Siting in the attic, I hold a letter that my friend Ann left for me. She and Missy joined us for an all-too quick weekend visit, part of our coquette summer and a vital recharge of the soul and heart. Whenever such time together comes to an end, I find a bit of sadness and mourning in the hours after – the way my heart would sink a little after every tour visit or on the ride home from one of those Saturday night card games. Re-reading her card, I feel the gratitude for the time we had together – not only this weekend, but the decades that came before when somehow we followed and held fast to the delicate threads of friendship. So many friendships are finite and fleeting – the three of us have managed to maintain our connections no matter the time or distance apart. For that reason, we know things about each other than none of our partners or spouses know – and that sort of connection seems to be more and more rare. Even my niece and nephew – just fourteen – have gone through more friendship circles than I did in twenty years. I hold Ann and Missy a little closer for that elusive bond. As this song plays in the empty room that Ann left as the sun was still pouring into the window to start the day, I go back to the Friday afternoon that she arrived… 

Tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine
I’m all ears, take your time, we got all night
Show me the rivers crossed, the mountains scaled
Show me who made you walk all the way here

Settle down, put your bags down
(Ooh) You’re alright now

We don’t need to be related to relate
We don’t need to share genes or a surname
You are, you are
My chosen, chosen family
So what if we don’t look the same?
We been going through the same thing
Yeah, you are, you are
My chosen, chosen family

It had been a work-week from hell – early signs of the full Buck Moon had already been felt in a tumultuous Friday, and by the time I got home, my nerves were frazzled, compounded by the general madness of the world right now and the approach of my Dad’s anniversary. Part of me wondered if I had it in me to make it through the weekend – then I remembered it was just Ann and Missy. And by ‘just’, I mean my dearest and nearest friends – the ones who have become family over all our years together. We didn’t need to maintain our friendship or closeness – people change, people move onto different lives, people simply fall out of touch – only a few remain the same, retaining the close comfort and safety when all guards can be down, when you can speak freely, laugh loudly, cry quietly, and simply spend a summer weekend in a happy state of calm – but somehow we did it. I’d almost forgotten how important it was to reconnect like that, to recharge the soul and shut out the sorrow in this particular moment of the world. Ann and Missy would remind me immediately of that. 

Hand me a pen and I’ll rewrite the pain
When you’re ready, we’ll turn the page together
Open a bottle, it’s time we celebrate
Who you were, who you are
We’re one and the same, yeah, yeah

Ann and I settled in for a couple of good talks – out by the pool, in the dining room, and ultimately on the conversation couch, where we stayed up later than either of us usually does – the way old friends pick up where they last left off, but with all the happy memories lapping upon them to add layers of reassurance and safety. It dawned on me, all these years later, how much we had seen each other through, especially in those shaky high school years.  I would not be here today if it weren’t for Ann. It sounds like such a simple proclamation – but oh how much heartache and love is in everything that that encapsulates. Only she and I will ever know. What a treasure to have someone with which to share it, and to realize, perhaps a little too late, that as alone as we both felt at various times, we never quite were. I think we kept that in our minds more then than we do now – and this weekend was a reassurance that it still holds true. 

We don’t need to be related to relate
We don’t need to share genes or a surname
You are, you are
My chosen, chosen family
So what if we don’t look the same?
We been going through the same thing
Yeah, you are, you are
My chosen, chosen family

The next morning we slept in more than we typically do. The cozy non-rushed company of an old friend lends an ease to a sunny summer Saturday that I will bring to mind on the colder, darker days of the year that will undoubtedly come, and I was glad to make a memory to save for then. We slowly entered the day, then got into our coquette outfits – pink, pink, and more pink. Ann is always game for a theme, and it was she who brought in the featured sign for our coquette era. Missy arrived – shockingly and beautifully in pink (because pink is not a color that Missy has ever worn) but for this special weekend she made the effort, resplendent in bows and pearls and a dusty rose dress. Her son Cameron had actually helped pick out the coquette theme for the summer, advising on what was and wasn’t coquette, and Missy delivered the look and the missive. She brought a bouquet of pink roses, and the three of us immediately returned to the gossipy fun of our youth as if the past twenty years hadn’t happened. (At my best calculation, the last time the three of us were in a room together was our 10th reunion back in 2003.)

While it may have felt like no time had passed in the way we instantly fell into our laughter and memory-laden merry-making, much had in fact happened in those two decades. It came up in references to those we had lost, in the way our stories sometimes led to moments of melancholy, in quick recaps that spelled out some of what had happened in matter-of-fact language that merely hinted at the sorrow and heartache behind it. Old friends have a shorthand way of taking that all in – of being aware of the things that informed each others lives, nodding to signal an empathetic bit of telepathy, and helping to heal in the next sentence when it was already ok to laugh again. 

I, I chose you
You chose me
I chose
(Chosen family)
I chose you
You chose me
We’re alright now

Following the same loose trajectory of the day before, we moved from poolside to dining room to conversation couch. I felt us relax and lean into the safe harbor of friendships that extended well back into our childhoods, and in one of those lovely moments when memories past, memories-in-the-making and a realization of the moment at hand all cross like arms in a hug at the end of the day. As we laughed uproariously at things that were just being said, I thought back to our first tentative days as friends, back when we were only kids. Finding someone who got you and your humor, who didn’t judge the differences but rather found comfort in your similarities, made for a sense of security that I’m not sure we even felt all the time from our own families. Our bond was forged then, even if we didn’t fully grasp it. Maybe on some level we understood that one day we would eventually lose those loved ones, that we would need this chosen family when things got dim and dark. Maybe we held onto it for all these years because in addition to losing loved ones we might also have lost a bit of our own way. Maybe this is the start of reconnecting more regularly and relying on each other again – so much easier to do in a world of texting and social media, when we can harness the technology for something sacred and good. 

The next morning, they had to get going early, and Andy and I had Jaxon’s birthday to attend early that afternoon. Life wouldn’t wait, but I paused in the attic, opened up the letter from Ann, and held onto the moment until it was seared into my heart. 

We don’t need to be related to relate
We don’t need to share genes or a surname
You are, you are
My chosen, chosen family
So what if we don’t look the same?
We been going through the same thing
Yeah, you are, you are
My chosen, chosen family

And so we move boldly, bravely, and still trepidatiously ahead. 

The survival of America – of democracy itself – is, finally, up to the American people. 

I hope we have it in us to do the right thing. 

#VoteBlue

This swallowtail butterfly paid us a visit a few days ago, right after a hummingbird had been flitting around the cup plant blooms. While this plant can get unruly and push its volunteers out of all sorts of bounds, the charming visitors it brings, and its own whiny and charm, more than merits such a cost. With carefulness, it can all be kept under control.

The same cannot be said of the magnificent swallowtail butterfly, or any butterly for that matter. We can provide a safe haven, plant its favorite flowers, and make for a welcoming environment where it won’t be bothered, but the rest is entirely out of our hands. That the butterflies and hummingbirds and bees still visit is a happy turn of fortune. 

“Positive people are not positive because they’ve skated through life. They’re positive because they’ve been through hell and decided they don’t want to live there anymore.” – Mona Lisa Nyman

My friend Ann loves Mondays. She was explaining this to me in earnest and genuine enthusiasm, exclaiming that it offers a new chance to start fresh at the beginning of every week, and once you’re have the outlook the Sunday scaries dissipate. I’m not quite there yet, but I kept that in mind as I started the workday, and staying in that mindset throughout the day proved surprisingly helpful. Ann has been through more than just about anyone I know, losing her parents and two siblings, and still moving forward with a positive attitude. The opening quote personifies who she is. If she can be positive and upbeat in the face of so much tragedy, all of us can be. It’s a choice, and I’m reframing the dour way we end the weekend and welcome the new week with a different slant. So much of life is a matter of personal perspective and how we look at and view and take in the world – over that we have an element of control, and any chance you have to make your own destiny is one you must take.

And so, as we end this summer Monday, I take some inspiration from Ann, who reminded me of many good things this weekend…

A week wrecked by the full Buck Moon wreaked havoc at the workplace and in the world. As we reckon with the changes in the air, I retreat to our home, and our chosen family. More on that in a bit – for now, our usual Monday morning recap.

It began in super hot and super humid fashion, and we did what we could to remain impossibly refreshed.

Make way for the Albany ducklings. 

When trite is right.

Returning to meditation that matters.

An old man’s rant.

Pink lilies for a coquette summer.

Daisies beginning, daisies ending.

Losing my mind.

True blue in an almost-pink sky.

A striking combination.

You sexy Passiflora.

A coquette visit to soothe the soul.

Unbaked doubt.

Never the boy of summer.

So stupid.

A birthday wish list.

Dazzlers of the Day included Bryan Ruby, David Gandy, and Bette Midler.

My birthday is almost one month from today, so plan accordingly, especially with the shipping delays I’ve noticed lately from Amazon Prime. (And speaking of Amazon, here’s my Amazon Wish List link for anyone looking for filler.) The rest of this list is, let’s be honest, for Andy and my Mom and very special close friends because some of these are big asks. However, as a wise woman once wrote in a book called ‘Sex’, “A lot of people are afraid to say what they want. That’s why they don’t get what they want.” Proceed accordingly, and thank you in advance from the bottom of my heart.

I’m hoping to have procured the origin fragrance for this one by the time my 49th anniversary on earth rolls around, so the Le Labo Bergamote 22 Body Lotion would make an ideal accompaniment. Scent lasts so much longer when you have the lotion to go with it – and lotion always makes everything better.

The gold obsession, sparked by the prominence of gold jewelry in all things coquette, rages on with this Bezel-Set Peridot Station Necklace in 18kt Gold Over Sterling (20″ length please) – which would mark my first foray into wearing my birthstone. As much as I love the color of the peridot, it never seemed quite precious enough to warrant a wear – how absolutely ridiculous of me! Let the peridot celebration commence.

Always one to succumb to a viral candy crazy, this is me begging for more of this Swedish candy. I would be positively gobsmacked in the best possible way if either the BonBon’s Summer Mix or the BonBon’s Sour Mix made it into any birthday gift bag for me. These take a bit longer to ship, and forewarned is fair-warned as they told me in the retail business. 

Finally, speaking of retail, will somebody please buy me the Ash Tropic Blue Suede Trainers by Marc Nolan (Size 9, as they run large)? I recently acquired my first pair of Marc Nolan shoes and they are impressive.