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Browsing Tag: friends

Because It’s True

Thank you to those who reached out after my post last week: you people are something else, you know that? I appreciate hearing from sympathetic spirits, and friends, and others who just simply get that life is complicated and hard and say things like Ugh, I am so glad I’m not alone. Because isn’t that the entire point? The not-aloneness? I ran into the mom of one of Saoirse’s soccer teammates before their game this past weekend. As everyone does when we greet each other, she asked me how I was doing, and without thinking, I blurted, “I’m here.” I didn’t mean anything deep by it–I was really just trying to not complain about how absolutely freezing it was outside, and it was the first thing that came into my head instead. The mom burst out laughing. “I love that,” she said. “It’s so true: just to be like, I’m here, and that’s good enough.” Today, I’m popping out for lunch with my friends Barbara* and Renée, which makes me feel very…

U2 and Love and Death and Hope

I once had a friend I’d like to tell you about. Actually, he was my brother Paul’s friend–one of his best–and, in that cool space of time in my and my brother’s late teens and early twenties, when a lot of our interests and friends mingled and bounced off of each other, when we hurtled back and forth to each other’s cities in South Orange and Philly and Carlisle and Baltimore, I guess his friend was mine, too. I only knew him for a little while–and certainly not as well as my brother did–but the memories of this friend have stuck with me for years. I have snippets of memories of him: the way all seven of his siblings jumped on him when he came home, for instance: they actually came RUNNING out of rooms and through doorways and leapt on him in absolute excitement to see him. The way he was unapologetically enthusiastic in his faith is something that made a huge imprint. I remember talking with him one day–we were sitting in my ancient ’88 Accord outside a restaurant…

Buying the Farm

We took Saoirse and Quinn to pick strawberries yesterday during our CSA‘s open farm day (yeah, yeah, I hear your jokes about patchouli and Birkenstocks). And as usually happens while harvesting one’s own produce from the earth itself, we spent a lot of time in an open field (shocking, right?), under a hot sun (in June?! No way!), a solid 10-minute uphill walk from the “house” part of the farm itself. As this little event strays from the norm of our air-conditioned, Wegman’s-shopping life, I was expecting a meltdown of sorts, but really, I did okay. Har, har.  You thought I was talking about the girls, right? Nah, they had a grand ol’ time. It was a good–albeit, long, exhausting, sweaty–morning, out of which I gleaned a few specific tidbits for the life lesson books: When there is a 24-pound baby who will need to be carried on someone’s back in a carrier that, while practical, clasps over your collarbone in an unforgiving way and produces enough sweat to fuel a slip-n-slide, opt to make sure your husband does…