Who’s Your BFF? A supplement to A Toast to All Friends

Who’s your best friend? We get asked that question from the time we are two years old. I’ve had many best friends over the years. The first one I can remember was when I was between five and seven, Thomas. Thomas had curly, afro-like, brown hair and was really funny. I remember when I turned seven Thomas gave me a stuffed ladybug for my birthday. It was purple with hot pink spots and was filled with plastic beads. I loved that ladybug and slept with it until it developed a small tear in the seam along the neck and lost so many beads that it’s head just hung limp.

Not long after we moved to Vermont early the following year I quickly developed a second best friend, Peggy. Peggy and I were inseparable for 8 solid years until we entered high school. Our freshman year separated us and forced us to make friends outside of our tiny Sutton, Vt. existence. Still considered a small school, Lyndon Institute (LI) was quite large for a recent graduate from Sutton Elementary (10 total in my graduating class). Peggy and I slowly grew apart and at the end of our sophomore year, she quit school and that pretty much sealed the deal. We were no longer best friends and only reconnected every few years. As a matter of fact, I recently have been in touch with her sister (thanks to Facebook) and am making an effort to get in touch with her again. Surely after so many years, we have a lot to talk about.

During my high school and college years I remained best-friendless. Don’t get me wrong, I had many friends; actually, I had groups of best friends. There just wasn’t that one special person who you confide in endlessly - not until I found my way to Athens, Ohio in 1990. About two weeks after moving with my then fiancé, Steve, Deborah found her way into my life. Thank God for Deborah, really. She introduced me to the wannabe hippie crowd. Still not a die-hard fan of the Grateful Dead, I managed to worm my way into the group and create the beginning of what would become an incredibly large network of friends. Deborah and I grew apart when I landed in a bizarre relationship with a fellow who will remain nameless (one of the very few times I will ever keep a name private). He drove us apart in a manner of speaking and although Deb and I remained friends, the best friend status evolved into “my best friend from Athens” or “my best friend from 1990-1992” or whatever claim we made.

It was at this point when I realized I had been acquiring best friends all along. I had a list of best friends. My best childhood friend was Thomas. My best friend from Sutton was Peggy. My best friend from high school was really a group including Luke, Eric, Chris, Todd and Ellen (remind me that I must find Ellen again). In college there was Tracy, Tracy, Tracy (yeah, tell me about it; and all from Bennington, Vt.!), Robin, Caroline, Jennifer, Amy, Leslie and Chris. Oh, and Marcia. Marcia became a best friend by proxy through one of my best college friends, Amy, and is now more like a member of my family than anything. Deborah became my first best friend from Athens. Michelle is still my best friend from the Hank years and Wendy is my best Meigs friend. Then there is Darlene. What can I say about Darlene; best all-time friend? Jill fits into this category as well. Then quickly, before I knew it, there was Paul, Sarah and Kate eking their way into my life and heart and becoming my best friends from my second stint in Athens. Paige is certainly the best friend I have ever met through work, hands down. And now, of course Lily is my best friend from England. Naturally my bestest friends are my husband, Justin and my dog, Chaga, who are there with me at my absolute worst, when I think I want no one around, and manage to make me want and need them.

What does the best friend status mean? Are you required to maintain a certain level of contact to keep the title? I think not. It is my opinion that once you attain a best friend status, you keep it for life. The older we get, the more we categorize our life and, in my case, my friends. They’re all just as important to me now as they were when I was spending considerable time with them. After all, they helped me become who I am and where I am today. They were there with me when I moved, broke up with boyfriends, lost a job, found a job, needed a dog sitter, traveled back to Vermont, visited me in Vermont, needed a hug, needed to talk, got married, moved overseas, needed a friend. There is just a bit more mileage between us, too many dollars separating the visits and a few too many hours between time zones for conversations. But you’re there. You’re in my heart, on my mind and I promise to find the time for each of you through the coming years.

A Toast to All Friends

Reconnecting with friends of past is a real treat. I hesitate to say "old" friends because I refuse to consider myself or any of my friends old - regardless of our age. Life is short, or so they say, and so I find it difficult to imagine ever being old. Is it possible to become old in such a short lifetime? Today I found myself remembering, laughing out loud and feeling happy for both myself and my friend, Mark (a real name; why bother protecting the innocent?). We found each other on Facebook. Now, truth be told, I absolutely hated Facebook when I first set up a profile nearly two years ago. I was a hardcore, never fail fan of Myspace. That being said, slowly but surely, Facebook grew on me. Now, over a year later, I am glad I stuck it out. Not only have I been able to stay in touch with my more recent and closest friends (who prefer Facebook) but, I have found that I have become friends all over again with many of those whom I used to spend time with during my high school years. A blessing? Well, far be it for me to consider it so holy. It is nonetheless amazing, delightful, refreshing, fun and very comforting. So, here's to all of my friends, of past, present and future, no matter how close or far in proximity we are. I toast you and the comfort we can provide one another regardless of how much time passes between connections. For true friends truly are friends for life. Tink!

Coffee on the Porch?

Early mornings have always been one of my most cherished times of the day. Waking up, going for a long walk, returning to a delicious cup of coffee. On a particularly warm day in the spring or every day in the summer throughout autumn I would enjoy my coffee on the porch of my house. "Coffee on the porch?" My mother would ring me at 8 am every Friday morning and we'd sit on our respective porches, enjoying our morning coffee, catching up with each other. During the colder months when I would be snuggled under a blanket on the living room sofa I would still get the same call, "coffee on the porch?" she'd chirp. We would giggle at this and exchange the weather reports between West Charleston, Vt. and Athens, Ohio. Now that I am in England, it just isn't practical to do this as often, not to mention the fact that I can't even afford coffee these days. But I know, soon enough, when the weather is warm and I have splurged for a bag of fair trade, shade grown, organic, french roast, Guatemalan coffee and the smell of it brewing triggers my brain, the phone will ring and my morning routine will be back in it's rightful place. Coffee on the porch?

An American (or two) in England: Just the Gravy on Top

We caught each other's eye and I chirped "You must be Jarred, the other American!" He laughed and said "Hi! I thought that was you!" Someone said, "It's funny how you Americans can recognize each other!" He seems super nice and friendly. Apparently he is unhappy living here and talks incessantly about how great America is compared to here or anywhere else in the world. "Leaders of the Free World!" he quips whenever someone takes a stab at good ol' U S of A. His wife is British and they lived in America for about 15 years before moving here to be near her family. He loves her and knows it's the right thing to do (this is what I've deduced after hearing the town gossip). I know he misses American football and that Thanksgiving was difficult for him. I wanted to invite him for dinner but he volunteered to work because he said it wouldn't be the same regardless of what he did since there was no (American) football on TV and his brothers weren't around. It made me feel sad for him because I got what he was saying. Everyone else seemed to find humor in it. The British have the uncanny ability to laugh at everyone's misfortunes including their own. I have determined they are a cynical people who love to wallow in negativity and cringe at cheerful, positive attitudes. They are weary of optimism and take pride in this negativity and weariness. That being said, they are a ton of fun to be around, are kind and generous and are also some of the most politically well-informed people I've ever met. They have a history that is beyond my comprehension and their culture is steeped in this history. I laugh with Justin because it seems as if, with as much subjugation as the British have inflicted on so many peoples and cultures in their sordid past, they are equally adept at subjugating themselves. They are bound by the chains of their history and quite envious of the American optimism - the fresh attitudes of "starting anew" that has permeated the American Culture since the British persecuted our forefathers for their religious practices. It's fascinating really and I've quite enjoyed engaging in conversations of this nature with several folks in the pub. They're not so interested in talking about themselves for a very long period but would talk endlessly about America. They tend to make gross generalized statements about Americans to the point where it becomes obvious that many do not have the concept of the enormity of the country as compared to England or even the entire United Kingdom. Just like they make distinctions between the Welsh, English and Irish, so do we with southerners, northerners, mid westerners, East coasters and West coasters. Although they understand the concept of each of the countries making up the UK have separate law, the idea that there are state legislatures and laws that vary between the states (let alone between townships and counties) is foreign here. There is one law here - national (England) law. There are county and district councils that enforce that law but there is no distinction between village, town, city, county, district and national law. This quite fascinates me as everything becomes very mainstream and individuality tends to not exist as much. My summation? Individuality is the gravy on top of all of the mashed potatoes. All of us, we’re not the meat. The earth is the meat. We’re the potatoes. And what makes all of it delicious and tasteful is our individuality – our ability to create in new and evocative ways and to stand out from one another whether we’re human, animal or plant. Some days I am turkey gravy and on other days I find pork gravy to be more satisfying. Of course, other times I'm the icing on the cake!

On a Bed of Snowdrops

Laying in a bed of snowdrops is deliciously comfortable. A telltale sign that spring is here and warm weather is on its way is when you capture the little green shoots of the snowdrop peering through the soil. Each day you walk by hoping to catch the first sight of the nodding white flower. Several varieties even offer you the promise of spring by blooming in January and February. The nicest time to make a bed of snowdrops is on the first warm spring day when you find that special spot where snowdrops carpet the woodland floor. Who cares how many people are around? Just curl up with a favorite book and get the sensation. I guarantee it's more refreshing than a Peppermint Patty on top of Mt. McKinley. ;)