Friends. Take two.

While we’re on the subject of friends, let me introduce you to Natalie.    Natalie and I are the unlikeliest of friends.  We met about 15 years ago when she interviewed for a job at the association where I worked.  Though about 17 years younger and several rungs higher up on the corporate ladder than me, we hit it off immediately when we realized we had a profound bond:  Trixie Belden.  If you aren’t familiar with Trixie, it’s because you are either much younger than me, a male and/or you had a childhood rooted firmly in reality.  Trixie was a cross between Nancy Drew and Spin & Marty. The series of books in which she and her intrepid sidekick Honey featured made perfect summer reading material from about 9 to 12 years old. 

Anyway…  when Nat walked into my cubicle for paperwork that day, I looked up and saw… Trixie.  All curly hair and a few freckles and clear blue eyes and I just blurted out, “boy, you remind me of Trixie Belden.”  Of course, I never expected this kid to have a clue as to what I was talking about but, whoa, baby, her eyes lit up and she said, “I LOVE Trixie Belden!!!”  And our friendship was off and running.

She left her job to freelance and, later, moved to Colorado and became an earth-mother gluten-free hard-body hiking-skiing-natural-everything mom of two and I morphed into a freelance overweight diet-coke-drinking grandmother.  And yet, it works.

And, aside from a mutual love of Trixie Belden, here’s another reason why:

In 2001, I lost my sister, Jackie, who was also my best friend.  Two months later the hub and I went to Scotland to stay in a B&B that Jackie and I had stayed in the previous year on what turned out to be our last trip abroad together.  This would be a hard trip, but one that Jackie wanted me to make.  When I arrived and was shown to my room, there was a vase full of beautiful white roses and a card.  Natalie had tracked down the B&B in Edinburgh, called the owner and arranged for her to get flowers for the room and a card to remind me that this trip could be a beautiful, healing experience.  And it was.  I mean, come on, would you not cherish a friend like that?

Nat comes back to Ohio once a year to visit friends and family (her grandfather is 99, for cripe’s sake) and we have our annual early morning breakfast of mushrooms and poached eggs at First Watch.  And we talk.  And talk.  And talk.  Even though we stay in touch via email, the talk is non-stop for at least two hours.   Then it’s a hug in the parking lot and she’s gone for another year.

I bet if you think about it, you have a friend like Natalie.  Give her a call or give her a hug.   And ask her if she’s ever heard of Trixie Belden.

Thanks, California. We owe you.

Big hug to all of you who sent encouraging emails and FB messages.   That felt good!

Lots of questions about just what it is we’re doing, so I’ll tip my hand early and set this up.

Last year five of us “Jersey Girls” jumped from weekends in New York or Maryland to a ten-day trip up the California coast.  We rented a car in Los Angeles and slowly moved our way up to Napa.  Along the way we visited friends and classmates who now live in that beautiful state, as well as Venice Beach, Hearst Castle, Monterey Aquarium, Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco and Napa wineries.  To say we had a blast would be an understatement.  The most amazing part?  Five women in one hotel room each night and not one incident of bathroom rage.   Believe it.

Of course, the next logical step was to take this show global.  So over the Christmas holiday a few of us decided that France—with a toe touch into Italy—would be a good start.  I mean, a country that has been bouncing back from invasions since 1792 can certainly handle our little group, non?

By mid-January eight of us were on board and deposits had been put down on an apartment in Venice and a villa in St. Jeannet on the Riviera.  We added a hotel in Paris for a few days, ordered two cars for the Riviera portion, bought plane tickets and started squealing things like, “really? Are we really doing this?”  Which is pretty much what we’ve been repeating for the past five months.

Let me interject something important (to me) here:  This kind of trip is extremely doable on most budgets.  Splitting costs eight ways brings things like a villa on the Cote Azure within reality.  This is my first tip for your future travels.  Thank me later.

So there you have it.  Venice Beach to Venice, Italy.  Makes sense to us.  I’ll provide the names of the players soon (after I get permission) and one week from today (July 4^th) our adventure begins.

On second thought, let’s make that “our adventure continues.” 

The Jersey Girls... and me

I've resurrected this blog because I have a story to tell.  Maybe this simple, straight-forward narrative will give me the courage I've been lacking to put more important thoughts out there for public consumption (assuming any members of the public show an interest).  So here goes.


In one week (9 sleeps, to be exact) six of my childhood friends, the hub and I will board a plane in Philly to begin leg one of our first international adventure.  This implies, of course, that we've had other adventures, and, oh boy, have we.  


My posse (aka "Jersey Girls") are friends who all graduated from high school together in a small South Jersey town about 40 miles from Atlantic City.  For the most part, we've known each other all our lives, in some cases growing up across the street from one another.  My friends in Ohio (where I've lived for over 40 years) find it alternately "sweet," "lucky," or "really strange."  


I always took these friendships for granted.  They just were.  But as we reached "a certain age," as friends and acquaintances moved away, steered away or passed away, it became clear that these childhood friends have been my touchstone.  They provide a stream of memories that walk me through the ebb and flow of my life.  They entered  before my husband, my children, even my sister.  Some have been a constant and others have popped in and out, but I always knew they were there.  They would take my calls.  They would come if I asked.  I would go if they needed me.  They were just a few states away. Unlike in-laws and bosses and others to whom we wish only to show our best side out of fear of rejection, with the Jersey Girls there are no games, there is no pretense, there is no need to suck in my gut.  


Facebook has reconnected the world.  Everyone is lousy with new "old friends."  Schoolmates, former co-workers, old lovers, even old enemies are now catching up and comparing grandchildren.  I'm enjoying it as much as you.  Truly.  I am.  But this is different.  I think it's the result of growing up in a small town with no school buses and no lunch program.  We walked to school and we walked home for lunch.  Our mothers were there with grilled cheese and fruit cocktail.  We huddled in the basement of the grade school during air raid drills.  We came home from sixth grade early the day Kennedy was shot.  We lost classmates in Viet Nam.  We shared good times and bad as children, which I guess made sharing adult ups and downs natural.  


Did I tell you our hometown motto is "Everybody Likes Pitman?"  Honest to God.