Category Archives: friendship

It Will Come

June 3, 2010friendship, lifeKirsetin

I’ve liked Maggie since the first time I read her words. It’s like that in the blogosphere sometimes, isn’t it? There are these women–from small towns and big cities, some who struggle to get by and others who live in privilege–and all of their stories touch me. By turn, they are funny, helpful, dramatic, and very, very serious. Because I am out here, too, I realize that I don’t really know them, these women who feel like friends. I don’t know what they’re thinking or feeling or even if the story they’re telling really happened this week. We choose our words and which stories we share carefully. Thoughtfully. I know that.

And yet, it feels like Maggie shares more than many of us do. Perhaps she’s just better at the sharing. Either way, readers flock to her because she is so eloquent and her words ring so true. She’s the kind of girl you want to share a drink with, except she can’t, and she’s been honest about that incredibly difficult and private struggle. She’s the kind of girl you think you might have shared secrets with in high school, except she probably wouldn’t have, and the way she weaves the story of that pain is so real it makes me want to weep. But she’s also the kind of girl you want to share a laugh with, or a long, philosophical discussion, or a walk on the beach.

Because of that, I think, I felt her sadness, really felt it, when I read her post today. I feel sad because she’s right, and because she shares the pain of loss in a way that few of us ever could. I feel sad because a wife will be a widow and children will lose their father and because, like Maggie, I don’t think I could ever respond in the way this couple has. Want to be inspired? Read this post. But be ready for the sadness, too, because it will come. It will come.

Birthdays and Friendship

March 8, 2010birthdays, friendshipKirsetin

When you’re not turning 16, 21, or 40, no one pays much attention anymore.

Which is precisely why it is so very sweet when they do.

Last week I had one of those birthdays. I wasn’t turning an age of any significance, just 39, again.

The day before my birthday my girlfriend Lisa called and said, “Hey, Birthday Girl! I want to take you out for your big day. And you better call me back, or I’ll keep hounding you!” Honestly, can you ask for a nicer friend?

So I’m thinking it will be Lisa, and me, and maybe one other friend. I am shocked when I show up to 4 friends waiting to celebrate. (And, because we are mothers, one inevitably got the sick-kid-at-school phone call & had to run. But still, she came.)

So we sat there and talked. And laughed. And solved the world’s problems. And laughed some more. Well, at least we solved the problems in our school district. We kept laughing. You never saw three hours fly by so fast.

A few nights later I headed over to a different friend’s house for dinner. You may recall that a group of us get together every few months for dinner and fun. This was that group. I walked in, hugged everyone, secured my drink and began chatting about whatever it was I had to say. My friend Janet made dessert for the evening and while we were chatting I glanced over at it several times. It’s hard not to when Janet bakes. If you think you like carrot cake, I am telling you right now that you have absolutely NO IDEA how good it can taste. She is the master! And sitting on top of that pretty little cake was a “39” candle. I thought perhaps it was our host’s birthday, and she added the number as a joke. Eventually I asked, “Who’s birthday is it?” and she laughed, just as you probably are now, and said, “It’s yours!”

photo credit: bloggyboulga

I’ve written here before about friendship but I don’t think I’m quite eloquent enough to say how much these little gestures mean.

These are the things that count. These are the things I’ll remember. These are the things that keep me here, in the land-locked middle, in a suburb, in a place that once had no connection for me, but now pulls me in by the pure strength of these friendships.

The rest really doesn’t matter. The shoes are fun. The jeans are fantastic. But neither one really matters. The houses, the cars, the schools, the rest, it’s all fluff.

Girls that take you to lunch and bake you cakes?

Keepers.

Never Ask for a Rain Check at Wal-Mart

February 5, 2010food, friendship, shoppingKirsetin

You know I don’t like to shop at Wal-Mart, right? But I found myself there last week, against my better judgment. I was on my way to my son’s elementary school with my Couscous-Artichoke Salad for the Teacher Conference Dinners when I realized I’d forgotten to bring a serving spoon. There, to my left, loomed the Big Store. I made the executive decision that a trip inside was warranted, on this occasion, so that I could quickly score a plastic serving utensil. I figured I could surely find something for around $2- $3 and be out of there in 5 minutes flat.

Ahem. Not so much.

I did find lots of plastic black utensils – among them, a perfectly fine serving spoon for—wait for it—a whole 97 cents! I grabbed said utensil and headed for the checkout, Amex in hand. On the way I passed the Diet Coke display. Now let’s be clear about this: that stuff does not pass my lips except in dire circumstances. Like, really, never. I am a Pepsi girl through and through. However, I am married to someone who, for reasons I cannot comprehend, prefers that Other Stuff. As my loyal Pepsi-drinking friend, Janet, will attest, it pains people like us to pay full price for Diet Coke. It’s like throwing money in the trash. And so, when I saw the big SALE sign, I decided to pick up some poison for my dearest. ‘Cause it was cheap, see?

Except, wait, no. Coke, they have. Cherry Coke, yes. The Diet Coke area is entirely cleared out, which I find amusing as I look around, wondering which of these shoppers actually drinks a diet beverage.

Um, that was probably inappropriate. Sorry about that. I digress.

So I took my fancy serving spoon to the checkout and it was then that I made My Very Big Mistake.

Clerk: “Did you find everything okay?”

Me: “Uh, just about. You’re all out of the Diet Coke that’s on sale.”

Clerk: “Oh. Well, if you can wait just one minute I can run in the back and check that for you.

Me, foolishly, “Um, okay.”

I wait 5 or 6 minutes, which feel like an eternity. I spend it staring at other shoppers and the seriously non-food yet food-like items in their baskets, and wondering what they do with all of that other fabric and glue and craft-type stuff they buy. Also, I notice that Wal-Mart seems to sell a lot of antacid. (Probably to those non-food eaters.) I also start to feel pretty good about the few times a week I hit the gym.

I am about the ditch the whole thing and get the heck out of there when I finally see the Clerk sauntering my way. Without aforementioned Other Stuff.

Clerk: Yeah, uh, we’re all out of that. But, um, I can give you a rain check or, you know, the Coke guy comes tomorrow to re-stock everything, so you can just come back tomorrow.

Me, still foolish: I think I’d prefer the rain check. I’m not sure I’ll be back tomorrow.

Clerk looks confused. Apparently everyone comes back tomorrow and she has never encountered this response. Seriously. Perplexed.

Clerk: Huh. Okay. Well, if you’ll just wait here for a minute, I’ll go get the paperwork.

She returns a few minutes later, more quickly this time, with a photocopied piece of paper. I feel like I am back in grade school looking at a blurry mimeograph.

Slowly, painfully, she fills out the Store Number, the Store Location, the Item Requested.

“How many do you want, ma’am.”

Thinking, “None, really,” I say instead, “Um, two, I guess. Two will be fine.”

“Okay, if you can just fill out this half…”

I complete the other half of the form with my name, phone number, address (really, am I on a Rain Check List now?), and Item Requested.

“Now, if you’ll just wait here, I will go cut this in half for you.”

And really, this is what she does. Slowly, painstakingly, she cuts out the box on the left and hands it to me. Then she cuts out the box on the right and places it in the Crazy People Who Do Not Come Here Every Day And Actually Want a Rain Check file.

All of that for a rain check I’ll never use. ‘Cause you know I’m not going back, don’t you?