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.