Learning to Laugh Again

There's a big difference between making people laugh and spontaneously laughing out loud in shared hilarity, as only long-time friends can do. It takes forever to cultivate a sense of shared mirth when one shares no history with another. But friends who knew you when you worried about zits and split ends, birthing babies and heart transplants, those are the people to turn to when one needs a sense of homecoming.

My best high school buddy was always here for me, even before my marriage, and the first time I had to face the death of someone who held a part of my soul, and before my children made my life whole. I've waited for this moment since we first laughed together in Sister Dominic Savio's honors English class when we were fourteen. She continued to collect honors and I continued to collect crises. I hope I'm finished collecting crisis, and she's finally got play time, as she's partially retired.

My grandma used to ask whether I wanted to laugh or to cry at the loops life put in my path. I've cried oceans; now it's time to guffaw with someone who has held on through the storms and continues to stand on the prow of the ship of life laughing into the wild winds that continue to buffet our boats.

We both seem to share the opinion that you can't avoid the pain, so you'd better grab for all the celebratory gusto you can muster in between the bad times. This makes us look a bit demented, or at least immature at times, but neither of us cares one wit. This doesn't necessarily sit well with our children and their children, but that's another source of silliness for us as we wander on toward sixty.

Our husbands grin and bear our behavior, sort of like they're watching puppies at play. We are lucky women indeed to share the little bit of heaven on earth that a good belly laugh can be.

My Circle of Serenity

I heard from a few friends back in Tennessee;
They checked in to say that they miss me.
I'm humbled by their open shows of love,
A gift of emotional manna from above.

I was due to face one of my long-time foes
That I am bound to for as long as life goes.
I needed the support of those who checked in
To know that I'm coming home to new friends.

That way, I can face my long standing fears
With those who I used to hold so dear.
I was able to be cordial, without worry
That I would be provoked to fury.

I am blessed by the love of so many friends
That I'm able to continue finding fences to mend.
Whether broken by me, or broken by others;
I continue to seek healing with my sisters and brothers.

Facing My Fears

I'm so tired of making amends and mending fences. I'm not even in a twelve-step program, so I have no idea why I feel compelled to continue this crusade. It matters not to me whether I'm angry with you or you're angry with me, I feel like I have to see if we can "fix" it. There are even people that I've never been friends with, but that are important to others in my life, that I somehow feel I need to find and friend, if possible.

I have, at least, learned to draw the line at recent random acquaintances that have a beef with me. One has to start somewhere, and I've decided to concentrate on the oldest relationships first and work forward. I may, one day, get to the folks that are recently mad at me, but I won't worry about them just yet. The peril of popularity is that we piss people off and they don't even tell us for fear of retribution by our posse. My problem is that it took me most of my almost sixty years to realize that I was popular and that therein lay the problem.

It would be so much easier to sit and sulk, but I can't reclaim my memories without making amends because something always stands between me and them. I once heard that attempting to block bad memories is like trying to play the piano with one's elbow. As you hit the keys you want to hit, your elbow will also strike the adjacent keys. Memories are like adjacent piano keys; I have to face the fear to find the fun.

I'm starting with the easy steps, my oldest and dearest friends, and the nieces and nephews (children of deceased siblings) who only remember the adult me. I'll practice on them before facing first-degree family. With luck, I won't live long enough to have to brave those beasts, but I am preparing myself for whatever jumps out at me.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I can face this wedding with the people from my past that will also be attending.

Families and Festivities

I so miss the ethnic diversity that only port cities seem to engender! Today's the day I move on down the road, to go to a wedding and party plenty. The couple in question is in their thirties, fully employed, and come from Columbian families. They were almost cradle mates. Even though the events aren't in New Orleans, I'm looking forward to a really hometown feel in the festivities.

The sense of celebration when two complete families are bonded in marriage is a wonderful thing to witness. It's always interesting observing the dance of diplomacy involved in creating these blended family bonds. It certainly helps to cement the union when the families share a culture and a history.

We've all waited for many years for Ginita to find a man and a family worthy of her, never knowing that he and his family were around the corner all along. Hurricane Katrina brought the families back into close proximity to each other, and the rest will soon be history.

This bride's dowry is her intellect, her education, her sense of humor, and her solid sense of faith and family. I don't know the groom, but I hope, for all of our sakes, that he's stong enough to partner with this wonderful woman with the makings of a mighty matriarch.

The "three amigas" from high school will be in attendence, giving our "blessings" to the bride and groom. Sleeping Beauty has finally awakened, and we couldn't miss watching her walk down the aisle to her prince charming, after which they will form their own small country.

I hope that we all are serious in saying that we'll be there for the bride and groom as they embark upon the stormy sea of matrimony. I also hope that the bride and groom will call upon us for sharing our experiences, so that they may be able to avoid some of our mistakes and fast-forward into some successes by learning the lessons of ours. Wouldn't it be nice if bachelor and bachelorette parties were still mini-retreats where the wisdom of the ages was handed on to the blushing bride and goofy groom?

I'm thinking a great deal about "Fiddler on the Roof" while imagining this event. I wish I knew how to dance; I'd love to forever be able to say that I danced for my friend's daughter's wedding.

A Girl's gotta Do What a Girl's Gotta Do

It was girls and guys night last night at Mel's. Of course, one of the "girls" is almost sixty, and the "guys" are pint-sized superheroes, ages eighteen months and three and a half.But we had fun, never-the-less. I enjoy watching actual boys bounce around the room.

Melanie's little men even had a mopping bumper "car" contest with two Swiffers. They actually got the dried dribbles of their various victuals and libations off the tile floor. The three-yer-old was very careful to inform his aunt, upon her arrival, that the floor was clean. I like a person who reminds others to value their labors, even though I really don't think their Aunt Marjerrie planned to polute the patina of their fresh floor.

Aunt Marjerrie loves to play "dress-up" with her two tiny doll boys, so we did a lot of changing them and clicking photos. Richard used to tell me that I was going to give the grandkids, nieces, and nephews brain cancer with all the flash photography I was exposing them to. I guess family pride is the same generation-to-generation.

Mel and Marj both love sushi, so we told the boys we were taking them trick-or-treating at the sushi restaurant. Marj had come prepared with pre-filled trick-or-treat bags from her future mother-in-law, but we were still lucky that the restaurant provided treat bags in honor of it being Halloween. The eighteen-month-old ate so much junk that he capped our memorable meal with hurling his Halloween into a napkin. Thank goodness, his mama has quick reflexes.

I'm living like a homeless person, out of my van. It's just easier to remain flexible about where I lay my head each night. Richard likes a bit more reliable accomodations, but I love the adventure of gypsying around. When family dynamics begin to get too complicated, I can say, "See you later, Alligator," and head for my van. It was easier when we had an RV parked in the driveways of our friends and family members, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Pursuing Playmates

Unbelievable things happen when we allow ourselves to follow the still quiet voice of our pure childhood faith. My very best friend that I lost in sixth grade just found me on Facebook. I've been looking for her for years, but when she was moved by her family to Houston, they left no forwarding address. What fun it will be to catch up with my tall, talented, red-headed BFF!

I'm busy lately taking many walks down memory lane. Maybe this is part of the aging process, but for me it seems more like reclaiming the less complicated, happier, more whole and wholesome parts of myself, when what I lived on was hope.

I'm firmly convinced that most of us have a sane self that was scared away by the control freak ways of others as we grew up. All we have to do is find that precious person again. This makes other "grown ups" absolutely nuts because they are all so busy trying appear to be in control. My opinion is that we're all faking it as adults, but we don't want anybody else to know it.

I always had plenty of playmates in my life, and I was a "good" but clumsy and too talkative kid. This drove adults to distraction, so they set out to "fix" me and try to make me a graceful, quiet "lady". If it hasn't worked by now, I don't think I'm ever going to get there. So, I surrender. I'm going into my second (or, more likely, returning to my first)childhood before faking adulthood kills me.

I never saw it in the Bible that women can't cuss, even though I know there are some words that are forbidden to be used in vain. I also know that women are the teachers because they are the mothers. I don't know who Paul was talking to when he said that women can't teach men, but it wasn't to the women I know.

My six-year-old self was doing just fine before my significant adults made My Maker into a monster. I'm going back home in myself and finding my faith. And I'll go back to hugging everybody on the playground who wants to play with me.

Here's to My Baby Boy

Many people have problems with celebrating Halloween;
My baby boy was born then, making me feel like a queen.
He was a blond and blue-eyed angel with a million dollar smile;
All I could imagine was that he is a magical child.
He made my days a wonder; he made my days a joy;
He was my own precious and funny baby boy.

I'd speak to him for hours as he looked into my face
I knew that his life was a gift of My Creator's grace.
His sister always thought that he was her own special doll;
We came close to worshiping him, trying to protect him from a fall.
But every baby bird eventually outgrows the nest,
And he must prove his talents, or try his very best.

We've looked on in wonder as he's become a husband and a dad,
The most dear friend and protector any family ever had.
So, for any who believe that Halloween should be negated,
We, my son's family, think it must be celebrated.
Here's to Scott, our pride and joy and source of much mirth;
May we all be here to celebrate with you many more years on earth.