I have a host of friends...

At the end of El Dorado (the John Wayne version), James Caan's character is the recipient of good natured ribbing. His reply, as they ride of into the sunset is "I have a host of friends." The line was delivered with the right blend of wit and sarcasm and is one of my favorite lines of any movie and it is also applicable to my life.

My friends run the spectrum of personalities and quirks and fuel different parts of my life an personality. I have a slew of good friends that I rely on to keep me sane, living, out of trouble when necessary, in trouble when it's time, and generally appreciative of life. And then I have a handful of friends that I can count on for anything at any time. They would move mountains for me (and have many times).

It used to bother me that I had unintentionally classified my friends. I've come to realize, however, that it's natural. Not all of my friends can be all things to me. It's a burden that should not be placed on their shoulders. Their job is to fill a niche. Each friend has their unwritten role in my life. Some come in for a specific reason or a short time, others come in, stay awhile and then move on, and some come in, unpack their bags and never leave. You never know which it's going to be. It's kind of the like the prize in the cracker-jack box. You never know what you're going to get, but you know it's gonna be good. I never know how or when I'll have a new friend. Some of my friends have been no-brainer choices, our friendship was obvious and others were unexpected gifts discovered in unexpected places.

One friendship still has the ability to leave me questioning. The fact that we're friends after 33 years still amazes and delights me. But, even though I've known her longer than anyone else, we're total opposites with similar likes and dislikes. Had I been asked on graduation day who I would still be friends with in 30 years, I would not have named her. I expected we would have drifted apart our differences defining us more than our similarities. I have never been happier to be wrong. Ours is an easy friendship with ebbs and flows and yet the unwavering commitment and dedication to each other. And another friendship was gifted to me like a perfect pearl from inside a clam. The shell was hard to crack but held an undeniable treasure. She is my almost-daily connection and compass. I count on her more than she knows even when I don't show it well. Over the years we have developed a bond that allows us to talk about all topics and subjects without recrimination or rejection.

There are those that have special places and roles in my life like family, while others feel like pieces of my soul. And there are those whose company I simply enjoy and others who add peace to my life. There are the bookworm friends, the vegetarian friends, the super mom friend, the cheer mom friend, the mom-of-a-friend friend, the church friends, the knows-all-my-secrets friend, the spiritual friend, the my-twin friend, the school friends, scout friends, PTA survivor friends, the psycho-bitch friend, the neighborhood friends, the long-lost friends, the we-used-to-date-and-I-still-like-you friends, and the very-best-always-supportive-friends.

Each of them fills a different part of my soul. Each is valuable and relied on in different ways. They are all brilliant gems in their own right, but the colors and displays we make when grouped together is the most amazing of any gift I have ever received.

So to all of them I say thank you, I am blessed. I have a host of friends.

Losing Belle

On February 4, 2009 I got a call that rocked my world. Little did I know how profoundly I would be affected or for how long.

Belle is/was my teacup Maltese. I got her in September 2007 and it was love at first sight. Although she is purebred she was deeply discounted in price - she was 4 months old when I brought her home and she fit in one hand. She immediately claimed me as her person and I was enamored of her. She has a travel bag and a few cute clothes and I loved to take her with me whenever I left the house. Unfortunately that didn't include work.

When Scott called me and told me she was missing I went ballistic. My rage was directed at the neighbors who owned the renegade dog that chased her. It was a vain attempt not to flame my husband for his part in the ordeal.

It's been exactly 10 weeks today. I still look for her, I still miss her and I absolutely want her back. I have spent money on ads and flyers and posters. I have gone door-to-door and reached for the obscure. Part of me knows that it's unlikely I'll ever see her again, but no matter how hard I try I can't seem to let go. Even now the tears threaten. I am her person and perhaps, against all odds, I hope that it is enough to keep her connected and bring her home.

She's a dog and yet she's so much more. At least to me. If I could only figure out how to convey that to whomever has her, it might be enough to get her back. For now I pray for her return and I pray for the pain to ease. I know which one I want more.

Catching Up

Boy, I have no idea where the time went. I just started working a part time job last week and I feel like I have no time to get anything done. This makes no sense to me. While working full time it seems like I managed to get so much more done, including this blog. But for some reason working 10A to 3P three days a week leaves me with no time. I'm sure there are other things I'm missing, but I can't quite figure this out. When I do you can count on regular updates again. Speaking of which...

It must be a boy thing. When we lived in Southern California my son wanted to learn to surf, loved playing soccer, enjoyed baseball, and had absolutely zero interest in football. What happened? In Texas, all of a sudden he wants to play football. We are not a football family. I have a favorite team (Go Steelers) and have enjoyed watching specific players over the years (Swann, Piccolo, Alzado, Long, Christensen, Matuzak, Bradshaw, a host of others and of course, Montana is the ultimate), but I don't live and die by the game. So where does the football desire come from?

It's a boy thing. And my son wants to fit in. Which is why, in spite of my better judgement I gave parental approval for him to begin a 7-on-7 flag football camp and tournament through his school. With trepidation we bought cleats, a practice jersey and extra pair of shorts. The first day of practice went off without a hitch and JM was glowing after practice. Tired, but glowing. He proclaimed that he would be a wide receiver since he caught more balls than he dropped. As long as he wasn't a linebacker I had to breath a little easier, but not much.

The second day of practice I was a little less worried. It was FLAG football so I was fairly sure he wouldn't be stomped on and broken like a twig. Until I picked him up afterwards and he told me that he couldn't catch anything. He held up his right hand and informed me that he jammed his finger on his third catch, didn't tell the coaches and kept playing. And my insides turned cold. It was only a finger, but it looked like more than a jam. He was determined to tough it out and refused medical treatment. Until later.

After returning from urgent care we have a possible fracture. A radiologist will review the films today and we'll know tomorrow if we need to see an orthopedist. So for now there's no football, no diving which starts in two weeks, and no flute practice. And while I do feel really bad for him missing the tournament, I'm secretly a little relieved. And yet I have to contend with the whole badge of honor issue since he's now thrilled that if it is a fracture he's finally received his first broken bone. That must be a boy thing!