You say tomato, I say.......orange. And, that is a-okay.

Mini-me asked me why we referred to people with brown skin as “black” – why we had to say that at all. “After all,” she said “the only difference is their skin color. It’s like me having red hair and my friend having blond. They are just people.”  I started to respond with some detailed explanation about society and stopped. Because she was right. My heart swelled with parental pride. Sometimes – once in a great while – parents see some proof that they are doing something right.

This isn’t the only time mini-me hasn’t seen differences. We have a neighbor with Down’s syndrome. She didn’t really think he was any different than any other five-year old. Another neighbor has a physical disability that affects the way she walks – to my daughter, she is just her friend’s mom and when someone asked her about this person, she shrugged and said, “I guess she hurt herself.”  It just didn’t come into play.

But, what happens when those differences are not physical – what happens when people believe differently than we do or have a really annoying habit – can we still look beyond that difference and be friends? Can we look beyond that and still be respectful and decent?  Let me be clear, it’s not like I’m the most politically correct person on the planet, I have strong opinions, can be bossy. I likely have habits that annoy the shit out of my friends.  Some of my friends are wildly different than I am – they believe something different – be it religious or political.  And yes, some of those things that make me crazy.

Take Neiman – one of my nearest and dearest.  I’ve said this before - she will always tell me to do what I think is best, or what makes me happy or just nods. I have to push her for her real opinion and still, she gives it so gently, so quietly that sometimes I’m not sure.  This annoys me every.single.time.  I need feedback, opinion and sometimes – direction. We sit on different sides of the political fence (and have really amazing conversations on the topic), she is so much more proper, always perfectly dressed with her hair just so and always takes the high road.  Those that know me well recognize how different that is from me and yet my friendship with Neiman is 20+ years strong with nary a fight.

Geek is so logical, so rational and so practical. She researches everything – be it a car, a tv or book – now imagine when it’s something really big like school or a medical issue. It can be annoying when I want to follow my usual knee-jerk reaction but on the flip side, she talks me off ledges, helps me figure things out in a solid and methodical way and has even balanced my checkbook.  Brenda Starr and I worship very differently.  Her family is quiet, subdued and proper. Mine, is well – not.  But, we’ve been friends forever and while her parents could rightly blame me for getting her drunk, encouraging her to go to bars when we shouldn’t and other behaviors inappropriate for teenage girls – I still get an annual holiday card from them and they were nothing but wildly happy and supportive when I walked the path to single motherhood.

Parenting can often pull you apart or push you together as friends.  My neighborhood posse and I have very different approaches to parenting. I am by far, the strictest of the group.  I have no doubt that our differences frustrate one another – but we just shrug our shoulders. They have taught me that these differences aren’t a make or break deal. The kids follow the rule of the house they are in – which are more similar than different – and we all know the little sticking points that have to be followed (more or less) regardless of where they are. Da Bomb and have become like a small gang at the barn and it was recently noted by someone that we’re so different and they are surprised we’re such good friends. Really? Neither our marital status nor our bank accounts define us – especially since we often think with one brain.

But more often than not, I’m seeing differences treated as deficits – as negatives so strong that each difference has grown into an either/or mentality.  I see blatant disrespect, hostility and downright rudeness. The kind of behavior or talk that makes me wonder who these people really are and if they are still my friends if I disagree or agree. It is ugly, it may be inaccurate (on both sides people – don’t get your knickers in a twist) and mean.  How can we teach our children to appreciate what is different and to be respectful of differences, respectful of people with whom we disagree when we, as the adults, can’t do that?  If our children don’t like what their teacher, coach or friend is saying, should they be allowed to call them names, malign their character, spread half-truths or treat them disrespectfully – with hateful words or actions?  After all, grownups do it all the time.

I may spend 40+ hours a week with some real asshats but I would never be anything less than respectful to my colleagues.  My daughter’s first grade teacher tested the limits of my patience but I was nothing but courteous, continuing to try and work with her appropriately I must deal with someone regularly that is less than enamored of my mere existence and hasn’t spoken to me in more years than I care to remember – all based on a life choice I made. Yet, I treat this person respectfully (and at a polite distance) because of their (limited) role in my life and though I vehemently disagree with how it’s handled, I will continue to take the high road (with Neiman’s gentle prodding) though I dread the day when mini-me notices and a talk must ensue. 

So, while I’m so proud to hear mini-me not see the differences in people I wondered where – and how – she learned that. Did she learn by how I treat my friends or by how I treat those I don’t know? Is compassion learned by watching me put an arm around a hurting friend or seeing me help a stranger? Was tolerance learned because I put up with the dreaded “Dog with a Blog” or because I patiently explain for the umpteenth time that friends like different things and that will let us learn new things? Is respect learned by telling her she must always mind her elders, her teacher or another parent – or by hearing me speak to the repairman that was late, the driver going too slow, the checker at Trader Joe's, the stranger that asked for money, the person with whom I disagree or simply by being on the receiving end of less than decent treatment and not understanding why?

This past Christmas Eve, mini-me and I sat with my brother, sister-in-law and nephew in church.  It was the first time mini-me was in church – there were lots of questions and she tried hard to sing along to words that were on the big screen. She listened patiently to the story of Christmas. Beach answered questions about the service she was so familiar with – that represented her faith and that of her family.  I answered questions about how it was different from what we believe and how we practice Judaism.  And later, as we walked on the pier (really, on our way to bar – let’s not forget who is writing this) and she heard a different church telling yet another version of the story of Christmas, she looked at me and said, “Mom, it’s the same story.”  Yes, mini-me – many stories are alike though they are told in different places, in a different language, with different words and by different people.  We all have a lot more in common than we have differences.

I believe one of the marks of a solid and true friendship is the ability to agree to disagree.  I mean, how boring would life be if all our friends were just like us? Boring and frankly, annoying. I mean, holy crap – I get annoyed at myself often enough – I don’t want to deal with a bunch of different versions of me.  I relish the differences among my friends. I’ve learned much through them - my life is fuller, richer and more diverse. I’ve learned to like new things, read different books or try something new.  I don’t always agree, I get angry or frustrated. I admire, get jealous or don’t understand. But I’m a better person for listening, for trying, for seeing a new perspective. I’m a friend because I don’t let our differences define us – but remember what we do share – what made the bond in the first place.  Our friendships sustain despite these differences – or perhaps because of them.

Imagine if that carried over to all parts of our lives.

A Little Laughter Goes a Long Way

Disclaimer: I haven’t written in a while. No valid reason – just that I’ve been crazy busy. Which is really admitting that I suck big time.

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I recently had a tough week. So tough that my Facebook post indicated I would happily greet Friday with a kiss.  My friend aka WTF replied, “with tongue.”  I immediately realized why we were friends.  But really, what makes a good friend?  Loyalty, kindness, listening – blah, blah, blah. Of course all those things matter – and they should.  They really do make for long-lasting and meaningful friendships.

But what is the other stuff that makes people click? Those things that someone says or does that makes you realize –for good or bad – that that is why you are friends.

For many – so very many – of my friends, it’s their twisted, often adolescent – sense of humor.  In fact, I think I can happily say that every single one of my friends makes me laugh.  I can tell each of them a joke – be it political, dirty, sick or twisted…and they will laugh out loud. Even if they really don’t like the humor and are likely laughing at me trying to tell it while I’m laughing so hard I wheeze.

But more than their sense of humor, it’s their ability to laugh at themselves.  As you know, my Big Susan Neiman has breast cancer.  During my visit, she was wearing “Serena” the long, dark wig of her alter ego. While driving, several guys did a double take and I reassured her by pointing this out and telling her that men would still find her beautiful. Her response? “No, they were just saying that bitch can’t get away with a wig.”  I nearly peed my pants.  When Legs was out and about and her purse spilled in a parking lot….and out came a bra…she held it up, showed her kids and laughed out loud.  When Lips drove into her garage…with a bike still on the roof rack, she was pissed – but laughing when she told us.  When Beach was so excited to show me how the cute skirt she was trying on was really a skort and flashed the flap – only to reveal that she wasn’t  wearing panties – all while standing in the mirror in the unisex changing area of Banana Republic? We both doubled over with laughter. (This was more than 15 years ago – we still laugh.) When any of my mom friends admit to a big “parenting fail” and then laugh about it.  This endears me to them.  There is a time and place for being serious –but knowing when not to is way more important. 

Now, I’m a wee bit sarcastic. I know this and most people that know me realize this, too. And, for some – it may not be in a good way.  Some Many of my friends are also sarcastic. This makes me love them long time.  Because some things just require a certain amount of snark and friends that can deliver it well, appreciate it often and use it wisely are to be cherished.

Some friends are a bit self-deprecating.  I’ll admit to calling myself a bitch and assume the neighborhood kids think so, too because I’m strict and I yell. A lot.  Doesn’t seem to stop the little buggers from coming over. The Bomb always says she really doesn’t like anyone.  But she doesn’t lack for friends and is the first to volunteer.  But what I really love is when my friends just get me. I was giving Lips a pair of wedge sandals that I never wore. I couldn’t really articulate how unattractive I felt when wearing them.  She said, “Oh, you mean like an amazon tyranny? I know just what you mean.”  Or when talking to Neiman about a man-boy and I admitted that I wasn’t sure I could get over a particular bit of snobbery and admitted to being horrified that I sounded just like her. She laughed, agreed and told me to get over it.  She has no idea how much I can't wait to throw those words back to her.

Seriously, who hasn't laughed this hard at a friend doing something stupid?

My friends know that I may laugh at them and laugh with them – but at the end of the day, I’ve got their back. I laugh at myself as often as I laugh at my friends.  Yes, I’ve walked out of the restroom at work with my skirt tucked in my panties.  I’ve laughed, coughed and sneezed at the same time – and for women of a certain age who have had children – well, that never ends well. I was just happy I was in my own house so I could quickly go change my pants.  I’ve tripped, slipped and fallen – all with an audience.  And really, who hasn’t let one slip during yoga class and then looked around to see who you could blame? And then laughed hysterically about it later with friends.

It's often the sense of humor, or lack thereof, that prevents us from becoming friends with someone. I would be hard pressed to be good friends with someone who didn't have a similar funny bone. Or at least the ability to talk smack about folks while people watching.  Nothing like an inappropriate comment, politically incorrect joke or well-timed snarky response to bond two people together. It's like finding a secret relative you actually like.

At the end of the day, friendship takes work. Like any other relationship, friends require patience, compromise, nurturing and care with a deep talk, good cry or silent understanding.  Blah, blah, blah.  But it's the other times, with a large bottle of wine, a really good joke and some big laughs that keep you coming back for more.  Humor is the icing on the friendship cake – the stuff that makes it more fun and oh so much sweeter.

The Fucking Psychic Was Wrong aka What To Wear to Chemo

A single drop. One single drop at a time, over the course of three hours. Treatment number two; only six more to go.  I watched the poison – the “draino” as we called it – drip into the arm of my Big Susan, Neiman. You see, Neiman has breast cancer.

Just writing that makes me catch my breath and causes a deep pain in my chest.  This year was supposed to be different.  The psychic said so.  The new people this year brought to her life weren’t supposed to be oncologists, pathologists and care coordinators.  This year is our 20 year friend-a-versary and we wanted to take a trip to celebrate our two decades of putting up with each with nary a cross word.  A trip to the hospital is not what we had in mind.  Unfortunately, being a part of this is sadly familiar to me.  The thought of losing a friend – of losing Neiman – makes me lose my breath and I am scared.  But, I don’t tell her that. 

I know I must see her, be with her and help in any way that I can. The helping is secondary to just seeing her and being in her world.  I took treatment number two.  Why? Because, week two, after 14 days of the poison coursing through her veins and likely around the time of the second treatment, Neiman would lose her hair.  She may be western born and bred but four years of college in Texas gave her not only a degree but a whole different kind of seriousness about hair – or the lack thereof.

I arrived Wednesday night.  We were so happy to see each other; sick about the reason. The conversation is familiar and safe and then moves to the 800-lb cancer gorilla in the room.  How she feels, how her boob has healed (happily displaying said boob as she says, “My boob is now like my hand, anyone can see it.”) She showed me her regimen of pills and supplements.  I met the new dog.  I saw her thinning hair and the new wigs in between our regular catch up routine of surveying what is new in one another’s houses and closets.

It's a chemo cocktail

Chemo day is easy, relatively speaking. Relaxing morning and lunch with an old friend.  Would have been like any other visit – except for that whole cancer thing. Instead of looking at magazines, I reviewed her cancer notebook – full of surgical plans, pathology reports, treatment options and notes, taken by assorted friends who accompanied her on assorted medical appointments.  The chemo lounge is bright, warm with camaraderie and positive energy – everything orchestrated by the nurses who have warmth and humor that is astonishing.  I’m taken aback by the smiles – the laughter.  Hugs with people she’s met only once but who now figure prominently in her life.  I am grateful for them.  Chemo takes a while; most of the fluid is clear – very innocuous looking. Except for the kool-aid – that last bit that is red in color and so toxic that they don’t administer it through a drip but directly into her port.

The day after will be a tough day. It will be “Hair Friday.”  In between her cancer rehab appointment and the hideous shot that will make her weekend truly suck, we go to the wig master extraordinaire.  No shorts and t-shirts for us today – we will honor it with pretty sundresses, sandals and make up. I know this will be hard, I know her emotions are on the edge.  We look at each other, we join hands, a few tears and whispers and then we hear the snip of the scissors. She never turns away from the mirror, she never looks down.  Like everything else, she faces this, head held high and with beauty and grace. 

Her wigs are remarkable.  She has her “brand” which looks just like her regular hair.  I’m can’t believe how amazing it looks.  But it’s the second wig that surprises me - longer, darker – for her alter ego (we call her Serena.)  For some reason, this makes me so happy – that she is willing to have a bit of fun, do something a little bit different during such a tumultuous time when sameness is likely all she really wants.

The rest of the afternoon is us – we lunch, we chat, we participate in some significant retail therapy.  As we approach the mall, the store comes into view – she calls it the “mother ship” and yes, Neiman-Marcus beckons us and does not disappoint.  She buys frocks to go with her brand and we remark that Serena could give them a completely different look.  I’m shocked that when looking at her, I forget for one moment – just one nanosecond - that she is wearing a wig, that she has cancer.

Home brings visitors and calls – how is she doing, what does she need. Someone drops by with three coolers of food from a friend who is a caterer. We freeze some and finally, in our jammies and our faces scrubbed clean, we feast on a catered meal, slipping bites to the pooch, who waits less than patiently next to the table.

I brace myself for the next two days.  I’ve been warned by Jackson, a dear college friend who was here for the first treatment, what to expect.  She is tired, achy – almost like she has the flu but her bones truly hurt. Her mouth feels swollen, her spine hurts. The long walk with the dog probably did not help but it was her routine and so important that she do what she can. She naps. We sit outside and have a Pelligrino.  A neighbor comes by and she walks out front without her wig.  I am astonished.  Shortly after coming back in, we are in the kitchen and for the first time, she cries. Real tears, sobs.  There is nothing I can do but hold her, let her know I love her and that this is just a really shitty bump in the road.  That we will get through this.  And, I believe it.

With a cancer diagnosis, things happen quickly and Neiman’s army of supporters each plays a role.  One took on keeping everyone in the loop with mass emails, another researched and provided supplements, another organized the meal plan.  Others took her to surgery and nursed her through recovery while still others walked the dog or dropped by with warm wishes and smiles.  I took no role –because I’m simply too far away.  It’s hard to watch these others – these amazing friends of hers – take on roles that I selfishly feel belong only to me.  I’m the best friend.

I’ve been able to meet some of these wonderful folks – these friends that fill her day-to-day life and are so important to her.  Many of whom – no, most of whom, I’ve either only met briefly, if at all.  It is hard for me to know that it will not be me caring for her each time and I remember to be grateful for this weekend – for this time.  I remember to be grateful that she has so many friends to lean on.  I am not surprised that so many surround Neiman – it’s just the way she is.  I know that like me, many of them are scared. They also know we will get through this. We believe it.

As grateful as I am for Neiman’s friends, I’m grateful for mine as well.  Lips, Legs, Perky, Handy and Belle - they helped me navigate Olympic-worthy logistics for childcare, animal care and airport transport.  My family has checked in.  I’ve been sent pictures of mini-me having a great weekend and of the pooch snuggling with Lips and her family (my pooch Maddy, and Lips’ pooch Mario have a thing – here’s hoping Maddy hasn’t worn out her welcome by constantly humping Mario. Yes, you read that right. ) I know that I can give Neiman my all this weekend – and make the most of this time – because of my friends.

I’ve learned it takes a village – to raise, to care, to nurture and to heal.  The village may not always be the one I live in but sometimes, getting to know the other villagers is just as rewarding.  The fear, tears, laughs and uncertainly are simply all an amazing reminder that I’m not only lucky to have Neiman, but oh so lucky that my villagers – and Neiman’s - are with us on this journey and will celebrate together on the other end.  I believe it.

Ahhh....remember when

Tonight, a group of people in their –ahem – late 40’s will gather at a club.  They will hug, laugh, raise a glass and possibly shed a few tears.  They will remember or at least try to remember.  They will re-kindle old relationships; perhaps establish a few new ones.  There will be dancing, toasting and slaps on the back. 

Many will be there – to try and recognize those we once knew so well.  We will be grateful if the name badges have a senior picture.  There will be laughter about hairlines, bellies and the effects of gravity.  There will boasting of children and even some grandchildren.  They will be successful in many ways and from many walks of life. 

Many will not be there.  perhaps life just doesn’t always grant the break we want and other commitments or obligations take precedence.  It’s like missing the homecoming game because you’re grounded – you want to be there but there is a louder voice telling you that just can’t go.

To those that will be there tonight – I will miss seeing your faces – even if I don’t remember them all.  I will miss the stories and “remember whens”.  I will miss seeing pictures of your kids and hearing about your parents – your brothers or sisters.  I will miss marveling about how great everyone looks and what a great night it is.

To those like me that just couldn’t make it – let’s be sure we raise a glass and share at least one high school story with those around our table tonight.  Even if they don’t get it – tell the story and remind them that you were there.

To those that are gone – I hope there is a hell of a reunion in the clouds tonight. You left us too soon but we remember.  .

We are all grown. We have traveled different paths and built whole lives.  We live all over the country and have pursued our interests and passions.  We are different than we once were (maybe, maybe not) – at least older and hopefully wiser.  None of those differences will matter because tonight, we are once again Kennedy Cavaliers. What once bound us together has done so again.

To the John F. Kennedy Class of 1982 – Cheers my friends. I’m with you in spirit.

Something in the air....

I’ve been remiss in writing. I could say that I’ve been busy or tired or ran out of things to say and while all of that may be a wee bit accurate, none of it is really true.  It’s been an interesting summer – emotions running high and a shift – however subtle – in the air. 

An article I recently read talked about how your friends should be supportive, optimistic and bring something positive to your life.  Now I thought they had a point. I mean, who wants to hang out with unsupportive, pessimistic friends who are negative.  Then I thought wiat – I would hang with my friends if they were like that.  Because I would want to know if I could help and if I couldn’t – I would still be there for them – it’s what friends do.

Friendship isn’t just about being positive.  Sure, friendship is often full of laughter, good times, inside jokes and memories in the making.  But, it’s also – and should be – full of support during the darker times.  It’s easy to be a friend when things are looking up – after all, who doesn’t appreciate a good time.  But, to be a friend when things are tough, when someone is struggling, more needy than usual, in pain (emotional or physical) – yes, negative – is the mark of true friendship.  To be fair to the article I read, they weren’t suggesting that people should discard friends who were having a bad moment but it did reinforce you should fill your life only with friends that bring something positive to your life. Sounds a bit Pollyanna-ish to me and really, Pollyanna annoys the shit out of me.

I have to ask myself, do I bring something positive to those I call friend or have I been discarded? I believe the answer to both is yes.  I’m definitely a nurturer; I want to fix things, I want them to be better. I check in – often. I ask how people are and if there is anything I can do.  This makes me feel connected and hopefully, let’s my friends know I’m here if they need.  Do they always take me up on that? No – and that is okay. I asked, they knew I cared and the unspoken support was palpable.  I will raise a glass in the good times, be a cheerleader during difficult times and a shoulder when things go bad.

But I admit to tough times, too.  More than once I’ve been less than positive and bitching was my primary language (okay, I always speak that language but I’m usually pretty upbeat.)  The friends that listened, asked and stuck around…well, our friendships went to a different level. They became deeper with a greater sense of permanence.  Others drifted away – couldn’t be bothered, didn’t know what to do or were unable to support something that perhaps they didn’t understand, agree with or relate to.  At the same time, I know I’ve drifted away from a few that were so vehemently against what I was doing in my life that I felt I was defending myself in every conversation.  Does this make me a lousy friend? Or them?  I just don’t think it’s that clear cut.

I recently shared some things with some friends – something that was really painful for me, something I sometimes struggle with and some things that just make me an emotional mess.  Since those initial disclosures, I’ve been a bit shocked that some of my friends have not inquired about it – no asking how was I doing, was I feeling better about things, or did I need to talk.  I felt a shift prior to that and felt that really opening up may repair things – I believe I was wrong (and believe me, I don’t say that easily.)  Have some of my friendships gone through a change? What do I do with that?  I’m not asking for sympathy or endless inquiries as to what is wrong – I’m just making an observation.  Being a friend means many different things.  Am I wrong to hold those friends up a standard they may know nothing about?

Do our friends have to be just like us?  Do we have to be in sync with good times and bad so that no one person is being needier than anyone else?  Must we behave only in a way that is beneficial to others, burying what we are feeling and keeping that private in order to outwardly positive?  I’d like to believe that I love my friends despite our differences – despite the things that drive us crazy about one another or difficult times that they are going through.  Sometimes a friend needs a distraction, a drink or a shoulder. Other times, distance – emotional or otherwise - is the remedy that works best (uh, this is my go-to remedy, which I recognize annoys my friends and I try hard to avoid.) 

My Big Susan’s each respond different to a crisis – mine or theirs.  Neiman is Switzerland – her response to most things is, “Do what makes you happy or what you think is right,” and this drives me crazy.  I want her opinion – I value it.  I tell her this all.the.time.  She is the most stoic person I know when facing her own challenges – rarely asking for help and her brave face is full of beauty and grace.  But I know she’s full of shit.  Geek is logical and practical in her approach – always looking for the sound reasoning and rarely full of emotion.  And Brenda Starr, well, she’s a hot emotional mess like me. Each of my Big Susans possess traits I value though they may annoy me at times. I love them despite this – because of it.   Maybe I look at my friends through rose-colored glasses and just want to see the good.  Sounds a bit Pollyanna-ish of me, which both scares and annoys the shit out of me.

I don’t friend easily.  I can acquaintance at the drop of a hat but I don’t truly friend that easily.  So, I’ll be honest; some of this stings a bit. But, then I think that maybe they are going through something, too. Maybe they have stuff going on that they aren’t ready to talk about and maybe time will repair things.  Maybe it won’t but I refuse to dwell on that. I’ll be positive and optimistic and believe it will work itself out and we will fall back into the comfortable friendships we had before – simply because we are friends.  Fuck, I really do sound like Pollyanna.