GLAMOROUS: excitingly attractive, full of alluring or fascinating attraction

During my sickly Sabbath yesterday, I received a call from a dear friend.  Our conversations always flow easy regardless of the amount of time that has passed since our last visit or phone call.

I have so many memories with her that it’s hard to pick a favorite. There was the time we agreed to be each other’s wing-woman for our first junior high dance.  It didn’t quite go as planned…despite our fabulous style (me: a vision in a paisley blouse and teal jeans) we spent most of the night shaking a leg next to each other rather than with the cute boys who were oblivious to our seductive glances and mental pleas.

Or, the time I asked for a birthday card back and she graciously indulged my request.  You see, I was in the height of my cow-collecting madness and I’d found her a card that had a cow jumping off a bridge and said “Cow-a-bungee!  It’s your birthday!”  I wrote my birthday sentiments on a post-it note inside the card to keep it pristine and asked for it back.  We continued to trade the card back and forth on birthdays throughout junior high and high school but never wrote on the hallowed paper.  In college, that ritual stopped and the card was never seen again…until I opened the card on top of a wedding gift to find that famous card – with writing on it!  She had determined my wedding an occasion worthy of writing on that sacred card.  I can’t remember what the gift was, but I will NEVER forget the card.  I had an opportunity to mark that precious card with my own words and send it back to celebrate the birth of her son.  The dollars invested in that cheesy Hallmark card have paid huge dividends over the years.

Then, there was the time I visited her while she was living in Spain.  She introduced me to Spanish tostadas, café con leche, and tapas bars.  She explained the importance of silence when one suspects a roommate of conducting a drug deal in the next room.  She took me to an Arab bath.  We stayed up far too late drinking and dancing. So late, in fact, that when the alarm indicated it was time to line up for an entry ticket to the Alhambra it took us exactly three seconds to agree that sleep and Advil were far more important than a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

It’s nice to have shared in the glamour and adventure of each other’s younger days.  Sure, things are less glamorous now.  We are more likely to be found dancing to Casper Babypants than Madonna; more likely to sing a lullaby than a Brian Mcknight power ballad.   We write more grocery lists than friendship notes.  Tapas now take the form of rejected veggies and half-eaten sandwiches from our children’s plates.  We give more baths than we receive.  When we’re up late, there are rarely cute Spaniards involved.  Our lives are full of more important choices than nursing a hangover or playing tourist.

Yesterday’s conversation was more grit than glamour – we talked about the cyclical nature of abuse, inherited patterns of dysfunction, and the demands of motherhood.   She’s coping with a divorce that makes dealing with a bad roommate look like a cake walk.  But, somehow in the midst of all that grit it was still easy to laugh with each other.  It was reassuring to hear her ready to revive parts of herself that have been dormant for the past few years.

Sometimes it’s comforting to indulge in a little “remember when…”  Sometimes looking back makes us more sure-footed when we move forward.  Sometimes remembering more glamorous times provides just enough levity to push through another gritty day.


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