I love my friends. I'm so lucky to have many, many good friends. I'm not even going to mention the ones I talk to all the time (you know who you are). Too many wonderful, maudlin things to say. And I don't want to come off as a sap. But I had lunch today with my old work friends--Debi, Debbie Reynolds (not the actress), and Leslie. We worked together nearly five years ago at Novell Connection magazine. We were like family.
I dropped Bianca off at Eric's work so he could take her to McDonald's, then let her play some web games on the extra computer in his office. She loves going to daddy's work. His office is full of candy and sugary drinks. I stop off there sometimes just to pick up something sweet if I'm running errands in the area.
After I dropped Bianca off, I met my friends at Zuppa's. I love this place. We had a little rain this morning, so soup was the perfect lunch. Especially, the creamy Wisconsin Cauliflower, with a piece of bread and chocolate-covered strawberry on the side. I could eat there every day. Well, in the winter for sure.
There's something amazing about the way you can not see someone for such a long span of time--we usually get together once every three months--and we just connect and talk about everything. But mostly catch up. We remember all those people that we used to talk about in each others office for hours--relatives, good friends, kids. There's so much to talk about. I love these women.
After the magazine we worked for went kaput, we all went our separate ways. Leslie and Debi moved on to Creating Keepsakes; Debi went to Niche (where I worked several months in 2004 as well). But I still feel like we're family. They came to Miranda's funeral and watched me transition into a person they undoubtedly didn't recognize. (They'd known every single idiosyncracy about me, right down to my spending habits.) Grief tends to change a person. Just ask my husband.
It was at a similar lunch at the same Zuppa's in August when they convinced me now would be a perfect time to sit down and write that novel I'd always known I'd write. They encouraged me, and checked in on me about it, and they supported me. I'm not saying that I'm going to be a great novelist someday (although that is my dream), but if I do ever publish something, these women will be near the top of my "thank you" list.
As we were leaving, a worker came to collect our trays. None of my friends had eaten their chocolate-covered strawberry. As he slid the plates over, I gasped. "You're not going to eat your strawberries?" I gleefully grabbed each one and piled them in front of me. Debi smiled, put her arm around me, and said, "Jeana, you're back."
