My best friend

I met up with an OLD friend the other day.  Haha, old friend, as in long-time friend, 'cause she's the same age as me (ok, six months younger) and I'm not really old yet.  It was a great day.  I totally understand why a long-time childhood friend is one of the six friends every woman needs.  Can I say it again, it was a great day.  What did we do?  We talked.  And talked.  And talked.  Oh, and we drank.  So we could talk some more.  We walked a lot while we talked.  Can we say this was aerobic exercise?  It was wonderful to catch up on her sisters, my brothers, her parents, my parents, old high school friends, reunions that there is NO WAY we will be going to, hopes for the future and, of course husbands and children.

It is true when they say the childhood friend just "gets you."  She told me such nice things about myself.  She reminded me of the girl I was with all the hopes and dreams and promise for the future.  We remembered the days we were seriously carefree.  The biggest issue was ditching school or staying out after curfew.  I could barely remember those days, but while I was with my friend all these memories came rushing back.  Isn't it funny how we can remember the words to the songs we sang in the car while we were in high school.  We can remember crazy escapades we took when we should have been in algebra or English.  We can remember old boyfriends that dumped us or those we dumped.  But, we can't remember the difficult days with our children, now grown, or the arguments with a husband when we were frazzled by toddlers or teachers.  The memory is a selective place to visit.  It lets you travel back through some of the back passages, but blocks you from others.  I'm glad this time spent with a childhood friend opened the gates to the cherished memories of youth.

My memories of her were always the best.  She was the sweetest friend.  EVERYONE liked her.  But, I was her bestie and we always hung out together.  She always wanted to have fun and go anywhere.  She was brave enough to knock on a door of a house of people we didn't know, but had heard had a bathroom with a toilet shaped like (or hidden in) a flower pot.  We did it.  We knocked on the door.  We asked to use the bathroom AND... indeed the flower pot toilet existed.  I had the balls, she had the sweet smile that got us in the house.  So funny.

I can only hope I was as good a tonic for her as she was for me.  She told me she remembered me as smart and self assured.  I loved this.  Ever since my son became a teenager I've been told I'm not too smart.  Hee hee.  I've become a woman in my 50's and the wonderful generation of those young people in their 30's have reminded me I'm "past my prime" and really not too sharp anymore.  I work at a college, so I'm used to being around kids and being invisible because I'm irrelevant to them.  It's amazing how we see ourselves as time passes.  It was so good to hear a positive word about me.  (I'm not saying my husband doesn't compliment me, but from him, I know it's foreplay.  :))

Oh, and for anyone who read the post I wrote about my dream a couple weeks ago I have to share this little tidbit.  The valet at the hotel my friend was staying at offered to keep my car in the front driveway for me while we went out for dinner and before I would need it to drive home.  This, I hoped, would save me a little money (it didn't) and save me some time in retrieving my car when we returned (it did).  Paul from Nigeria, as his name tag read, told me I didn't need a valet ticket for my car.  He would remember me.  My car would be Just Fine.  Here's the thought bubble over my head, "What!?! No Ticket!?!  Should I give him my car keys and not have a ticket?  Am I NUTS?"  Yeah, I gave him the keys.  My car was Just Fine.  See, my dreams don't come true.