My Own Girlfriend Weekend

If you read my posts for writing thoughts, links to books, all the usual, you can stop right here while I take time out to write about friends.

Remember that old Girl Scout song? Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold. This is about friends who are gold.

Last weekend I felt a bit like the proverbial fly on the wall, eavesdropping on my own former life. I hadn't seen some of these college friends since we were eighteen years old, and in some ways it was like yesterday and in other ways, we had changed beyond recognition. But, remarkably, we all still seemed like those friends who are gold, worth keeping.

Late one night after our last marathon chatfest-- what a new friend of mine calls a chinwag-- sleep eluded me. After all, who could sleep with all those memories floating in my head, visions of red hearts and golden lockets. So I made a list. This will make no sense if you weren't there, but I wrote it for a reason I'm sure. One of these days the reason will become obvious. Right now it just feels like something I want to remember.

margarine vs. butter, fat arms, The Delta, The Coast, The Redneck, piecrusts, Gumbo (dog), Gumbo (roux), Leos, Beach weekends, Sloe Gin, Olive Kitteridge, Yazoo City butt, pineapple sandwiches, mayonnaise, smoking while standing up, squirrel brains, coffee and spooned cream, donut sundaes...




Southerners know how to do a party right, complete with ironed linen napkins, shrimp and grits, party favors, table decorations, coasters bearing a resemblance of our former selves. Our Atlanta hostesses outdid themselves with food and good cheer. Thanks, ladies.