There's no friend like your oldest friend.
Someone who has known you since high school. Someone who witnessed your awkward and painful puberty. Someone you touched base with about once every decade after that. Someone who then shows up 40 years later and slips into your heart in a deeper and wiser way than ever before.
For Flannista, that friend is Jerseysista.
Jersey could have walked away from our friendship when we were in high school. Back then, she was literally a fifth wheel, the friend behind the steering wheel because she had a car when so few of us did. I don't remember the type of car it was, but it was small and green. Jersey called it Grendel, after (I'm assuming) one of the three antagonists in Beowulf.
I got to know Jersey because she lived a stone's throw away from Wendy, a girl with whom I was desperately in love, though I did not know it then. All I knew was that Wendy meant the world to me, and I would do anything to see her, including becoming involved in loads of after-school activities -- even the Math Club -- so I could spend more time with her. My senior yearbook directory listing is the longest one in my class. Most thought I was industrious, the reason I was voted the senior, "Most Likely to Succeed." In reality, I was quelling an inexplicable ache for Wendy. Together, we started a small journal/diary that we alternately took home each evening to record our deepest thoughts. Wendy wrote about what she had watched on television. I wrote about her, the joy of spending time with her, the whisper of wings in my heart when she said my name.
After my mother discovered my hiding place for that journal/diary and disclosed its contents at the dinner table, I was forbidden to see Wendy. Jersey then became my "decoy" friend, the friend I could talk about openly with my family. The friend who picked me up and drove me to see Wendy. The friend who must have listened for hours as I pined away for Wendy. The friend who never once complained.
Thinking about those days now, I'm embarrassed, of course -- but only momentarily. A year ago out of the blue, Jersey called and suggested we meet in Baltimore. Matiss and I spent a Sunday morning and afternoon with her, leaving her with the URL for Sassistas! Since then, she has been a steady presence in the sassosphere and in our lives.
In some ways, Jersey and I could not be more different -- me a lazy Christian and she a devout atheist. But we do share the same birthday and most recently, profound gratitude that life seems to have come full circle for us. Plus, she has great taste in beer as the image for this post attests. Then there's this: a couple of months ago, I shared with Jersey how difficult Mondays are for me. Since then, a Monday hasn't slipped by without a phone call from her to see how I'm doing.
I read once that life without a friend is death without a witness. With Jersey, I have both a friend and a witness. Someone who has steadfastly been there since the beginning. Someone who will get behind the steering wheel of her car to be there at the end.
Thank you, my much beloved and oldest friend.
Who is your oldest friend? What have you learned from that person?
Someone who has known you since high school. Someone who witnessed your awkward and painful puberty. Someone you touched base with about once every decade after that. Someone who then shows up 40 years later and slips into your heart in a deeper and wiser way than ever before.
For Flannista, that friend is Jerseysista.
Jersey could have walked away from our friendship when we were in high school. Back then, she was literally a fifth wheel, the friend behind the steering wheel because she had a car when so few of us did. I don't remember the type of car it was, but it was small and green. Jersey called it Grendel, after (I'm assuming) one of the three antagonists in Beowulf.
I got to know Jersey because she lived a stone's throw away from Wendy, a girl with whom I was desperately in love, though I did not know it then. All I knew was that Wendy meant the world to me, and I would do anything to see her, including becoming involved in loads of after-school activities -- even the Math Club -- so I could spend more time with her. My senior yearbook directory listing is the longest one in my class. Most thought I was industrious, the reason I was voted the senior, "Most Likely to Succeed." In reality, I was quelling an inexplicable ache for Wendy. Together, we started a small journal/diary that we alternately took home each evening to record our deepest thoughts. Wendy wrote about what she had watched on television. I wrote about her, the joy of spending time with her, the whisper of wings in my heart when she said my name.
After my mother discovered my hiding place for that journal/diary and disclosed its contents at the dinner table, I was forbidden to see Wendy. Jersey then became my "decoy" friend, the friend I could talk about openly with my family. The friend who picked me up and drove me to see Wendy. The friend who must have listened for hours as I pined away for Wendy. The friend who never once complained.
Thinking about those days now, I'm embarrassed, of course -- but only momentarily. A year ago out of the blue, Jersey called and suggested we meet in Baltimore. Matiss and I spent a Sunday morning and afternoon with her, leaving her with the URL for Sassistas! Since then, she has been a steady presence in the sassosphere and in our lives.
In some ways, Jersey and I could not be more different -- me a lazy Christian and she a devout atheist. But we do share the same birthday and most recently, profound gratitude that life seems to have come full circle for us. Plus, she has great taste in beer as the image for this post attests. Then there's this: a couple of months ago, I shared with Jersey how difficult Mondays are for me. Since then, a Monday hasn't slipped by without a phone call from her to see how I'm doing.
I read once that life without a friend is death without a witness. With Jersey, I have both a friend and a witness. Someone who has steadfastly been there since the beginning. Someone who will get behind the steering wheel of her car to be there at the end.
Thank you, my much beloved and oldest friend.
Who is your oldest friend? What have you learned from that person?
Let me see: Robert McNamara, the architect of the Vietnam War died yesterday, Sarah Palin twitters away and the Michael Jackson Circus will be covered live by 16 television networks today.
And the Sassistas! post about the gift of old friends, like they are way more important than anything else.
Duh.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 06:28 AM
By the way, Jersey does not yet know about this post.
(It's a surprise.)
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 06:42 AM
Surprised, indeed. I just sent Flannista a very short email. (It’s hard to type through tears.) "The gift of old friends" - - not just more important than all those things that daily dominate our attention but also very rare. "The gift of old friends" - - it is a gift that only comes with age and, then, only as a two-way street. It seems babysis, and I are both feelin’ the love in the ‘sphere this week.
Flann, I love you.
Posted by: Jerseysista | July 07, 2009 at 08:24 AM
Just got off the phone with Jersey. She called to say thank you. I said thank you back.
This post may end up being a dialogue between the two of us, but I'm also genuinely interested in hearing about old friends.
Part of what inspired this post was guilt. I have felt guilty for relegating Jersey to the role of "decoy" friend 40 years ago. I used her shamelessly. I didn't really know it at the time. Perhaps she didn't, either. It is a testament to something . . . I would call it grace . . . that Jersey winds up being the beloved friend and not Wendy. Forty years later, we can connect and make amends. Start back up again.
This is one of the great gifts of old friends -- the perspective they offer on long-ago mistakes or regrets. Their perspective helps to clean the slate, clear the way -- so you can continue to soldier on.
I don't quite know how to say this next thing: forgiveness is always a good thing. Forgiveness for stuff that has haunted you for decades is, well, miraculous.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 08:52 AM
Flann, we both knew at the time that I was the decoy friend. We actually spoke about it back then. You have forgotten your honesty and directness. It was as much a part of you then as it is now. You were forthright about where you stood. It was an honest transaction that I was willing to enter. It was I who was less than honest about how I felt. I had a lot to learn about taking care of myself and having faith in my self-worth before I could ever hold up my end of friendship and love.
I would like to hear what others have to say about this. Isn’t it true that self-valuing - - the thing makes us whole - - is what makes us able to truly love but is it not also the very thing that demands we walk away from a love that is not returned? I don’t think I was mature enough in those days to do either, to truly love or to walk away from unrequited love. I needed to learn better to value myself. It’s a long journey that is far from finished for me.
Forgiveness may be miraculous but so is honesty. Being true to oneself and to others (as noway characterized our brave soldiers) is grace received and bestowed. It is the ground work for friendship, love and heroism.
Posted by: Jerseysista | July 07, 2009 at 10:07 AM
What a great story! The beauty of it is that the story continues to this day.
Funny, one of my morning writes during my practice period was about friends and how they come and go in my life. I have two friends from grade school with whom I remain in sporadic contact and have for 50 years. These two women (and another women lost over the years) were my friends from first grade all the way through high school. Without their support I'm not sure I would have made it. They don't remember our friendship that way.
One of the women and I were very close. I knew her mother and father. Stopped to visit them once or twice after I moved away. Went to the funeral home for visitation when each one of them died. Remembered how they treated us like adults even though we were high school kids.
Our little group spent lots of time driving the boulevard system in St. Joe engaged in endless discussions of the world's problems and our own individual difficulties. My best friend from those days lives here in the city, but I don't see him. The reason for our distance sounds too silly to repeat here. One of the group still is a regular part of my life. Her mother died a few weeks before my mother did. We have known each other for over 40 years and have lots of shared history.
From my oldest friends, the grade school ones, I have learned that true friendships never die even if people are separated by miles, lifestyles, income, marriage, relationships. That heart connection remains for a lifetime.
Posted by: half-a-sista | July 07, 2009 at 10:46 AM
"That heart connection remains for a lifetime."
Thanks so much, half-a, for adding your own chapter to the story that continues to unfold today for me, for Jersey and for me and Jersey. Needless to say, I hope I know you for 40 years and sometimes, it feels like I've already known you my whole life.
Have you ever thought of dropping your friends from first grade a note to let them know how thankful you are for their support back then? I bet you'd be surprised by the response you might get.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 11:00 AM
Jersey -- I HAVE forgotten my honesty and directness back then. Seems like I spent so much time trying to outsmart my mother and sisters who were constantly watching me. Remember one of the first things you shared a year ago when you had brunch with Matiss and me?: "You were such a liar back then."
I'm written that in a comment here a couple of times since then. I remember wincing when you said it, but it was true and I couldn't deny it. So I find it a bit difficult to believe that you found me honest and direct back then. For sure, I followed my emotions. I was helpless at the thought of Wendy -- and despite that, risked further estrangement, if not, outright abandonment from my family to see her. Not certain what that says about love or self worth.
I am grateful that you've been able to connect your silence back then with lack of self-worth, or faith in your self-worth. The way you stated it made me realize that one of the gifts of a domineering and suffocating mother was finding a way "around" her. How I was able to stand up to her is another miracle, I suppose. But it may be because she was THAT huge. It wasn't like trying to combat a wolf in sheep's clothing. I was confronting a wolf. Who knows? I could have gotten a lot of my strength and stubbornness from her! All to say, I had to FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT to value myself ON MY OWN TERMS. And Lordy, have I made mistakes in intimate relationships -- the real battleground for testing the gifts and the mistakes one inherits from one's parents.
I have made many fewer mistakes in friendships. My friends are my treasure and true family. Needless to say, when I call Matiss my friend, I know I have achieved something which is, for me, truly heroic.
I love how you tied that all in, by the way, Jersey. Masterful.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 11:15 AM
Flann, I have told my friends from grade school which is how I know that they didn't view what they did as anything special. They were my friends and that's what friends do, support and nurture each other.
I also send a note to the mother of my grade/high school friend and thanked both her and her husband for the many times we sought refuge at their house. I thanked them for listening to us like we were real people and not obnoxious teenagers (which we were too).
Her mother sent me a note and asked me to stop by and see them. I did one afternoon. Her mother couldn't breathe without a machine and the cord only ran for 60 feet...the result of a lifetime of smoking. We talked for an hour or so before Mrs. C said, "I'm gonna call C and have her come over. She wants to see you."
My friend came over to her parents' house and we spent several hours talking about the past and the present. When C walked me to my rental car, she said, "You don't know how much your note meant to my parents. This visit means the world to mom and dad. They always thought you were the most special one of my friends."
Her mother died that fall. When I went to the visitation, C's father hugged me and told me how much his wife had loved me. He thanked me for the note, the visit, and the friendship between his daughter and me.
I have made it a practice of telling people from my past how much their love and support means/has meant to me. Some people don't know what to do, but that isn't as important as me thanking them.
I hope I know you 40 years from now too. If I don't, it will only be because I have died and faded away into the universe, but the love will still be there.
Posted by: half-a-sista | July 07, 2009 at 11:16 AM
As soon as I hit the "Post" button, I thought, "Of course, half-a has written to those folks! He probably also sent them a Precious Moment souvenir!"
In the next year or two, Matiss and I are planning a sojourn to western Pennsylvania (perhaps you'd like to come along, Jersey) to see old haunts. She's never seen my home town or the house I was raised in. I also want to look up some high school friends and neighbors, perhaps interview them on camera about what they remember back then.
Yesterday on the phone, barista (hearing the typical Monday forlornness in my voice) said, "You need a big project!" I replied, "I am my BIG project." Hope that doesn't sound vain, 'cause it sure as hell ain't easy piecing together moments from your life in order to understand. I don't think there's any other way to wholeness outside of wrestling the dragons and transforming them.
This post is part of that project, I guess, though that was not on my mind when I started it. I saw the photo of the beer in an email that I'd sent to Carolyn over the weekend and thought: "I'm going to write a love letter to Jersey."
So I did. Actually, it's kind of a love letter to myself, no?
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 11:27 AM
Alas, no Precious Moments souvenirs to those folks.
A road trip and a video project, sounds like a great idea, Flann. Great idea from barista. And, while you are your BIG project, the video road trip will add pieces to that life of yours, just as the post did.
Isn't that what we all need to do at times: write love letters to ourselves? I don't think I do it enough.
Posted by: half-a-sista | July 07, 2009 at 11:43 AM
half-a, these are good reminders to me. I need to reach out to folks from my past like you have. Flannista has been urging me in those directions recently, too.
Flann, yes, you did create huge stories about events that never happened. You led a lot of us to believe those stories as true for years. You were honest, though, when you talked about your relationships. You always were careful to be clear where you stood in matters of the heart. I, on the other hand, was a stickler for facts but not honest in my feelings. Fidelity and falsehood all mixed together.
Posted by: Jerseysista | July 07, 2009 at 11:52 AM
Thanks for the affirmation, half-a. Much of my drive to tell my story was nurtured in Natalie's intensive, where I met you and PEACE and West, so the three of you will always be close to the heart of it. Also, The Rich Man's wife has a dream of getting a storytelling company off the ground before the year is out, and helping her with it has inspired me to work on my own story.
Last, but not least, Isaac inspired me -- still does. If my story has one constant and very present muse (outside of all of my beloveds), it is Isaac. "Tell your story," he says. "Begin today."
I don't think it's mere coincidence that I begin to make deeper and wiser connections with beloveds like Jersey after Isaac leaves this sweet world. He may be directing traffic.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 11:54 AM
Ah, what a beautiful surprise for all of us. I love the way you've honored your history with Jersey, and shared it with a few of us. Jersey is indeed a good friend. Thanks to half-a for showing more of his whole heart today too.
Your question made me wonder who my oldest friend is. I don't know. My first best friend was a distant cousin who lived right behind me. I have a few friends I shared K-12 grade with, and one was my roommate after college for only about a year. I last saw her at her dad's funeral a few years ago, but we don't keep in touch. Our moms do, and we hear updates now and then.
My old friends are an important part of my story, and I do have a few that have lasted 30 years and counting. I know the friends I regularly am in contact with are the most crucial to my life though, and I hope they last till I die.
It may sound corny, but my oldest friend is really my big sister, and today is her birthday!
Posted by: babysis | July 07, 2009 at 12:08 PM
The distinction between lying about events that never happened and being honest about relationships is helpful to see in print, Jersey. However, part of me says, "A lie is a lie." Right?
Looking back, I think I created those huge stories as diversions. Certainly I created them to get attention. Lord knows I felt alone and to feel less lonely, I became the Cecil B. Demille of tragedies, with me always the victim. Creating my own false pain was easier than living with the true pain of my mother's house. Still, it's not an excuse, is it? A lie is a lie.
But I see your point. You a stickler for facts yet unable to make an empirical assessment of a relationship -- even when others named the obvious for you. Don't be too hard on yourself. I believe deeply that there are huge reasons for what I call "incubation" periods. For example, perhaps it has taken me so long to find my voice because I wouldn't have heard it otherwise. Perhaps it's taken you so long to find honesty in relationships because you're on the cusp of a relationship to something (yourself, someone else, whatever) that you wouldn't have appreciated without the dearth. Trust me, I'm no Pollyanna, but hasn't our relationship proven that stuff comes around full circle . . . and it can take as long as 40 years?
If I were you, I'd buckle my seat belt.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 12:11 PM
Gotta go walk the dawg.
But I'll be back. You know it.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 12:12 PM
babysis -- caught your comment on the way out the door.
Couldn't leave without thanking you for posting -- and without wishing your oldest sister a very happy birthday. I've met her -- you're both lucky to have each other.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 12:14 PM
Maybe Isaac does direct traffic. You have also realized that you and everyone that you love will die. For me, that realization made everyone I love, have loved, will love so much more important and the time with them so much more precious, including the time with myself.
Good for TRM's wife, she has stories to tell and I hope that she tells them with candor and feeling. TRM might not like it, but she would probably feel much better if she told the truth of her life.
Jersey, listen to Flann. At least write down the stories of your past and then decide to whom you want to reach out. What people do you still remember (in a good way) from your past?
While I didn't much care for that book about the five people you meet in heaven, I get it. We don't know whose lives we have touched. To hear from someone that you have made a difference in their life can be a great gift of recognition that they cared and that you recognized that they cared. Go for it.
Posted by: half-a-sista | July 07, 2009 at 12:17 PM
Isasista is the one friend from HS (we met when we were 15) that I keep in close contact. Recently, I've had several friends contact me, because Isasista passed along my email.
One friend lived on my street. I've known her since kindergarten. I don't have much in common with her, but it's always good to hear from her. Another friend, I've know since I was 14. She comes in and out of my life. It's never constant.
Most of my other friends, I've known between 10 and 20 years.
There's something about a friend who knows where you came from. Many of my long-time friends often comment how they can pick up with me where we left off. It's the best compliment. It is remarkable how we seem to slip right back into the comfort of a long-time friend.
And it's obvious with Flann and Jersey.
Posted by: Matissta | July 07, 2009 at 12:31 PM
There seem to be a number of my relationships, including familial, that are hatching after 40-or-so years of incubation. I wonder what 80 years of incubation will bring if I am fortunate enough to live to be 95.
Posted by: Jerseysista | July 07, 2009 at 12:44 PM
Oh, Flann, what a lovely gesture! We would all do well to write a love letter to a friend who has been a continuous thread in the fabric of our lives. As a weaver, I see those friends and some family as the sturdy warp. The other people and events are the softer weft, providing life's pattern and color, which would not appear without the foundational warp to hold it all together.
I have only a few friends left from high school, who remain mostly just casual acquaintances. Some of my best friends though are those from 35 years ago and my college days. One such friend, Lucy, called me in Wyoming from Saint Louis a couple years ago in a desperate panic, to tell me that her good friend had just been shot and killed at the Kirkwood City Council meeting. She said, I'm not sure why I'm calling you, but I felt that you just had to know." I knew why she was calling. She needed my support, but she didn't have to ask for it. She needed me to listen to her sadness and her anger. She needed to talk to someone outside her town, an impartial witness. She needed a reminder that love was still alive in the world, even though her friend was not. I was there. I will always be there for dear Lucy and she is there for me.
The gift of a long friendship is having someone you love who is always there to listen, which is sometimes all the help you need.
Posted by: PEACEsista | July 07, 2009 at 01:07 PM
half-a-sista: you are so right. The fact that I'm closer to the jumping-off point has made me want to reach out with greater understanding and compassion to myself and beloveds. I want to spend many precious moments with them -- the souvenir you sent me from that theme park means more than you know.
Matiss -- I love this line: "It is remarkable how we seem to slip right back into the comfort of a long-time friend." Lovely.
Jersey -- 80 year of incubation. Damn, girlfriend, you'll probably have won the Nobel Prize in Physics or something by then. Or cooking in the kitchen with your main squeeze (and I'm not referring to making lemon zest).
PEACE -- the weaving metaphor is so beautiful and appropriate for our friendship sass feed. I'm assuming that you and noway are back home after kayaking in Wisconsin. Now there's a friendship -- the two of you!
I remember you emailing me about your friend, Lucy. In fact, the post-it with her name is still on my prayer altar. Thanks for the update. And those of us who know you -- in and out of the 'sphere -- have no doubt that you will always be there for your friends.
Thanks so much for posting today.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 01:34 PM
Matiss -- having watched you with Momista, I'd say the two of you are pretty good friends. It's endearing to watch.
And babysis -- thought a lot about my own oldest sister when walking the dawg. I have a real soft spot in my heart for her. She seems so emotionally fragile that I don't share too much with her about my life. But she knows enough and has always been supportive. However, she's never individuated enough for me to feel open with her without her fretting about the impact on mom and dad of what I'm sharing. I remember once sharing something with her on the phone and she said, "Shhhhh . . . ." into the receiver as though mom could actually hear what we had said to each other!
Still, she's very dear to me.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 02:00 PM
Noway is back home, but I'm still kayaking. I fly to Chicago on Thursday and to Denver on Friday.
Today, while writing haiku on the island's morning dock, a shadow crossed my page and I heard the soft swoosh of wings. I looked up to see a bald eagle flying very low overhead. Quite a gift!
Full moon tonight, another gift, and a favorite time of mine to paddle on this small quiet lake. Wherever you are, I hope you all will have a chance to see it. Can one ever see too many full moons in a lifetime?
Posted by: PEACEsista | July 07, 2009 at 02:01 PM
Whaddya say, sassosphere? We all on the next plane to PEACE's island?
The only thing I can think that's better than seeing a full moon would be seeing it with a good friend.
Thanks for letting us share your time there, PEACE.
Posted by: Flannista | July 07, 2009 at 02:13 PM