True Friends

(My blog pal the RevDrMom decided to post to her blog once each day in November. Reading what she had to say about doing that, I thought, “Now why can’t I do that?” What a great way to ease back into a writing discipline. But I haven't signed up yet.)

Friendships are best measured not by quantity, but by quality. After my parents became homebound, not too many people came around anymore. But some did.

For example, Mom had a good friend, Terrie, who had been one of my childhood playmates. She had moved away but returned to the hometown as an adult. She became reacquainted with my mother at their mutual place of employment and stayed friends the rest of my mother’s life, close to twenty-five years. I always liked Terrie, although we no longer had much in common—but she was good to my mother. I told people that since I lived far away, Terrie lived into the role of daughter to Mom, and by default, also to Dad.

She truly did. Over the years, Terrie accompanied Mom on her “(prescription) drug running” trips to Mexico (another story), ran errands and cleaned for my parents, took them to doctor appointments. In return, Mom was a supportive ear when Terrie’s spouse ran off with another woman; she helped Terrie deal with her rebellious teen daughter, C. They spoke for hours on the phone when they could not visit. My mom was every bit of a mother to Terrie as she was to me.

Terrie stuck close to the end; she and her now adult daughter visited Mom almost every day she was in the hospital. C loved Mom like a grandmother. When Mom died, C was so distraught she had to be sedated. We put Terrie and C among the survivors in Mom’s obituary. They were as much family as any of us kids were. In fact, among the comments below the online obituary was a statement of comfort for Terrie. Everyone knew how close they were.

When I think of self sacrificing friendship, almost covenantal, I think of Terrie’s obvious care for Mom. Friendships like this are rare. Mom was lucky to have her.

Snow and Writing

Yes, Jan and others, the snow is melting. I'm glad because snow becomes so gray and dirty after sitting around for a few days and taking on the car exhaust. The streets were utterly clear yesterday. Our driveway still is rather crowded with snow but one car at a time can snake through the walls of snow on either side.

Tomorrow we expect 3-5 more inches.

Meanwhile I've been writing a lot. The Artist's Way has helped me to open the door that has been closed for so long. Since I started the morning pages I've written approximately 80 pages. I've also had poems and essays come to me. What I am finding is that when I hear the voices in my head that I used to ruminate on then dismiss, I'm writing down the words I hear. This is exhilarating and a bit scary. That's ok.

My best friend in high school, an Episcopal priest in the southeast US, called me yesterday. We haven't talked for close to three years for various reasons--like losing each other's phone numbers during our frequent moves (we both move approximately every three years). She was stunned to learn that I haven't written, really written, in over thirty years. The young woman she knew so well always had paper in her purse or somewhere on her person to scribble thoughts, events, quick poems. That young woman turned out stories and poems by the dozen and reached for a pen instead of something else whenever something horrible or wonderful happened. My friend just assumed that I had kept that up. She said, "That is who you are!"

You know, I've quit denying that she is correct. I made the mistake years ago of devoting myself totally to work instead of allowing myself to continue to make art. I confused making a living with making a life. I never considered that one could do both. That was easy to do in the blue collar town in which I was raised; art was for those "better than we are." I put aside the pen and paper and got to what was known as real work. I've been a person consumed with "if only" and "what if" ever since. What a waste of energy and of gift.

I am going to make some changes. It is not too late to devote myself to the gift God gave me before I was born. A month ago, I was content to grouse about work and my life but do nothing to rectify it. My goal is to "live divided no more" as Parker Palmer says. I am so grateful to the One who created me and all else for allowing this opportunity and for giving me the gift of my life.

All I needed to do was seize it.

Wednesday, after another blizzard and before the next

Can you tell I am tired of continuous snow?

Monday into Tuesday we got at least a foot of snow at our house. The back deck was impressive with the snow piled up 1.5 feet and drifting up past the window sills. Taciturn dug out the driveway, the front porch and to the back door on the deck for a total of three hours yesterday afternoon.

Another storm is headed our way on Friday. My much anticipated Container Gardening class (only way I can garden; I live on an acre lot but it is on an 8% grade with herds of deer tramping through almost continuously) was scheduled for this Saturday. It has been postponed until May 2nd. Grumble.

Saturday T and I went to the Black Hills Builders Home Show. In the past, we've always enjoyed this show but this year it was like, "Ok, let's go simply because we go every year." We ran into every person we never wanted to run into again. Especially I ran into a former friend and her husband.

This is one of two people who are officially "former friends." The other one joined a Willow Creek based church and became viciously anti-everything; I called her on it and she said we could no longer be friends, and oh btw I must not be a Christian. I'm just glad she isn't God. The woman I saw Saturday is the only friend I have ever felt like I was divorcing. It happened when the blinders came off and I saw that she just needed someone to boss around and I was that person. We really had little in common. I realized those two things when she and her husband, temporarily homeless through circumstance, came to stay with me when T was stationed in Korea. Oh, btw, her husband had at one time been T's boss.

Suddenly they were my parents and I was the teenaged daughter. They didn't like how my furniture was arranged so they re-did it. They would watch my only TV and invite me to watch it with them. They screened my phone calls. They terrorized my elderly cat. They portioned out my food as they thought I ate too much (I lost a good bit of weight while they were with me, and they said it was due to them teaching me how to eat properly). And she criticized my going to church. I was too educated to believe in air.

There were other things too. After three months (one of which I was in Korea with T), I came home from an errand to find some more stuff rearranged. I said that I preferred it the regular way. My friend drew herself to her full height and asked, "May I ask why?"

"Because this is my house and that is how I like it," I snapped.

She jerked back as if I'd slapped her. "Well!" she said. I heard her a couple of days later on the phone telling someone that she was still awaiting her apology.

My thought was that if she wanted me to apologize for wanting things my way in my house, she would be waiting a very, very long time.

They moved out into the house of another friend that weekend.

And that was that. And that was four years ago.

You must understand that I loved this friend so much that I was unsure that I had done the right thing. I even went to my priest to talk to him about it. He had heard me complain about her for months; he was astonished that I needed to ask! I don't remember exactly what he said but it was on the order of "What took you so long?"

I was incredibly angry and told everyone I knew all that she had done to me. Sounds like what people do when they are divorcing, doesn't it? I regret that I had spread the news, so to speak. But I did. Then we moved away to Washington DC.

Fast forward to Saturday. The guys, who had been friends themselves (I thought), were chatting like crazy (my biggest regret of all of this was that the guys had to side with their wives). As she and I chatted, I mentioned in the course of something else I wanted to tell her that I had been to seminary for a year--her smile turned brittle and she cut me off. The goal of what I was saying was not to brag about being to seminary but to tell her about a serendipitous thing involving one of my seminary pals. But she heard "seminary" and that was all, for her.

The guys exchanged phone numbers. But I bet we don't hear from them. T said later that he never thought of my friend's husband as his friend; he was his boss, nothing more. So they won't hear from us, either.

Sometimes things really suck, don't they?

Going home

After a great visit with Only Son and his family, as well as my family of origin. Great to play with the kids who make me Episcogranny. I also visited Calvary Episcopal Church in my hometown, which was a little sad as a very active member died in an auto accident this past Wed. This man was a great spiritual friend, which played right into Father Bill's sermon about how spiritual friendship is a huge part of the reason we have church!

One huge point Fr. Bill made is that true spiritual friends don't take their balls and bats and go home when one of the friends does something not agreed with. You know where he was going with that. People who do that, he said, are not friends.

We drove 8 hours today, have 4 more tomorrow. EfM starts tomorrow night, but I'll do more updates! And, prayers for Heather on the loss of her grandmother.