My Best Friend

Little girls always have a best friend. Mine was a girl named Lorraine. She and I told each other secrets, laughed at ourselves, shared her bicycle, talked about our new baby brother (hers) and sister (mine), and thought we were on top of the world. When we entered 6^th grade Lorraine moved to Kansas and we pretty much lost contact until renewing our friendship on the internet a few years ago. Memories of us together are a warm part of my childhood.

Time went by, and I didn’t find a friend who was “really, truly, my best friend” again until I met Libby. Or, rather, Libby kind of met me. Actually, she crashed my wedding! That’s my story, anyway, and I’m sticking to it! Libby was a newly-wed herself, having just moved to California, and was living with her new in-laws. My prospective in-laws and Libby’s were good friends, so she and her new husband were encouraged to “come along” and attend my wedding. The first time I ever spoke to Libby was at my wedding reception, held in the home of my new parents-in-law. I don’t even remember meeting her – it was kind of a busy, frenetic moment for me, so how could I be expected to take notice of anyone but my adorable new husband? Libby likes to tell the story a little differently: she says she never wanted to come to the wedding anyway – “I had just been to one – why did I have to go to another?” – but when we met she quickly decided that she wanted to get to know “that little blonde person”. I like her story better.

I always liked Libby’s stories better. Nobody ever told stories like Libby. Nobody ever made me laugh like Libby. A born clown and mimic, she found humor and absurdity in every moment and every event! Whether mocking a German accent or butchering an impossible joke, Libby knew how to keep her audience alternatively shocked or in stitches. She didn’t care how you responded to her; the important thing was that you responded! Libby liked attention and she got plenty of it! After a morning spent with her I couldn’t wait to share her jokes and stories with Wally; of course, I never could convey successfully the hilarity and silliness – you just had to be there.

As with all those so gifted, Libby had an Achilles Heel. Often she was fodder for those emotional “bulls in the china shop” creatures who must take a shot at someone else in order to feel good about themselves. And there she was, larger than life, the loudest person in the room, a convenient target. But she could get hurt, bravado notwithstanding. She never developed the radar to detect deceit in others – or to know how to protect herself against it. Like Nathanael in the Bible, Libby was genuinely “without guile”.

Libby was my friend. I never knew why she loved me or why she chose me as her confidante; I’ve always been proud that Libby called me her friend. We used to talk about what we’d do when we finally got old. Definitely we would not be red hat ladies – ugh! We’d do wonderful, creative things – go exciting places and behave any way we liked. It didn’t happen. Libby got sick; then she moved away to be with her daughters, so we don’t see each other anymore. Ill health is her constant companion now and she can’t remember everything she knows. Rats!

Whoever designed this getting-old thing is going to have to answer to me someday – toe-to-toe! I know it’s God and He knows what I’m talking about; I’m getting too old to pull my punches anymore. There ought to be some sort of reward for having survived, endured, conquered, mastered, and succeeded at a job as big as Life! Instead, we’re not-so-honored with aches and pains and disorders and ailing loved ones. What? A little payback for the human condition?

Here’s what I want. A little more time with my best friend: another camping trip out on a windy mountain, listening to her tall tales and deafening guffaws; to watch her paint another still-life while she explains about colors and shadows; to share one more cup of tea as we rehearse again the qualities – good and not-so-good – of each others children; for good measure, to dream again of what incredible things we must still accomplish!

Old ladies are just like little girls – they still need a best friend to remind them of who they are and to validate their spot on this planet. Libby and I can’t share a bicycle – heck, we can’t even share a cup of tea. So I’ll call her tomorrow and we’ll reminisce. She’ll laugh too loud and I’ll be too silly. She won’t remember what we talked about; and I’ll never forget.

Wednesday Wanderings

Wally has Wednesdays off. Although we have each weekend of leisure time to enjoy, Wednesday is very special to Wally and me. He walks away from his busy job at the grocery store on Tuesday afternoon, knowing he can do anything he wants for the next 36 hours. A good time to catch up on errands, effect small repairs around the house, or work on some continuing project? You'd think.

Instead, we usually take off. This is our time to wander. Rarely do we have an actual game plan; usually it's just "get in the car and see where it takes us". Yesterday was a case in point. We knew we wanted to drive down to Duck Pond Winery in Dundee to pick up our (my!) quarterly wine club shipment, so that was our starting point. We like to drive to wine country by way of the "205" to the "5" to the Donald off-ramp, then through farm country, across the Willamette, into the woods, and, finally, meet up with the busy 99w right in Newburg. Most of the trip is through rural scenery, away from traffic - just to our liking. Yesterday, mesmerized by a north-bound, traffic jam on the "5" freeway (opposite side), we missed our offramp and had to continue to Woodburn before we could head east. No prob: when we're wandering we don't really look at the clock or worry about "wrong" turns. There are no wrong turns - just some place we haven't seen before.

The sky was low - thick, bulbous clouds hung over our heads like a false ceiling in a Disney ride; all we needed was to pass a pirate ship loading it's cannon toward our vessel! We drove on through new, but not unfamiliar rural territory. Wally remarked, "Well, here we are, on another Oregon country road. But then, most of Oregon is country roads". He's right, of course. You have to be in Portland itself to have any real sense of civilization in Oregon. Everywhere else is open fields or dense forest or wild coast. Oh, there are a few towns thrown in - just to help you keep your perspective. But none of them amounts to a city - mostly just rambling, loosely connected settlements between the wildness and intense natural beauty of this incredible state.

We found our way to the winery - purchased the wine - and consulted the map to see where we might continue our peripatetic path. Hum-m-m... We really wanted to head west, through the coast range, but we'd followed most of those roads already. Wally suggested heading down to Willamenia (site of his favorite sweet roll place!), then up the "22", through the mountains to Tillamook. That way we could follow the "6" (one of our all-time favorite roads), back to the "26", just in time to run into commuter traffic home. Of course. Why not? A little bumper-to-bumper beating is a small price to pay for an afternoon of soul-filling splendor.

Thus we discovered highway "22" - magnificent, mind-boggling, picturesque, untamed corridor through the coastal mountains. It's one of those twisty-turning drives where each turn brings new and fresh scenery - and elicts "ahhhhs" at every bend in the road. We could stop and just bathe in the lovely coolness of the dense forest, but then, just ahead, lies a similarly lovely, yet strangely unique, turn in our path - we have to stop there also! One could never get anywhere this way!!! And it's totally impossible to become jaded by the surreal, almost fantasy-like panorama. Once in a while we came upon evidence of human habitation - a house that we "almost" saw buried among the trees, a few cattle or sheep grazing in a distant, silvan meadow. That's about it. A road sign indicated a town up ahead - it turned out to be a wayside market, probably with a post office which merrited zipcode designation. The landscape was littered with unabashedly blooming foxglove and some enormous bush covered with thousands of red berries - not recognizable to us. Delicate Coastal firs, heavy disiduous trees vying for room among the hugh Douglas Firs, the forest understory choking with dozens of fern varieties; everywhere evidence of vigorous woodland life. Heaven.

Each time we venture into the wildness of this planet we are refreshed and satisfied - convinced that if such beauty exists for our enrichment, there must be a Creator who loves us, and this world, enough to care for us and keep us in harmony. I guess our part is to preserve that harmony with whatever skills and knowledge - and heart - we possess. So we arrived home, exhausted and happy. Another beautiful day spent in the clear air of our lush, green homeland.

A Beginning

Today feels like a beginning - a fresh start in so many ways. I'm starting my new "job", working in the kitchen at Portland Rescue Mission. I've begun and hope to stick with a moderate diet (post-menopause having robbed me of anything like an hour-glass shape). My vegetable seeds are all in and await a little sunshine (rain not wanting here in the Pacific Northwest!). Spring has brought forth flowering trees and plants all over my world!! Talk about beginnings!

And, finally, Summer is right around the corner. YES!! Summer means warmth. Give me warmth. Days idling 'neath my heavy-branched maple trees, reading a good book and sipping a good wine! Sigh! Trips to California, enjoying Micaela's laughter and good stories, Phillip's solemn pronouncements and sarcastic complaints, and Alex's dreams and hopeful plans for his future. What riches for this grandmother!

Summer also means that Rae Anne will be home for a while: who knows how long? We are something of a wayfarer's station for her as she moves from one life to another, each more challenging and exciting than the previous. I envy her the world travel she has experienced. Her wanderlust and need to immerse her selfless self in suffering humanity seem to know no bounds. Sometimes I wish I could pack up and follow her. But she is my eyes on the world - she helps me see and understand what is happening out there. She has opened my heart, globally speaking, and taught me to value cultures vastly different than my own. I am grateful for the safe world I inhabit, yet humbled by the knowledge that others love their land and struggle for it in ways I can never appreciate. I remember a song I learned in school; it was set to the tune of "Finlandia". Today the words ring truer than ever for me:

"This is my song, oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
This is my hope, my dream, my shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams, the same as mine.
My country's skies are bluer than the ocean;
The sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too, and clover.
And skies are sometimes blue as mine.
Oh hear my song, thou God of all the nations;
A song of peace for their land and mine".

Would that that prayer could be answered in the hearts of all man (and woman) kind. What a great beginning, in truth, if we could begin to see all peoples as our real brothers and sisters. Then we could love, serve, and live together in harmony. I know that won't happen any time soon, but it's a vision worth embracing. Perhaps FEAR lies at the bottom of our inadequacy to relate to one another. Fear of being hurt; fear of losing possessions; fear that we will have to change; fear that someone else could be "right", making us less "right". Fear that we are not the be-all and end-all of the universe! Legitimate fears: for if we do take the risk to reach out we may, in fact, be hurt; perhaps we'll choose to give up things that we treasure; certainly we will begin to change; and, yes, we will be able to allow someone else to be strong. After all, we are not the center of the universe, but we know Who is and we know that He is Perfect Love. And scripture tells us, "Perfect Love casts out Fear".

So I'm choosing some new beginnings today. And I suspect that change may not be limited only to my circumstances; change might actually occur in me. A hopeful thought. Change means growth; and, after all, eternal growth is what Old Crones are all about.