Community : Write 28 Days

Community! What a wonderful word.

I got to experience my favorite community Saturday. I am blessed to have a group of friends I've known for over (gulp!) 40 years. Once a month we get together to catch up and encourage one another to handle some of those monotonous things that have to be done. Sometimes it's bill paying or sorting through accumulated paperwork. Sometimes it's some mindless task we've been putting off because it's boring! Sometimes we just wind up coming together to sit with one another.

We call ourselves The Fun Girls - 4 women and 1 man. I've known Keith since were 7. We've been through a lot together. The women, Linda, Caroline, and Sandra, I've known since high school. Linda is our cruise director. If it weren't for her Fun Girls would never have started or continued as it does. Many years ago she contacted all of us and suggested the idea of getting together once a month to do some crafting or an outing. Over time it's evolved into just getting together. Sometimes we go out to eat or do some antiquing. Occasionally we take the weekend and go to a state park together (just the girls then LOL!). But one way or another we see each other most months. 

We don't all make it every month, but we do our best. Yesterday The Fun Girls met at my house. We were all present and accounted for. There is always food, of course. Sandra brings chicken salad from the Amish store near her. Keith brings whatever strikes his fancy when he strolls the aisles at Publix. Caroline brings fruit and hummus and whatever item she's stumbled on recently. Linda makes "Crack", our affectionate term for her chocolate chip cookies. And I provide something breakfast-y - scones, muffins, strudel, etc.

My kitchen island was covered in food. My dining room table was spread out to its full length and all of our projects intermingled as we "worked" and ate and talked and caught up on mutual friends and information. It was lovely.

My son and his girlfriend came in at one point and chatted for a bit. Keith had brought one of his vintage percolators. He made coffee for us all while we remembered the coffee pots of our families, and we introduced my son to old fashioned stovetop percolators. 

As I write this all, it seems a bit disjointed and muddled. Not a good description of a lovely day spent with dear friends. But that's what it was because real community is disjointed, muddled, messy, and wonderful all at the same time.

These people have seen me through a lot - marriage, pregnancies, medical scares, PTSD, depression, children issues and joys, and the disintegration of my marriage. They have held me up in my worst times. They have listened to most of the gory details of the childhood abuse, and they still love and support me. They got me through the transition from longterm marriage to successfully living on my own. 

And that's what community is. That's what community does. Thank God for community!

Antiquing

We planned a day of shopping. Heading to a small town not far from home to look in some antique shops and then find a cozy place for lunch.

We chatted as our cruise director drove Frank, her truck. Talking as we always do about everything and nothing. There are four us and we've known each other for years and years. Old school friends which means we've known each other for over 35 years!

Linda is driving. She is the cruise director and owner of Frank. We tease and say if she goes first we'll never see each other again, any of us, because she coordinates everything. I've got shotgun because I get carsick, and my friends are understanding of that.

Miss Santra is behind me with her Route 44 Sonic drink. She never shows up without one. Usually with two. And rounding out the group is Caroline with her stack of catalogs, magazines, and newspapers to peruse while we drive. She is the fashionista of our bunch looking stylish today in straight jeans with white 3/4 length sleeved knit tunic and a fabulous hat I gave her from Mexico.

We arrive at out destination, park the car, and begin scoping out the town square. We wander into the first antique store (after noting the incredible number of vapor shops!). We each have our different preferences. Caroline loves old postcards. Miss Santra is all about furniture and toys. Linda likes dishes and salt & pepper shakers, and I am drawn to vintage linens and knick knacks.

We're having a good time. I run across an old enamel water dipper like I remember from my childhood. A dipper factors into a dissociative event, but on the whole it brings back positive memories. They all encourage me to buy it and hang in on my new deck. I'm happy that I've turned a potential trigger into a happy moment.

The third store is hot and stuffy. Jam-packed with all kinds of things, and 3 floors to traverse. We are all hot, tired, thirsty, and getting a bit hungry. Caroline has quizzed shop owners and found us a local diner for lunch. I've found a lovely vintage tablecloth to use on the deck, and Linda's found salt & pepper shakers.

We all trek up to the third floor where it is even hotter. It's dark and attic-like, but there is some great stuff up there. As I round the corner from the steps, someone says, "Ooh, look. Old farm equipment." 

At that moment I know I should get the hell out of Dodge, but I tell myself I'm fine. I just won't look at any of it. The truth is "I'm fine" is code for "get out now!", but I haven't quite learned to honor that feeling. 

I walk the perimeter of the room avoiding the area with the aforementioned objects. I'm doing pretty well (NOT) until I have to walk directly by the wall they are hanging on. Understand, I can't tell you a single item in the collection, but I know the look -- the heavy iron, rusted, and dirty. I know I need out of there. I know my friends won't judge me, but I can't make the move. Finally the fear of coming completely unhinged in this place forces me to announce, "I have to get out of here". 

Comments are made as I rush down the steps willing myself out of the store and into fresh air. Willing the panic to subside. Praying that I can deep-breathe this into submission.

I hit the air and breathe deeply, pressing my back against the store front. I see a bench and sit on it, trying to calm my breathing, but still internally berating myself. I'm making a scene. I just want attention. This is all an act. None of this is accurate, but it is what I hear in my head.

My friends appear. They ask questions -- Claustrophobic? Overheated? -- Linda looks at me and says "Bad memory". I nod my head and they kick into full friend mode. What do I need? A cold drink? Yes. Caroline and Miss Santra head off to get something. Linda asks if I want to be alone, and I practically scream, "NO!" She sits with me and I begin to apologize. She reminds me it's okay. I haven't done anything wrong and nobody is mad at me. I keep breathing and trying to quench the tears. I am so, so, so sorry for doing this to them.

The cold drinks arrive and we sit and sip and make plans. One more shop and then lunch. We head back to the car. Passing another shop I see a sign -- Never explain anything. Your friends don't need it, and your enemies won't believe it. -- It's a gift from God or the universe or whatever you want to call it. I comment on it to my friends, and they all agree.

Another trigger averted or at least dealt with. More lessons in coping, healing, and friendship remind me I will be okay when it happens again.

linking up with Writer's Workshop

{this moment}

A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Fun Girls and Patio Life

I have a group of friends we call The Fun Girls. I've written about them before, but essentially it's a group of friends I've known since elementary and high school. We get together one Saturday a month to craft, catch up with each other, and sometimes just catch up on stacks of stuff that accumulates over a month (you know, unopened mail, catalogs, newspapers). One friend usually brings The New York Times which she peruses, occasionally pausing to share tidbits with us. We snack. We work. We talk. We laugh. We share. It's a really good thing.

This month we had intended to go camping instead. Our ringleader or cruise director as we call her, owns a popup camper, so last month we decided we should take it out for a spin. Plans were made and then fell through unfortunately, for a variety of reasons. So instead we met up at the cruise director's (TCD) home for a weinie roast with chili and all the fixins'. And we included our significant others.

TCD's husband is a whiz with backyard beauty. He took a standard concrete patio, added a flagstone area to enlarge it, covered the patio with a lovely tin roof. The whole area is surrounded with an enchanted garden that looks as it if just naturally appeared one day. 

We all sat around their chiminea and chatted and ate. We made smores, and followed those up with ice cream treats. 

Dh and I had to leave early because he had homework, but I know the festivities went on for a bit after we left.

I suppose the point of sharing all this is two fold. 1 -- I wanted to remember what a lovely night it was. There was no event that drove us to do this. We just did it. 2 -- I want to appreciate how lovely the simple things in life really are. Sitting around with old friends and eating everyday food. Laughing and feeling accepted. 

It's a cliche, but it really is the little things that make this life worth living well.

linking up with 31 Days of Writing