Updated: Nov 23, 2022
Betcha didn’t know that February was International Friendship Month. Yeah, yeah, I know, the month that just passed. Still, there’s never a bad time to fit in a call or a hug or a shout-out to someone you care about if you haven’t been good about it lately. Right?
Here are a few interesting facts I read about friendship while surfing the net:
Friendship can extend your life.
Animals can have friends, even beyond their species.
Babies can recognize the emotion of friendship at 9 months of age.
I don’t doubt for a moment the importance of friends in my life. Truth is, though, I’m not always a very good friend myself. Reaching out and staying in touch can be difficult. Lucky for me, I have friends who understand me (they tolerate my introversion). They are better about calling or texting. They keep us in touch.
During February my friend Kathy invited me and two other women to spend a weekend playing at her house. (In this instance, playing means being pampered.) She instigated an overdue gathering of our Happy Hour, a group of four women who met at a neighborhood pool in 1991. Back then we were all Southern transplants suddenly living the lives of stay-at-home moms with young kids. Somehow pool gatherings evolved into Friday afternoon whine-over-wine dates (white Zin, veggies and dip for us; Kool-Aid and Cheetos for the kids). We were there for one another...when our littles stepped on our hands...when our trying teens stomped on our hearts. When our Happy Hour kids celebrated graduations and marriages, we were right there leading the toasts. The most recent jewels in our crowns? Welcoming grands to the Happy Hour fold.
At our recent Happy Hour get-together we enjoyed more upscale wine, private rooms and baths, fresh flowers and peppermint soap, an afternoon of boutique shopping, and a two-hour long dinner out. My friends even played along with my suggestion that we each choose and share a personal word of the year, our theme, so to speak, to help keep us moving forward.
I can’t deny that I miss the long-ago years when I saw my friends more often (and we could party later into the night). Yet I relish our friendship today. Isn’t it magical that an acquaintance can become a friend, and then maybe even a good friend, or perhaps the quintessential intimate friend? Isn’t it healthy for us to allow our friendships to ebb and flow and transform throughout the different stages of our lives?
Having a ton of friends has never been that important to me. Having friends I can trust and strongly connect with has. Knowing I’ve lost connection with friends who’ve meant a great deal to me throughout the years...well, that’s on me. I won’t beat myself up for it, but I’ll try to do better. Each friend has opened up a world in me, whether we’ve crossed paths in school, through our love of art and writing, at church, through family ties, in the ‘hood, at work, during book club, or through myriad other avenues that slip my mind at the moment. I enjoy having friends (or good acquaintances) who are not a mirror image of me but who are of different cultures and different generations.
Speaking of different generations, does anybody really do friendship like a kid?
Given that kids are such experts at friendship and the art of play, I thought I'd ask my almost seven-year-old grandson Britton for a few of his views on friendship. Here's part of our discussion:
Me: “What is a friend?”
Britton: “A friend is someone you play with a lot...or you know a lot about them.”
Me: “What’s a good way to make a friend?”
Britton: “Start to know them …and start playing with them. Start talking about yourself. Tell them what you like, and you tell them what you don’t like. They might have something in common. Then they might say “’Let’s be friends.’”
Me: [trying to come up with a less sterile word for ‘acquaintance’] “What do you call someone who’s not your friend yet but you think they could become one?”
Britton: [thinking....] “Well, first I ask them their name. And when they tell me it, that’s what I call them.”
Me: “Do you think there are different kinds of friends?”
Britton: “Yes. They might have differences like they don’t have anything in common. If I have two friends that aren’t friends, I’ll ask them to see if they’re related somehow. They might have questions, and I’ll see if they like the same type of [TV] show. But it’s okay if it’s not the same. Having differences is okay.”
Me: “What are some words you’d use to describe a good friend?”
Britton: “Funny. Playful. Hilarious. Kind. Strong. Weird. Kind of interesting (knowing a lot of interesting stuff).”
Me: “Do your friends ever drive you crazy?”
Britton: “No. Not that much.”
Me: “Anything else you have to say about friends?”
Britton: “No, I’m all out.”
(Me again here.) Yeah, I know, the month to celebrate friendship is pretty much over. Still, there’s never a bad time to fit in a call or a hug or a shout-out to someone you care about if you haven’t been good about it lately. Even better, won’t you join me in vowing to celebrate our friendships all year long? I mean, friends rock. Don't you agree?
Cheers! J
(This post is in memory of my mother Grace on what would have been her 86th birthday.)
Eighty-six years ago today, a baby was born in a small farming community in the thumb of Michigan. Her name was Grace, and she would eventually become my mom. The year she was born, unemployment raged at 25 percent, the Nazis took power in Germany, and Babe Ruth hit 34 home runs. She died of ovarian cancer in 2012, the year the Mayan calendar predicted the world would end. Yet here we are. (Below: Grace in her high school graduation picture in the 1950s.)
LIFE WITH GRACE. I wanted to remember Grace in a special way today. But how? I considered sharing some of the things she taught me. She was a woman of adages: “Don’t lie.” “Never wear ratty underwear.” “Actions speak louder than words.” Yet those lessons seem somewhat “meh,” like Velveeta cheese on Ritz crackers. Grace was more like baked brie with pecan crumble on crisp apples. She was more like what musicians know as a grace note: a note added to embellish a harmony or melody. Grace was quite often that. An embellishment. A sometimes not so subtle grace note.
(Below, Grace celebrating marriage in the 1960s [look at her delicate shoes!].)
THE GOOD. Life with Grace was far from boring. She was a tiny woman and perhaps a tiny bit vain, too. She loved dressing “to the nines,” with shoes and a purse to match her outfit. Her shoes had to be custom ordered, a size 5-1/2 narrow with a AAA heel. Grace relished dressing us up, too; she liked for her five daughters to be noticed. She adored entertaining…laughing…playing bridge…hosting dinner parties…decorating and re-decorating her house.
(Below, me long ago, all dressed up by Grace.)
THE BAD. Growing up with Grace was not all lollipops and laughs. She could be quite critical. You could usually tell disapproval was coming when she squinted her eyes before speaking. (“Janet, why isn’t this A- an A?” or “Jan, what do you think about our joining Weight Watchers together this Saturday?”) Have I mentioned she wasn’t always subtle?
Grace wasn’t big on issuing apologies either (deserved or not). Nor was she a huge fan of PDA (public show of affection). I used to attribute this to her stoic English-German roots. In retrospect, I think being vulnerable scared her. She was widowed three times. Her longest marriage was six years. I’ve come to wonder if brushing off her feelings made her pain a little less real. Married or alone, she had five girls to raise. Perhaps she just expected us to “get” it, to understand that she had to be strong.
(Below, Grace being strong, taking four of her five daughters on a cruise of the Saint Lawrence Seaway to visit Expo '67 in Montreal.)
THE SHARP. Never one for self-pity, Grace embraced life. She enjoyed several careers through the years. She was court reporter before raising her family. In later years, she worked as a realtor and then an international tour guide, leading travel groups on train trips through Canada and Europe. She went back to college in her sixties for a degree in interior design. She was ambitious, smart, and well-intentioned. She loved to share her fun and generous spirit.
(Below, Grace with her five daughters and three of her granddaughters on a cruise to Mexico in the 1980s.)
THE PREPOSTEROUS. Have I mentioned yet that Grace could be a bit of a flake? When our kids were little, she’d bring them small presents whenever she visited. Our son Daniel must have been around eight when Grace came laden with a gift that made her particularly giddy. Her excitement was contagious, and we all gathered around to watch. She handed Daniel the gift, a rubber hand. “Put this on your shoulder,” she told him, “and press the button. See, it moves!” Indeed, the hand did move—one finger on it, at least. Oh, yeah. Inadvertently, my mother had bought our son … let’s just call it a battery-operated intimate adult novelty device. “The Hand” is still remembered fondly during many a family gathering.
(Below, Grace enjoyed receiving gifts as well as giving them. If only we'd captured a picture of Daniel opening "The Hand"....)
HER LEGACY…ABRIDGED. Looking back, I guess I did learn some fairly deep lessons from Grace, whether she meant me to or not. For one, I never hesitate to say “I love you.” (You never know if you’ll get another chance.) For another, I try to emulate how she maneuvered life’s detours. She trekked through tough and tragic times to round the bend…just in case more joy and adventure awaited. Mostly, though, I try to live by one of her other adages: “Get over yourself and laugh.” It’s not always easy, but it definitely makes life much more delicious.
(Below, it would please Grace to know that her daughters are still hanging out for the occasional adventure [here at the Weather Channel in Atlanta].
Here’s to magnificent memories of life with Grace on her eighty-sixth birthday! May her lessons continue to creep up unexpected, like a subtle grace note in the wind.
