Writer's Island -Friendship

"A bottle of beer," Kathryn thought, her eyes drawn to Paul's muscular arm giving Cody's weathered tennis ball one more toss. "I'll take him a cold beer, and then I'll tell him." Kathryn rummaged through the fridge, shoving aside milk, orange juice, and several bottles of Chardonnay chilling on the shelf. There must be at least one bottle of Corona, left from last weekend when Paul had helped her spread mulch in the garden.

Yes! there it was. She grabbed it quickly, pried off the cap, and threw open the back door.

"You thirsty?" she called out.

Paul looked up and grinned. "You bet!" he said, dropping the ball and rising to meet her.

Kathryn gazed appreciatively at his long legs, jet black hair and olive complexion, the slight swivel to his hips when he walked, and the radiant 1000-watt smile he always greeted her with.

"Thanks, friend," he said, raising the bottle in mock salute.

"My pleasure, " she replied.

Friends like Paul certainly didn't come along every day, Kathryn thought. Since they met two years ago at Lyon Oaks dog park, he had become an amazingly important person in her life. He and Rosie, his Akita, were like family. Paul was always there to lend a helping hand with projects around the house, to watch Cody when she had to travel on business, and had even proven invaluable while she cared for her mother during these last months before death.

"That one's a keeper, Kath," Treesa would say, her sallow complexion and hollow eyes brightening at the sound of his voice. "You'd better not let him get away."

"Mom, we're just friends," Kathryn insisted, busying herself smoothing the sheets on the hospital bed or checking the medication dispenser. "I'm sure Paul has much more interesting prospects than an almost- 40 year old professor."

"Friendship can turn into something more, you know," her mother would respond slyly.

"Not this time," Kathryn stated. "Now, are you up to taking a walk around the yard before it gets too chilly?"

Darn her mother, Kathryn thought, sitting down on the porch step next to him, she had been right as usual.

Both dogs came to join their respective masters, Cody flopping down on the grass and rolling onto her back, her red tongue lolling from the side of her mouth. Rosie was more refined, and positioned herself next to Paul like the perfect sentinel, blue eyes fixed on him with reverence.

For most of her life, Kathryn's dogs had been her best friends. Having this friendship with Paul had been a marvelous new experience for her. She loved hanging out with him, joking around or talking seriously, working on projects around the house or playing with the dogs. It was great having a human best friend for the first time. She took a deep breath, and glanced over at him sitting companionably beside her in the sun.

How was her best friend going to feel when he found out she was having his baby? ~this friendship story will eventually end up in The Wedding Dress, the novel I'm writing for NaNoWriMo. For other thoughts on friendship, go here

Encyclopedia of Me Monday: M is for...

I can't choose just one...

Magic and Molly: Is it wrong to love two small, furry animals so much? I hope not.

Music: I've loved it every since I can remember, love listening to it, but love making it even more. My best memories (aside from the ones of my family, including the aforementioned Magic and Molly) have to do with music. Michigan: I know, yesterday I was complaining bitterly about winter here in the Great Lake State. I really do feel betrayed by winter. However....every other season here is beautiful. Midlife: It's where I am right now, and nothing's going to change it, so I have to make the best of it. It also means dealing with another big "M" word in the life of women - menopause. Ick. That's all I have to say.

Me: Aside from the aforementioned "M" word, the rest of me is doing okay. I know I've been lucky, and I'm happy with (most) things going on in my life. What more could I ask? (Well, if you really want to know...)

The Season of Discontent

Today was not a good day. Winter arrived today- cold and damp the likes of which you can only feel in a state surrounded by five lakes, biting little flakes of snow snipping at my nose and eyelashes. At the risk of alienating those of you who adore winter, I have come to the realization that I'm not made to be a winter person. The last few days running errands in the cold feels twice as hard - no, ten times as hard - as it does in the warmer weather. My entire body is in a state of rebellion - my sinuses are clogged, my ears ache (a new symptom, for I've never had earaches, even as a child), my throat is swollen, and my lower back feels weaker than cheap styrofoam. How rude. To top it off, people here are CHRISTMAS SHOPPING. I don't approve. Not yet. It's just too early. Santa Claus should not be arriving (by helicopter!!!) at my local mall. Now, added to the discomfort of cold, I have to deal with hoards of holiday shoppers, grappling over sweaters and socks, 25% off today only between the hours of 7 and 10 am. No. I am sorely tempted to crawl into my cave and stay there until it all passes (or at least until I can get to Florida, although God knows when that will be). Oh my, please forgive the negativity expressed herein. It's just the season. PS~Melissa just reminded me that Starbucks Peppermint Mocha's, (in red cups) are now available. Maybe I'll live after all.

Speed Lines

We must always look at things from the point of view of eternity,the college theologians used to insist, from which, I imagine, we would all appear to have speed lines trailing behind us as we rush along the road of the world, as we rush down the long tunnel of time - the biker of course, drunk on the wind, but also the man reading by a fire, Speed lines coming off his shoulders and his book, and the woman standing on a beach studying the curve of horizon, even the child asleep on a summer night speed lines flying from the posters of her bed, from the white tips of her pillowcases, and from the edges of her perfectly motionless body.

~excerpt from Velocity, by Billy Collins

I'm a speed demon - I love to drive fast, windows down, sun roof open, wind whipping my face and blowing my hair. I love riding my bike fast, working my way to the crest of a hill, the split second at the top before letting go, and then the flying down, almost airborne, keeping my balance only by the grace of God. Sometimes, in airplanes, I get this ridiculous urge to open the window, and feel the rush of movement at 550 miles per hour. But I'm also a control freak - I like - no, I need - to be in control of the speed, to be pushing forward into it the acceleration, not at the mercy of it. When I look in the mirror these days, I can almost see the speed lines streaming behind me. And it scares me. Perhaps that's why I feel such an urgency about everything, why I find myself pushing and rushing to accomplish so much every day. I'm just trying to stay ahead of my speed lines. But that's a losing battle, isn't it? Eternity will catch up, and "the time will arrive to stop for good." Until then, I'll keep pedaling as fast as I can.

Sunday Scribbling-Right and Left

"Turn right here! No, turn left, right here! " "Oh, gosh, we missed it."

This conversation happens fairly frequently when I'm driving somewhere with my friend, Pat, who directed the high school choirs that I've been accompanying for the past 14 years. I consider her a teacher extraordinaire, as well as one of my dearest friends, even if she isn't very good at directions.

Our partnership works for many reasons, and most likely because we complement each other's strengths and weaknesses.

Pat is the epitome of a right brained personality.

And me? You guessed it.

Once we ran into a former student at a restaurant. He introduced us to his friends by saying, "This is Ms. H, my music teacher, and this is Mrs. Rowan - she's Ms. H's left brain."

Yes, that was me, scurrying around behind her picking up the purse, the keys, the music she left behind. That was me, organizing the schedule, sending the registration forms for festival in on time, double checking the calendar to make sure there wasn't a concert she had forgotten to tell me about.

That was also me, listening to the choir sing beautifully, or watching a perfectly crafted musical or theatrical production she directed, and understanding that a mind so full of creative ideas simply didn't have room to store mundane things like keeping track of keys, or schedules - or directions!

Nevertheless, being the other half of someones brain gets tiring after a while. I took a "sabbatical" from my left brained duties, and went to work in a nice, quiet office where my organizational skills came to good use.

But I missed being around all that creative energy of hers, the way she sees rainbows in every rainy day, the way she seems to bring out the best in even the most troubled kid. She encourages my left brain to lean a little more to the right, prompting me to take a few of the creative risks that have enriched my life, and keeping me in balance with myself and the world. And have I inspired her left brain to work a little more efficiently? Yesterday, she told me about a recent shopping expedition to a local mall, where she was wandering through the parking lot headed toward her car when her eye was caught by a distant rainbow. Marveling at the unexpected beauty of this treat, she stowed her packages in the car and drove off, eyes still on the multi colored drama in the afternoon sky. She left her purse on the ground in the parking lot. Luckily, some other nice, left brained person found it, searched out her ID, and called her home. They met at a nearby coffee shop later on that day, where she retrieved her purse completely intact. I guess it all balances out in the end. here are more opposing views on left and right