only reason my dad let me go).  It was a warm, early fall night, but I had worn a winter coat and Harold had the heat on so it was hot in the car.  When Paul asked me if I was “chilly”, I looked at him like he was crazy.  It took me a few minutes to realize that he wanted to put his arm around me to “keep me warm”.

By the time we got home I was giddy with excitement and feeling glamorous.  I took off my coat and stood in front of the mirror.  It was then I realized that, for this whole fantastic evening, at the beautiful Biltmore hotel, I had been wearing my dress backwards!

Such was the glamour of my very first date!  

 

Just one of the many experiences that helped me develop a sense of humor.

 

PS — If you’re wondering what ever happened to Paul – we had a couple of dates (including one when I beat him at bowling :-) but one night at dinner Harold announced to my parents “I don’t think Lucy should go out with Paul anymore!”  I tried to protest and say that I could decide who I should go out with, but in my parents’ mind, there was no room for discussion.  I was told that if Paul asked me out, I had to say no.  Paul called a few days later and I had to turn him down.  I never heard from him again — but I did hear, later that year, that Paul had gotten into some kind of serious trouble.  So I guess I was lucky to have a big brother watching out for me.

 

 

 

Good Mornings!

Sometimes I think mornings are the best part of the day – when the sun is at a gentle angle and all delights and disappointments and challenges and problems and opportunities that will come with the day, are softened by the morning mist.  

Today we are at my son’s house on the Hudson River.  I put off getting up this morning – for just a little while.  I put off checking the news, checking emails and messages — and just enjoyed the peace.  

 

I listen as waves splash against the shore after a large freighter has made its way up the river to Albany’s harbor.  A whistle sounds from across the river as a train carries commuters down to the city.

 

A mockingbird, perched somewhere on a rooftop, joyfully sings its repertoire of songs, and a small bird is loudly shouting its 2-note call over and over.  To me it always sounds like he’s saying “Thank You! Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!” 

 

Eventually I had to get up.  I rolled over, softly kissed my sleeping husband on the forehead and got out of bed.  When I opened my computer, these words came spilling out!   I hope they will be some inspiration for someone out there. 

 

And, like that little bird sitting on its birdhouse I say “Thank you!  Thank you, God, for another day!”  

 

 

The Full Moon

 A few weeks ago, as we were driving home, I looked out the window and saw the full moon.  A buoyant white floating ball.  Suspended in the sky.  Rising over the fields.  Drifting upwards ever so slowly.  Lighting the sky with its glow.  

We pulled over to watch for a few minutes – mesmerized – as we so often are with the sight of a full moon.  

It’s not a rare occurrence, the full moon.  It happens once every 28 days.  But we don’t always see it.  

Maybe we can’t be outside. Maybe the weather is bad and the moon is not visible.  Or maybe we are just too busy to look up.   But when we do look up at the full moon it can be an emotional experience, filling us with awe.

Fast forward a few weeks.  I walked out and saw the sliver of a first-quarter moon glistening in the blackness of the sky.   Just a sliver of light in the darkness – and I remembered the brilliance of the full moon I’d watch just weeks ago. 

That’s when I started thinking about how that round ball we call the moon, is always there!  Circling the earth.  Whether we can see the fullness of the ball, or just a sliver – or when we cannot see any evidence of a moon at all – it is still there!  It is part of our world.  It's just that sometimes it takes a little faith to realize it.

And that’s when I had to think that the moon is sort of like God’s love for all of us.  We can’t always see it or feel it.  Sometimes we tend to doubt it.  But God is always there.  His love is always there for us – part of our world – part of our life.  But sometimes it just takes a little faith to realize it.

So now, when I’m feeling low, lost, confused, not sure where to look for direction, I’m going to try to look up and try to remember that no matter what, like the moon, God’s love is always there. 

Flip Down Your Sunglasses

 Driving to the store the other afternoon, I was squinting in the sun.  Deep shadows and bright spots were making it hard for me to see the road clearly as it twisted and bended through the hills around our lake.  

 

“Wish I’d brought my sunglasses” I thought … then realized they were right there on top of my head!  

 

I flipped them down and suddenly the road ahead of me became clear …

 

… and it made me stop and think about how often we find ourselves in a situation in life where we can’t seem to see clearly.  The road ahead seems to be in a fog, or out of focus and we are blinded by the bright lights of immediate needs.  We stumble and question our direction.  If only we could just “flip down our sunglasses” and see clearly.

 

Well maybe we can!  

 

For me, “flipping down my sunglasses” meant focusing on my goals, on what I’ve determined I want to do – what I want to accomplish.  

 

It meant asking why I chose to do what I do. Where does my motivation come from?  What is my source of inspiration? Where is my source of strength? 

 

For me, my goal has always been to reach out to others with love – my family of course, and my friends, but also to people I’ve never even met – and to share some of the things I’ve learned through my life.  Maybe giving someone a smile, a new thought or inspiration or motivation.  And that is really what this blog is all about.  

 

So I hope that each of you reading this – when you find yourself blinded by the everyday distractions of life – will take a few minutes to “flip down your sunglasses”.  Focus on your goals and your source of strength … and then maybe you will see a clearer path to all that you can do and accomplish … because you each have so much to give!!!

 

 Mid-West Wind - a poem

I grew up on the East coast but moved to Indiana after Jim and I were married.  One day, early in March, I was walking beside a small reservoir, feeling the wind in my face, thinking about the differences between both places -- and wrote this poem.  Now, back on the East coast, I remember that moment and thought you might enjoy my  reflections.

                        

THE MID-WEST WINDS

Oh mid-western winds, from where have you come?

You are not born of the ocean where I am from.

 

It is not from the sea that your currents blow,

Not as the winds I used to know.

 

You have not brushed the waves or ocean sand.

You are a mid-west wind, born of the land.

 

You blew over farms and brushed the fields

Spreading corn and wheat, the farmer’s yield.

 

You’ve swept through villages and city blocks

Pushing dust and paper o’re sidewalks and parking lots.

 

And now you chase the winter’s cold blast 

Bringing warmth and Spring to the land, at last.

 

And from my heart a grateful song escapes,

For the mid-west winds that God did create.

 

 

Story of the Seasons

Note - I posted this story a couple of years ago, but thought, at this time of the year, it would be worth another look and laugh.  Hope you enjoy it. 

GOD to ST. FRANCIS:   What’s going on down there on Earth?   What happened to the dandelions, violets and other beautiful wildflowers I created?   I had a perfect, no-maintenance garden with wildflowers that grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. And the nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds.  

 

ST. FRANCIS:   Well Lord, all these homeowners decided they wanted grass lawns and they are very proud of them! They begin each spring by seeding, watering and fertilizing -- and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.

 

GOD:  It takes a lot of moisture to grow the grass and keep it green. I guess them must be happy that I send the spring rains and warm weather to make the grass grow fast.  

 

ST. FRANCIS:  Apparently not, Lord. because as soon as it grows a little, they cut it -- sometimes twice a week.  Then they rake it up and put it in bags and pay to throw it away.

 

GOD:  So then they are relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat?  Surely that slows the growth and saves them a lot of work and money.

 

ST. FRANCIS: You won't believe this, but when the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water the lawns so they can continue to mow it -- and pay to get rid of it.

 

GOD:  I’ll never understand these humans.  At least they kept some of the trees I created.  They must appreciate that the leaves, which provide beauty and shade in the summer, then fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to protect the trees and bushes and form compost to keep moisture in to enhance the soil. 

 

ST. FRANCIS: I hate to tell you this Lord, but as soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.

 

GOD: No!  What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and to keep the soil moist and loose?

 

ST. FRANCIS: They go out and buy mulch, haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.

 

GOD: And where do they get this mulch?

 

ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up.

 

GOD: Enough!  I don't want to think about this anymore.  Let’s talk about something else.

 What movie is playing tonight?

 

ST. FRANCIS:  It’s called "Dumb and Dumber", Lord. It's a real stupid movie about.....

 

GOD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story!

(author unknown)

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