The Almighty Cupcake- July 26, 2010

Today’s focus is on the all-mighty cupcake.

Last night I skipped the gym due to ridiculous congestion and stumbled across a new show on TLC, DC Cupcakes. Now for anyone who really knows me, you know cupcakes are extremely high on my list of favorite things. You can yell at me, take me for granted, and piss me off, but bring me a cupcake and all is forgotten. Oh and I’m not kidding, ask my husband. After watching episodes one and two and falling head over heels in love with Katherine and Sophie, I felt the need to cyber stalk them today. In my quest to learn any and everything I could about their cupcakes, which look like perfectly decorated mounds of heaven, I became not only captivated by them but equally enthralled by the story of two sisters who quit their 9 to 5’s to follow their dreams. That’s what I’m talkin about....

As I sat in my cubicle eating my veggie delight, I figured I would do a comparison between Georgetown Cupcakes and my adorable, chic, local cupcake shop—let’s just call it PA Cupcakes. Let me give you a little backstory on my local shop. It’s located in the same plaza as my trusted Trader Joe’s, and for months before it opened I would gaze at the pink and brown sign in the window that said, “coming soon.” Oh how I waited for that day. Once it opened, I was there, wallet in hand, to buy a dozen mini cupcakes. I took them home, eyed them up, and then took a bite of each and every one, passing the half-eaten cake to Mike, a.k.a. “Mikey,” to finish. We were both in love—with the cupcakes that is. And even though they were pretty expensive I rationalized that we work hard and deserve to spoil ourselves every once and a while, and that you can’t put a price tag on what you put into your body. Or can you?

I’m not sure why, but I decided to do a comparison of DC Cupcakes and PA Cupcakes to see what I’d find. And in all honesty there is no comparison, at least not that I can see. The shop in DC appears to be better all the way around, hands down. They have a better variety, a better presentation, better packaging, and hold on to your seat for this one, better prices!!!! How can that be? Certainly the prices would be higher in the swanky shop in our nation’s capitol than in Pennsylvania, right? WRONG! The price of a regular-size cupcake is $2.75, and $29.00 for a dozen at Georgetown Cupcake, whereas the PA cupcakes are $3.50 for an individual and $36.00 for a dozen. Are you kidding me???? Now like I said, the cupcakes at PA are good, they really are, but are they THAT good?

In order to determine whether the PA cupcakes are really worth the extra dinero, I feel the need to place an order with Georgetown Cupcakes, have them shipped to me, and do a taste test, sampling each and every one of the pint-sized decadent treats. I do feel the need to clarify that I’m all about supporting my local businesses, but quite frankly in this case I feel—how can I say this?—robbed, not by the 75 cents for the individual cupcake, but by the $7.00 for the dozen. I mean come on, who buys only one cupcake?

So, even though I’m dieting to prepare for my September trip to Bermuda, I’m going to suck it up (more like scarf them down) and place an order with Georgetown Cupcakes tomorrow morning to see if the old adage “you get what you pay for” is true, or if less IS really more. I guess in a day or so, I’ll be the judge.


Results to follow.

Tragedy- July 25, 2010

My aunt died last night and I wasn’t prepared for it. Are we ever? She was 54 years old. She was a mother, a grandmother, a sister, a friend, and my aunt. And now she’s a memory, forever gone from my life.

Friday evening Mike and I didn’t make Shakespeare in the Park or Ikea. It ended up being a quiet evening at home. We ordered takeout, he forced me (just kidding) to watch The Freshman (we watch any and everything Marlon Brando in my house) while we ate, and then we snuggled up in bed not watching anything in particular until DC Cupcakes came on. Around 9:00 I realized that I had yet to call my mom. The day before I promised her I’d call every day even if only to say hi. So without hesitation, I grabbed the cordless and called. The phone rang and rang and rang. I remember thinking it odd that my mom didn’t appear to be home at 9:00 on a Friday night. The answering machine came on. I shrugged it off, left a message, and carried on gazing unthinkingly at the tube. About an hour later, my cell phone rang. I glanced at it, seeing my mom’s home number. I picked it up. But it wasn’t my mom. It was my niece on the other end of the phone. After saying hello, she without delay told me that my Aunt Karen was in the hospital. I giggled. She didn’t. I knew something was wrong.

My aunt had been in and out of the hospital a lot in the past couple of years, and all too often the doctors didn’t necessarily find anything. A lot of us figured it was her way of getting attention. See, my aunt was the youngest of my grandparent’s seven children. She married a man (Uncle Alton) from the eastern shores of Maryland and moved there when I was very young. The other six children stayed relatively close geographically, and the Eastern Shore was about two hours away. With life, jobs, and children, it was difficult for any of us to venture down there often to visit. My aunt hated that. In the back of most of our minds, I think we figured she enjoyed the attention she’d get when admitted to the hospital because she knew it meant she’d get to see members of her family. Now looking back, shame on all of us. And I don’t know about everyone else, but I know I’m thinking I should have ventured down to see her much more often.

She had just gotten out of the hospital the day before and from what I was told the doctor’s didn’t really find anything. So when I got the call on Friday saying she was back in the hospital I chuckled, thinking she was at it again. But this time it was serious, and it didn’t take long for any of us to believe it. As my niece was telling me what was going on, my other line beeped and it was my sister. Something must be really wrong, is all I could think because my sister never calls me. I clicked over and she continued to fill me in on all that was happening. Apparently my aunt started feeling unwell Friday morning, and called my cousin who came over. My aunt fell, my cousin called the ambulance, and they took her to the hospital. They quickly realized that she was bleeding profusely, airlifted her to University Hospital in Baltimore, and determined that she had lost far too much blood. The likelihood of her survival was grim. I hung up with my sister feeling breathless. I called my mom, my dad, told Mike, and called my niece back, being told the same story over and over again. The doctors said she wouldn’t live through the night, and I wasn’t going to get to say goodbye.

Saturday Mike I drove two and a half hours to Baltimore. When we got to the hospital we were greeted outside by my dad, who took us upstairs to everybody else. The hospital waiting area was filled with aunts, uncles, friends of the family, and cousins I hadn’t seen in a long time and my very first thought was how I never really make much of an effort to see them. After hugging everyone and making my rounds to say hello, I decided I’d go in to see my aunt. I think I asked every person there if they had already seen her and if she looked the same. Everyone assured me she looked good and that I’d be fine. I wasn’t fine.

We got to the room and my uncle Melvin, the oldest of the seven children, was in there with her. He stopped us at the door, telling us we had to put on scrubs and gloves before entering. So we did. The nurse came in shortly after we walked inside the room to say only two visitors at a time. My uncle jumped up and said he would go so we could visit. He instructed me to walk over to the right side of the bed and to talk to her. As I looked up and over at the bed I felt like I was going to be sick. My aunt didn’t look anything like my aunt. Her face was swollen. Her eyes were shut. There were tubes in her nose and in her mouth. She wasn’t moving. She was doing nothing. She looked dead. I forced myself to say, “Aunt Karen, it’s me Tisha,” over and over again as though I was reciting a mantra, willing her to open her eyes. But she didn’t. The reverberation of the breathing machine and the simultaneous lifting and falling of her chest made me shiver. I looked over at Mike and whispered that I thought I was going to throw up. I couldn’t look at her anymore. I couldn’t sit in there and hear that machine anymore. I wanted to get up and run out of there. And so I did.

When I got to the waiting area I asked my mom why she didn’t tell me Aunt Karen looked like that. Why didn’t she prepare me for what I was about to see? I was so angry. I knew I wouldn’t be able to erase that image from my mind and that it would forever blur my memories of her. I didn’t want to remember her laying there lifeless, I wanted to remember her at the family cook outs, down at her house on the eastern shore, our trips to Grasonville’s dollar general, us eating at Horn in Horn in Annapolis, eating at Hardees, the laughs, the tears, my Aunt Karen. But now all I hear is that breathing machine ringing mercilessly in my ear and I start to cry.
Mike and I left after maybe six hours and trekked back home. I was terribly conflicted. I felt like I should stay and be there with my family, but I knew I had to go home and get my dogs, and it wouldn’t have been fair to make Mike drive all the way home alone. That night and the next day I called everyone over and over again to get an update. The doctors said they were surprised she was still living but certain she wasn’t going to recover. I listened from afar while everyone else was there. I felt horrible. Mike had to work Sunday night and my parents assured me there was no need to come down alone. I wasn’t so sure. Around 4:00 the doctors met with the family, stating there was nothing else they could do and that by pulling the plug they would let her die in dignity. How do you make that choice?
My mom says everyone looked at each other knowing pulling the plug was the right thing to do. I still can’t imagine having to make that call. Could my sister and I do that to one of our parents? The plug was pulled and my aunt drifted away. And when my sister called to tell me it was over, I started to cry, wishing I had trekked back down to Maryland to say goodbye.

How odd is it that just when I really realized how short life is, and how there is a need for me to change, yet another life is taken away? Yesterday toward the end of one of the conversations I had with my sister, I yelled out, “I love you, I really do, and I’m sorry.” She said that she loves me too but that I piss her off. I giggled to myself because she pisses me off too. But I told her that life is short, she is my sister and I want to love her and I want her to love me. I don’t want to live thinking we have next week, or a few days, or tomorrow to make up. We aren’t guaranteed tomorrow! She didn’t really say anything at this point but I knew she agreed.

If the call on Friday went differently and my niece just said that my aunt was in the hospital, would I have gotten in my car, taken time out of my day and gone to see her? Sadly, probably not. Would I today if given that chance? Absolutely!!! I loved—no I love—my Aunt Karen, and she died maybe not knowing that, perhaps because I was too busy to call to say hello. I never sent flowers. Didn’t go down to visit, meet her for dinner, or invite her over. I took for granted that she’d be here, never really giving it a second thought. But now she’s gone. And though I failed to say it Saturday over the sound of that cruelly beating breathing machine, I love her, and I will miss her. And I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to show her when she was here.

Love the ones you’re with!

The Right to Love Who We Love- July 23, 2010

So I woke up this morning to an empty bed, well, minus Hershe and Heidi (my two dogs, who are more like children), and a lot on my mind. For one thing, Mike worked overnight and when I woke up at 5:55 AM, he still wasn’t home. I grabbed the cordless that I had rested on the pillow next to me and called him. He answered. I breathed. His raspy voice was filled with exhaustion as he told me he had pulled off at a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike to shut his eyes for a little bit. I asked him how long he’d been there and he said only a few minutes but he was going to get ready to leave because he didn’t want to get stuck in traffic on Rt. 76. Now the old Tish would have agreed that traffic on 76 is a nightmare and leaving would be his best bet. But the new Tish told him that it would be far better to be stuck in traffic than dead from swerving off of the road. He agreed. I hung up with Mike, lying there just thinking. I’ll fill you in on what I was thinking about later. After about 15 minutes, I forced myself and Hershe and Heidi out of bed, nudged them down the stairs, through the living room, around the corner, and out the sliding glass door, and commanded them to go down the stairs. Heidi was quick to obey, surprisingly. Hershe just looked at me. Whatever… While they were outside I ran back upstairs and started doing all of the morning chores Mike usually handles. Quickly I realized that as I’m normally lying in bed, he’s running around taking care of our animals (the dogs and our cats, who are a handful on their own) before getting himself ready and out the door. That’s just the way it’s been for so long that I’ve never really thought about how much work it is for him. And though I hustle around in the evenings packing lunches, cooking dinner, cleaning, doing laundry, etc., it doesn’t discount what he does every morning. Yet I don’t think either of us ever tells the other person thank you. Maybe we just figure it’s implied. Or maybe we’re simply taking each other for granted. I’m going with the latter. As I breathlessly trucked up and down the stairs, filled the water and food bowls, cleaned litter boxes, swept floors, made the bed, all before jumping in the shower and getting myself ready, I grew to appreciate Mike and all he does for me and my babies a little more.

Now on to what I was thinking… A couple of days ago my friend Bobbi (who the character Charlie in my novel was built around) got engaged. Happy occasion, right? Not so much. Bobbi got engaged to her girlfriend, Jen (who the character Nikki was based on). When I started writing the film script (which I wrote before attempting the novel) they weren’t together. Bobbi had fallen for Jen previously but it didn’t work out, and I don’t think she was hopeful it ever would. Not long after the script was completed they started seeing each other. I like to think I wrote them a happy ending and now they are living it out.
Okay on to a little backstory: Bobbi’s parents have always been super supportive of her. I remember telling her years back how lucky she was to have parents who love her unconditionally. They just seemed to have this open, non-judgmental relationship that I couldn’t relate to. Not that my parents are not open or are judgmental, but my relationship with them is clearly different. I’ve heard Bobbi curse in front of her dad. Back in the day she was living with her boyfriend. They were encouraging her to join a rock band (the girl has some serious pipes). She even got a tattoo. These were all things my parents would never have accepted, ever. But hers did. Her relationship with them intrigued me. But then Jen came into the picture and things changed. I’m on the outside looking in and I can only go by what she’s told me, and I’m not going to go into all that, but what I will say is that a relationship that appeared to be so pure, easy, and connected became strained. It became complicated and the only reason I can see is that Bobbi kissed a girl, and she liked it!

Two days ago I was sitting in the chair getting my hair cut when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and it was Bobbi. Earlier that day she told me that she was going to look at kittens and was hopeful they’d get one, so I assumed she was calling to tell me she did. But when I answered the phone without any salutation she yelled out, “I’m engaged!” I was elated for her. And since this was the same day that I got the news that Jim died, I was more sentimental than normal, hence the tears instantly welling up in my eyes. All I could think was that Jen makes her happy, and she makes Jen happy and that’s what’s important. They love each other, take care of each other, and support each other. Isn’t that what all of us in relationships should do? Isn’t that what we all search for? And isn’t that what every parent wants for their child, someone who adores them, cares for them, protects them, and vows forever to them? Do the parental essentials somehow no longer matter because the person you fall in love with is a different color or the same sex?

The following day I talked to Bobbi and she said she was angry and hurt by the reaction of her family. She called her sister, who replied indifferently, and then she spoke to her dad and mom whose responses mirrored the other’s: “Oh. I don’t know what to say.” To which my witty, matter-of-fact peaches said, “Congratulations works.” At once I felt myself getting angry with her parents for robbing her of her joy. How dare they! But then I found myself trying to make sense of it all, and trying to understand what made this relationship that I myself once envied go awry. Certainly they didn’t stop loving her, and they do like Jen, so that didn’t change. What could it be?

I spent all of yesterday, all last night, and this morning pondering this. Then I started to think about my parents and Mike’s. With Mike being white and me being black I wondered if our parents have ever wished we didn’t get married. Though no one has ever uttered anything of the sort, I wondered if in the back of their minds they wished that. And I thought, if ever they did, I want to believe it would be because of how other people treated us, or looked at us, not how they felt. Perhaps this is the case with Bobbi’s parents too. Maybe it’s the world we live in, and the ignorant glances, the mindless chatter, the rolled eyes that they don’t want their daughter to endure. The more I think about it, the more I think that’s what it is. But even with that being the case, if they’re already sensing that Bobbi’s and Jen’s love could cause opposition from others, shouldn’t they resolve to just support and love them more?

I was taught that homosexuality is wrong. Plain wrong!!! I was taught it’s not natural, not how god intended it to be, not godly. And this didn’t come from my parents, but from society. I don’t recall my mother or father ever saying anything of the sort even though I’m sure if I came home and said I was in love with a girl, they would probably react far worse than Bobbi’s parents.
I can’t seem to shake the notion that we allow others to define our happiness. Regardless of how “free” we like to think we are, often we buckle when societal lines are crossed. We follow the “norm” in fear of being ostracized, labeled, and outcast. Why do we do that?

I’ve decided that if following the norm means not supporting and loving my friend, someone who is simply living her life, loving another human being, and being happy, then I stand to be different. I will love her more. I will be there with her on her wedding day, holding my head high, proud that my friend doesn’t mind being a little different too. I pray her parents and sister are there doing the same.

So tonight is Shakespeare in the Park. I’m super excited. But as I gaze out of the window at the murky sky I have a feeling Macbeth may be cancelled due to a little dribbly, dribbly. If that’s the case, I’m off to Ikea for a new bookshelf to store the books I’m going to buy at lunch. The library’s having a $5.00 all you can fit in a shopping bag sale. Last Saturday Mike and I went and we cleaned up, but the books are sitting on the floor in my writing room because my bookcase is already jam-packed. I can’t have that. So it only makes sense to buy an inexpensive bookcase now to store my books since our plans to build built-ins won’t happen till next year. Let’s hope Mike doesn’t beg to differ.


Happy Friday!

Metamorphosis- July 22, 2010

Yesterday started off like every other Monday through Friday morning. Mike got up first and took care of the animals, and I laid there, not grateful or overjoyed I had awakened, but annoyed it was just another day I’d be off to work and not off to write. I glanced over at the alarm clock, 6:25 AM, contemplating whether I should get up to pee or hold it. After a second of consideration, I grudgingly lifted my reluctant body out of my warm bed and sauntered into the bathroom, peed, didn’t wash my hands (I know, gross…), and raced back to my bed, convincing myself that ten more minutes wouldn’t hurt. Mike walked into the bedroom, kissed me on the cheek, and said goodbye. I mumbled something like “see ya,” rolling over. Fifteen minutes raced by. I glared over at the alarm clock, 6:45 AM. Get up, Tish. Get up. I finally got up, scurried around to get ready for work, gave the dogs a treat, grabbed my things, set the house alarm, and left. As I got in my car and turned it on, the sounds of Dr. Martin Luther King’s speech, I Have a Dream, were playing on my iPod. I turned it up, thinking I wished I was following my dreams and not heading to work. I ran to Starbucks, ordered a non-fat chai, jumped back in my car, hustled to my job, settled in, and sighed. It’s only 7:30 AM and I have to be here till 4:30. How am I going to get through this day?

I settled in, opened my email, surveyed my desk to prioritize my workload, drank my protein shake, made small talk with my co-worker, and responded to some emails. An hour went by. If you would’ve asked me if anything life altering was about to happen to me, I would have looked at you like you were a wacko and said, not here it’s not. But I was wrong.

An email came into my inbox titled, “Jim Berres Passed.” I looked at it for a minute, then two before scrolling down to find this:

All,
I am sorry to report that Jim Berres passed away last night riding his bicycle through the park. I do not have any details but I spoke with his brother and the witnesses believe he may have had an aneurysm.
I will keep you posted as I learn more but I would like everyone to take a few moments and pray for Jim and his family. If you need anything or want to talk about this tragedy, please come see me immediately.
The Employee Assistance Program is available to everyone as well at (800-420-2327) should you want to speak with outside help.

What? Jim is dead? How can that be? I just saw and talked to him yesterday and he was smiling, and laughing, and happy. How can he be gone? I read the email over and over again, tears welling up in my eyes. I can’t believe this.

I work for a big company and Jim worked for a vendor downstairs that supports the company I work for. Jim isn’t from here—like most of the other men and women he worked with—and had a family back home that he only saw once or twice a month. I once asked him how he and his wife could go for a month (and more sometimes) without seeing each other. He smiled and said it was hard but that it forced them not to take each other for granted. He said that you value the time you’re together because you spend so much time apart. Jim said lots of things like this. He would say good morning every day and ask me how my night was as though he genuinely cared. He would tell me all the things he had planned to do on the weekends: visiting new towns, eating at new restaurants, going to museums, craft shows, concerts, anything and everything to fill his time since he was alone. But not once did he whine or complain. He was just happy to be living, and now he’s dead.

I sat at my desk all day thinking about Jim, and how sad, and unfair even, it was for someone so loving, kind, and happy to have died all alone. I remembered that the day before, I ran into him as I was coming out of the break room and he asked me if the change machine was working. I said that I didn’t use it so I wasn’t sure. He said with a smile on his face that he needed change to do his laundry. Did he get to do that laundry?

Jim touched my life, and I didn’t even know it. I think we rarely realize it when it’s happening. He was just a co-worker, a stranger really, that in someway brightened my day a little with his optimism and his smile. And at the time I didn’t appreciate it. Jim truly lived, and now he’s gone, and I’m alive but don’t live at all. When that realization hit me like a ton of bricks I quickly resolved that things have to change. Life is not guaranteed and people are not always here. Why do I take that all for granted?

I called my mother and after telling her about Jim’s passing, I told her that we both need to call each other more. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her, but I allow far too many days to go by before I call. No more of that! I love my parents, my family, and my friends, and it’s about time I make sure they know.

In the blink of an eye, my perspective on life has changed. I’ve changed. I’m going to take the things I learned from Jim and put them into practice in my own life. Those things are:

Lessons from Jim

1. Love those that you love. They’re not always going to be around. Don’t take them or the time you have with them for granted.
2. Visit new places, meet new people.
3. Embrace times when you’re alone; enjoy the solitude.
4. Buy a bike, take rides in the park.
5. Make someone else smile, every single day.
6. Don’t complain about what you don’t have, or a situation you may not be happy with. Instead be happy for what you do have: LIFE!
7. Smile.
8. Eat good food, drink good wine, and kick back and watch TV.
9. Do your laundry and any other chore with a smile.
10. Make sacrifices for others, even though they may not appear to appreciate it; in time they will.
11. Be the kind of person who people will miss because you’ve touched them even when you didn’t know it.

I’m sure there are more keys to happiness but I’m going to focus on these that Jim gave me. Every single day I’m going to incorporate one—and hopefully in time many—of these into my life, and I’m going to write about it. I pray these will become second nature to me and one day I’ll realize that I’m living, and no longer dead, and on that day I’ll stop writing this.

Life is not guaranteed, and neither is the chance to say I love you, or the chance to make that call, or to say I’m sorry.

I’m going to fight to live my life, while I have a life to live.

Game Plan- July 22, 2010

Being the planner that I am, I decided that to take full advantage of my new way of life, I need to make a list of things I foresee will add to my happiness. This list includes: things I want to do, places I want to go, people I want to spend more time with, and opportunities I don’t want to let slip by. So here we go:

Happiness List

1. Get published—I have to.
2. Spend more time in NYC—I feel so inspired there.
3. Travel more. Locally and internationally—There’s so much I want to see.
4. Read more, write every day.
5. Go to more museums, art galleries, and theatres.
6. Spend more time getting to really know my true friends.
7. Take more time to visit my parents and Mike’s parents, and our grandparents—They’re getting older and won’t be here forever.
8. Visit surrounding states and cities: DC, Baltimore, Jersey, etc.
9.Have more date nights—All work and no play makes a marriage suck.
10. Stand still and breathe-I need to incorporate this on a daily basis.
11. Buy a bicycle.
12. Have more massages, pedicures, and treats to myself—I deserve it!
13. Vacation to a new destination every single year.
14. Start a family—I finally think I want this. Eventually!
15. Go to a vineyard— I’ll have to take my dad, because if there’s anyone who would appreciate this, it’s him.
16. Get published—Did I already mention this one?
17. Go to Paris, Italy, Australia, Hawaii, Europe, Greece, Africa. — I know this seems a bit repetitive but I feel the need to be more specific.
18. Renovate my house.
19. Go to North Carolina to visit my friend Karen.
20. Laugh more and laugh some more.
21. Be more impulsive.
22. Kiss more, hug more, and love more.
23. Pray more—This one’s important.
24. Have more lunch dates, dinner dates, and dessert.
25. Try different foods, savor a good meal.
26. Slow down and allow myself to do nothing once in a while—This is going to be a challenge.
27. Stay in my jammies all day and have a movie marathon, just not Brando …Sorry Mike but we’ve watched every Brando movie at least 100 times. Jeez…
28. Have many girls’ weekends.
29. Pay off any debt and pay ahead on mortgage.
30. Work to fix any strained relationships I have—My sister is at the top of this list.
31. Meet new people.
32. Make more movies, write more books.

Okay so that is what I’ve come up with so far, but I’m sure I will add to the list along the way.

Even though this is Day 2 of My Write to Live, it’s really still Day 1 and already I’ve fulfilled things on both lists. This morning on my way to work I called an old friend I haven’t talked to in maybe a year. She lives in Maryland where I’m from, and I haven’t made the time to talk to her or to see her. She had a little boy who is almost 2 years old that I’ve never seen. Pretty sad, huh? Last week out of the blue she text-messaged me at like 6:00 AM and said that she missed me. When I got to work I sent her a long email apologizing for being a bad friend. I apologized for not calling more, for not making more of an effort to meet up, for not ever meeting her son. (Although relationships are two way streets, and she could have made more of an effort to see me, I can only accept responsibility for my actions. And truth be told, I haven’t been a good friend.) I didn’t get a response to my email, but the thought of her lingered in the back of my mind. So when I got in the car this morning after listening to the rest of the I Have a Dream speech, I called her. We talked for about twenty minutes filling each other in on our lives. It felt good to reconnect. While I’m not sure we will ever be as close as we once are, I’m going to make more of an effort to keep in touch.

I had lunch with my friend Renee and her stepson, Jesse, and more than once, I made him smile (number 5 on yesterday’s lessons list). It was the first time I’ve seen Renee since she quit working with me last month. While we text almost every day it was the first time we’ve laid eyes on each other, and I know this will sound corny but when I saw her I got a knot in my throat. Here’s a little back story on our relationship. She started working at my job almost two years ago and even though we didn’t jump in with both feet initially, once we knew we liked each other we were both in, and in all the way. We laughed—and I mean belly laughed—at a lot of the same things, had the same taste, enjoyed eating the same junk food (corn nuts, corn muffins, pretzels, jalapeno chips), and we spent way too much time yapping when we should have been working about any and everything. I found myself confiding in her things I didn’t tell anyone else, and she did the same. I loved her, and I realized it was the first time in a very long time that I had a friend who I really believed in my heart of hearts was going to always be my friend. When she started she was dating Dan, but in the course of her time at our job she got engaged, married Dan, and quit. I was happy for her because I knew she wanted to go but in the back of my mind I worried that our relationship would change: out of sight, out of mind so to speak. She’d hang out with her other friends. She’d forget about me. We’d text less and less, and then not at all. I worried. We had plans to get together earlier in the month and she cancelled. I worried some more. But after seeing her today I know I have nothing to worry about. Our conversation flowed as if not a day has gone by. We talked about this, that, and everything, agreeing to take a girls’ weekend (number 28 on the happiness list) this fall, and committing to getting together at least once every month.

I have spent my life longing for true friends and wondering why I didn’t have any. Perhaps I am the reason I didn’t. Maybe I took them for granted. I didn’t call enough, didn’t get together enough, and didn’t listen enough. But as I write this I realize I do have true friends and I want to be a good friend. I really do. So I’m adding one more thing to the Happiness list:

33. Be a better friend.

Now on with living!