I start these blogs and I never really know where I’m going. Or I do know where I’m going, but not how I’m going to get there. Did you know that Gone With the Wind was written backwards? True story. Mrs. Mitchell knew how she wanted it to end, but not how she was going to develop the plot to that outcome. So, like Margaret Mitchell, I don’t know how long this blog is going to be. I expect it to be one of my rare short ones, but you never know.

As I type, I’m thinking about typing on the typewriter yesterday. I have to fill out 1099’s at my job. The government does not accept PDF fillable forms. I can mail this type to the producers, but I have to have one red copy to send to the IRS. And if I’m gonna do that, they’re attached to carbon copies, so why would I bother making separate ones on the computer? What I’m getting at is typing on a computer is far removed from the days of the typewriter. I will liken it to the days of film, versus the digital cameras we have today. You got one shot- don’t mess it up. You have to be perfect the first time, as soon as you mash the button. It’s permanent. You had to be sure. There was no cut & paste, no delete or backspace. I like the distinctive clatter but I despise the permanence. I’m no great typist, and I change my mind continually. Like right there. I had constantly, but decided continually was a less used, more fluid adjective. So I backed up and changed it. No problem. On a typewriter I would have had to started all over, or hopefully the corrective tape would work. You can’t wait till the end and polish and perfect. It has to be flawless as you go.

Anyway. On to what I wanted to say. I know that it’s hard to have friends. It’s difficult to be a good friend. They take time and effort. You sometimes have to dedicate moments out of your day to listening to their trials (that you can clearly see are as inconsequential as wet grass on your shoe), instead of running the vacuum or going for a jog (clearly I’m not using these as examples of what I’m putting on hold). What matters is that it’s important to them.

I’m a Gemini, which translates to flighty, self absorbed attention hog who can’t make up her mind and stays all atwitter. It is made worse by my only child status. I’m also a writer, which means I will forget your birthday (Facebook has changed my life in this aspect). I have to set a minimum of three reminders in my phone for appointments, and I usually have at least one post-it stuck on my monitor. I don’t remember to ask how your doctor’s appointment went, and houseplants wither under my care.

But I can describe your hair, your eyes, the inflection in your voice when you told me about swinging in the oak tree at your grandparents house in Florida. I know how you felt when the guy you’d been secretly eyeballing for two months finally asked you out. I remember what you were wearing the time you picked me up and took me to the symphony in Knoxville. I know the story of how you got the job you’re in now, and how you drink your coffee. I know which restaurant is your favorite, and what you’ll order to drink. I know what color you wear the most often but would never say is your “favorite” color. I know, as soon as I hear “hey” on the other end of the phone whether you’re crying, or just got through. I know you when you’re scared, and what hand gestures you’re using. For a select few of you, I even know your password or the security code to your home. I know what kind of bird you’d like to be.

I work with the most cautious, close-to-the-vest human I’ve ever come across. I have yet to hear her really laugh. She’ll snicker, but as far as throwing her head back cackling, with feeling from the gut, nope. She never loses her temper. She’ll become exasperated, when something truly goes against the fiber of her morals. She’ll talk slowly about something that bothers her, squinting and smiling like it’s no great trouble. I’ve never seen her moved to tears, even when her Grandmother passed, and she is devoid of emotion even when listening to her favorite music. She yawns when she feels awkward, or if I’m listening too intently. I’ve never heard her use the word love when describing her boyfriend of several years, and she isn’t one to gush about how great her food is. Don’t get me wrong, I like her just fine, we get along great as a team, and I trust her. I accept her that this is the way she is. This is all I will ever get, because that’s all she knows to be.

This probably sounds just fine to most of you. But I prefer to live more freely. Uninhibited, if you will. Otherwise, it seems like barely an existence. I need animation and passion. I want to THRIVE. I’m not bulldog gear, I’m wide open in four, pegging it. I’m not low-maintenance, I need attention and sparkles. I don’t want to giggle demurely behind my hanky, I want to spew coke out my nose and clutch my side. I don’t want to delicately sniffle when faced with an injustice, I want to narrow my eyes and cut bait. When I’m jilted, I will scream and collapse on the floor and howl. I don’t want to let go without an explanation in the event it can be fixed. I want to drive as fast as I can with my music blaring while I sing with abandon. I wish to savor my food and have conversations about things other than the weather and what’s going on at work. I need to hear about the things that make you feel, even if they’re not flattering. Let’s get down to it. I want to drink too much and cock my head and wonder if you mean it. I want to compliment people for everything, from their jewelry to their gardens to how their children behave. I want to say that you’re beautiful, but not mean because of the way you look. I want to laugh, I want to twirl and spin and I want to simply LIVE.

It’s funny who you stay friends with. Maybe friends is the wrong word. Maybe “stay in touch” is more appropriate. I met five people in college that I interact with to this day. We have each others’ phone numbers. We’ve been to many restaurants together and drank many, many, many beers. I know them now to varying degrees and our relationships have ebbed and flowed over the 22 years we’ve been acquainted. It’s hard to be everything all the time, so you just do what you can when you can. There’s another friend that’s popped in and out of my life sporadically for that long, too. You can’t help but feel a deeper connection to people you’ve known for time you count in decades. It’s almost as if you have your own language, because you have the same memories of the way things used to be, before they morphed into the way they are now. Case in point: Ogles Water Park. Natives immediately conjure a picture, they know, and no doubt share the same exact sunburn story no matter what year it took place. Locals, different from natives, don’t have that memory. It separates us.

But I’m here to tell you about friends. It’s hard for me to rank them, because I have “new” friends (ones I’ve known less than five years) but I see much more frequently than “old” friends. So who am I closer to? Hard to say. The number of memories are the same, and the newer friends are up-to-date on the nuances of my life, but I am still fundamentally the same person I was ten years ago. My old friends tell me so.

Here’s what makes a friend. It’s not who you see the most, or talk to the most, or are related to. It’s who is there for you when you need them. It’s people who won’t disappoint you or judge you. It’s people who see you going off a cliff but throw a lasso and dig in. Friends call you out on your bullshit and fight you or apologize when they’re out of line. Friends return calls and messages, even if it’s not immediate. Friends will bring you cookies or come sit with you when there’s nothing left or participate in your fantasies when you’re at your lowest. Friends let you share your worst, most bitter self, and sympathize, even if they can’t empathize, and look at you with understanding, loving eyes. They will squash you down in a chair and hand you a margarita or a glass of wine or a bottle of beer and build a fire and turn up the music. You can say what you want to and tear your mask off that you wear for everybody else because you don’t have to with them. You can tell them the barest, ugliest moments in the same breath you used to expound on the finest parts of your day. You can get tongue tied and laugh and pronounce words wrong or call someone by the wrong name or butcher the lyrics to a song. They’ll let you lash out and wait for you to wind down and they love you, warts and all. You don’t have to temper your emotions or guard your heart or measure your words for fear of accidentally offending them.

There are false eyelash friends, the ones who only see the person you show them, usually your most perfect, made up, part-time self. These are not friends you can call at two in the morning from the bar. It would never occur to you to call them, anyway. You often wonder why you call them friends at all. They’re a typewriter. You have to be perfect for them, they don’t want to see your flaws.

There are Lash Boost friends. These are friends you’ll have lunch with, and be there for the milestones: weddings, birthday parties, graduations, funerals. They’re real, and they can see you slipping, but you don’t want them to see you fall on your face and eat dirt. You’ll juggle what you have to in order to protect the worst. These are computers. They don’t mind the typo, they’ll help you fix it. Easy breezy. Moving on.

And then there are friends who’ve seen you first thing of the morning when you didn’t bother taking off your makeup from the night before. There’s nothing worse than smudged eyeliner. You can call them from the bar, but chances are they’re there with you. You’re IN their wedding, you’re helping them clean for a party and you’re bringing the cheese dip and balloons. These are the friends who’ll help you hide a body, or at least help you with your alibi. You don’t need a computer with them, they’re in the mix of it with you. They’re instant, direct messaging: Skype or Facetime. Maybe they’re not even that, maybe they’re a handwritten letter with coffee stains and three colors of ink because they have to lay their pen down to tend to some pressing matter and then they lose it. You don’t start over, you just plow right on, making do with the best you’ve got. The stationery probably doesn’t even match. And there are indecipherable scribbles and probably some lines marked through. These are the friends that will get down in the mire and wallow with you, watching mindless TV and binging on tater chips and chocolate.

You’re fortunate to have ONE of these. I won’t brag about how many I have. I also won’t say how many I’ve lost, because it hurts to think I loved them more than they loved me.

December is hard on everybody. You’re either super busy, or wondering why everybody seems to have plans but you. Either way, it’s stressful. Then comes January, and it’s depressing. Everything is drab and grey, the cheer has dwindled, and we’re just trying to make it through to warmer, sunnier days without catching the flu. There’s nothing really to look forward to. You just have to count your blessings where you can and not dwell on whatever is bringing you down. Last night was a such a night. I’d worked all day on those stupid tax forms (none a one without a mistake, by the way), then had a board meeting, and on top of that, worrying about Iran’s bombs and Australia’s fires. My clan has a loose tradition of going out for margaritas after board. I wasn’t gung-ho about spending another two hours in a bra that was making my life miserable. I wanted to go home and pet my dog and lounge on the couch under my alpaca blanket. But I had missed my friends. So off we went. And I’m so glad. We talked about it all, as we always do. It felt like I had been feeling off-kilter, unresolved, and just overall restless for some time. We talked about our victories and goals, the things that make us crazy, and the things that have hurt our hearts since our last gathering.

We ended on a high note: Go Vols! Go Titans! And good riddance to Brady & Saban.

This is why it is said “if money can fix all your problems, you don’t have problems”. Because, let me tell you, if you are sick, you want nothing but to get well. I’m talking Big Time sick. Cancer, diseases, what have you. Things that don’t really have a cure or a positive outlook. Please pray for my friend’s friend, Michelle. It is unlikely she will live to see her first grandbaby, due in May. From what I understand, this is her one dream. If you can’t pray for that, pray for our troops, defending our right to live here, free to drive a car and shoot a gun and worship where we want. Defending your right to live as a man OR a woman. Did you know, that in Islamic countries, many women raise their daughters as boys so that they have more freedoms? Freedoms being walking to the grocery store in broad daylight without a chaperone, freedom to WORK in a factory to make a pittance, freedom to speak a simple hello!! Read this book for an eye-opening experience: https://www.amazon.com/Underground-Girls-Kabul-Resistance-Afghanistan-ebook/dp/B00GEYL2SA/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=girls+of+kabul&qid=1578503822&sr=8-1 Pray for our leaders, that they make thoughtful decisions regarding the fate of our country, and indeed, the world. Thank you to those women who fought tooth and nail for our rights as women and paved the way for us today to have an opinion and equal vote. I fully exercise the right to vote, and honestly, you should be ashamed of yourself if you don’t. They worked too hard for this privilege for you to blow it off. Did you know it took a hundred years for them to obtain this license? Amd this year marks the centennial. https://www.history.com/topics/womens-history/the-fight-for-womens-suffrage

If you don’t have money, but you have friends, you will have a roof over your head and food in your belly. You will always have someone who cares if you live to see another day. You have love. And people who are without it, that’s all they want. It is more valuable than gold. Warts and all.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy