Friendships and Cycles

"Thanks for stopping by, ya'll."  This is how I have felt lately.  I've been putting many of my friendships under a social microscope this week.  I expected to be sad and disappointed.  Instead, I found some interesting aspects of friendship to think about, and I found out I am not screwed up.  With that said, none of my current or former friends are screwed up either.  Even though I have spent a large part of my life in academia, I still get amazed at some of the social theories out "there" and how they really do apply to everyday life.  Who'd a thunk it?!

For example, there is the seven year cycle theory derived from research at Utrecht University in the Netherlands.   According to the researchers, the seven year theory is not just applied to childhood friendships.  Woman go through life cycles every seven years.  We have major changes in our lives like children, marriage, partners, careers, illnesses, etc.  A majority of friendships are based on having similar experiences.  When those experiences change or cease, we have to work harder at keeping the friendship alive and well.  This can prove difficult when a woman is juggling many different issues in her life.  Distance can also be a major change.  Your surroundings have changed.  It's not easy to just meet the other person for lunch, drinks, or coffee.  It takes more effort.  Not putting forth the effort doesn't mean you don't care.  It just simply means that the cycle is ending.

I started to apply this theory to my friendships.  My sister is my number one peep.  Always will be.  There are eight years between us, and this has never been an obstacle for us.  Of course, there are times we get on each other's nerves.  She'll make decisions that I would never make.  Same for me.  I know my life is not set up the way she would like it.  The point is that our love and respect for each other trump all of the other stuff.  Our life experience is that we are bonded by blood.  Thank God that's hard to break!

Sisterly Love

I have a childhood friend who has been in my life since the 3rd grade.  We have gone through major periods in our lives where we were inseparable.  We have also gone through periods where we don't even speak.  We have entered one of those periods this past week.  I'm sad.  I'm disappointed.  I feel like I know there are reasons beyond her control as to why our friendship has suddenly seized.  I might be wrong.  My hope is that if I leave that door open, like I always have, maybe we will find ourselves connected again.  I hope we have not fallen victim to the seven year cycle.  If we have, well, it's been an awesome time and I will choose to remember all of the wonderful things about her.

My friend Penny is a fairly new friend.  We are also connected by having somewhat similar experiences.  As I have briefly mentioned in earlier posts, Penny's fiancé and my friend passed away almost a year ago.  It was unexpected.  I remember picking up my office phone and hearing Penny's guttural scream through the phone.  She was barely able to give me her location.  I rushed to the scene. I remember the paramedic telling me my friend and her fiancé was gone.  I collapsed.  Penny didn't see this.  The paramedic got me up and gave me the pep talk of my life.  I had to be there for my friend.  I whipped off my high heels and ran to her.  She hugged me so hard I had bruises for a week.  Those bruises bonded us in a way that I don't think the seven year cycle will be able to penetrate.  We are survivors of a scene which affected us each very, very differently.  I wonder if the researchers of the seven year cycle factored an "experience" like this into their research?  Hmm.

Me and P.  We know how to have fun.

My friendship with Jessie began many years ago as an online friend.  We just met face-to-face in the past year.  We share many qualities and personality traits, yet we do not share very many life experiences.  For me, this has made for an interesting friendship, which has allowed me to learn all sorts of wacky things about myself.  This friendship challenges me, too.  Jessie makes me feel like I should and can be a better person.  In Jessie speak, "If you want to be something, then go fucking be it."  Jessie is a direct lady.  She doles out excellent advice, though.  I want to be a working writer.  I'm following my dream, and I'm slowly achieving it.  Jessie has encouraged me and provided me with contacts and opportunities to reach my dream.  I admire her because she makes things reality.  For me, that's a hard thing to do.  Will Jessie survive the seven year cycle?  I hope so, and I think so.   We have a strong shared experience through writing.  Jessie is a writer, photographer, and artist.  She's deep, ya'll.  I'm not kidding.  I admire her in the same way I admire Flannery O'Connor and Ann Patchett--two of my favorite authors.  I swear she must have been a Southern gal in another life.  ;)

Tiny hat fun.  All.  The.  Time.

The females I have described are all very different people.  They have all provided different things and experiences for me in my life.  I treasure all of them in their own unique way.  I have bogged myself down this past week in feeling lonely and upset over my childhood friend.  Instead, I want to celebrate that friendship.  If it has run the cycle, then I have to accept that.  I don't have to accept bad feelings, though.  The good stuff far outweighed the bad.  I love her.  I love all of these ladies.  Go examine your friendships.  Really think hard about them.  Work at them.  If the cycle has ended on a friendship, think about what you learned.  Don't let the seven year itch rule you.  March Fourth!

Meet the Mutts: Part One

"I don't like dogs."  "What?" asked the shelter employee.  "Why don't you like dogs?" the employee inquired.  I answered, "I've never had one.  I don't think I would like all of the training."  She gently led me away from the cats and towards the dog area.  It sounded like a really bad Poison concert in that room.  There were squeals, squawks, and general chaos.  Hair.  Hair was everywhere.  "The information for each dog is on the tag hanging from the cage.  If you see a red dot, this means that particular dog doesn't have very long."  "Like, you are going to kill it?!?" I asked in disbelief.  I knew that is what happened at the kill shelter, but I didn't think they would be so forthcoming and blunt about it.  "Yes, like the dog will die, " she explained.  I thanked her, and she left to go do one of the many, many things I'm sure kept that place going each day.

I slowly walked down the aisle.  There were little sets of brown and black eyes starting at me.  Some tongues were lolled out to the side.  There were puppies sleeping in tiny little balls or packs.  I came to the end of the aisle, and there was a dirty little thing.  She was in the very back of her cage.  She shivered when I kneeled down to get a closer look at her.  I noticed a puddle form on the floor of her cage.  Poor thing had peed on herself.  I inspected her card.  She had a name!  Nola.  Why would someone turn in a dog with a name?  Then I really saw the last straw.  The red dot.  Oh, hell no.  I immediately found the nice shelter lady and told her I would be taking Nola with me.  She beamed at me, and she said, "Excellent choice!  Nola was dropped off by her family weeks ago.  The mom said that her young sons were constantly torturing the poor dog, and the dog would pee all over the house.  She surrendered her."  I blinked.  "You mean that two little sadistic boys tortured the dog so much she peed on things?"  "Sounds like it," the shelter worker said.

I couldn't believe that someone had done this.  I know I don't know this mother's story.  I hope there was more.  I hope she got her little soon-to-be Ted Bundys some help.  Yes, that is harsh.  No, I do not apologize.  Nola had already been spayed, so I could take her home that day.  Yay!  As soon as I slipped a leash on her dirty, little head, she peed.  I slowly walked her to my car and talked softly to her.  I kept saying, "Come on, my sweet Nola Jane.  It's ok."  She was my sweet Nola Jane from that second.  We got in the car, and she started to perk up.  She slowly made her way over to my lap.  Her head rested right on the window I had rolled down.  I started the car, and we were off to our new life together.

At the time, I was with a horribly abusive boyfriend.  When he started to show signs of being abusive to Nola Jane, that was it.  After a year of putting up with his shit, it took me seeing how he treated my beloved doggie to leave.  He tried to claim that Nola Jane was his.  I fought for her.  I took him to court and had it declared that she was mine.  All mine.  It was the first time I had fought him for anything.  And there would be no other time because I left him.  Finally.

Nola Jane had so many adventures with me.  We moved into my first place as a young, single gal all by myself.  We finished graduate school.  We rappelled off of a large boulder together.  We had long camping trips.  We got married.  We got divorced.  We found our Al.  The list could go on and on.  She was my constant companion.  My confidante.  My everything.  For never having a dog or even liking dogs that much, Nola Jane was my heart.  She knew all of my secrets.

I noticed a large purple splotch on her belly.  I screamed, "Al!!!  Something is wrong with Nola Jane."  We rushed to the emergency vet.  There was nothing they could do for her.  They sent us to a specialist in a town about 30 miles from us.  She had mast cell cancer.  She would die.  I lost it.  There was no way I could lose my precious baby.  She was the reason I had made most of the major decisions in my life.  She would always listen.  She would give me "the look" and I would know what decisions I had to make.  I looked at my sweet doggie that day, and she looked back at me as if to say, "It's ok, mom.  It's part of life."

We took her home, and we gave her the best six weeks of life we could.  Nola Jane lunched on filet mignon.  She took rides in the convertible, and we let her hair stick to every surface of that car.  She would get in a wagon, and I would pull her around the neighborhood because she was too weak to walk but wanted to enjoy the fresh air.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and she was shaking.  She looked at me.  It was time.  I called our friend who is a vet.  She came over.  We all gathered in the living room to tell my sweet baby goodbye.  Al and I held hands and sobbed as our friend put the needle in our Nola Jane's leg.  Nola Jane looked at me and sighed.  She put her head down.  She was gone.

My Nola Jane helped me March Fourth through so many major parts of my life.  I sit here today writing this and have tears streaming down my face.  My Nola Jane taught me how to love myself and others.  She taught me how to be adventurous.  She taught me that death is part of life, so just enjoy your time.  She taught me to love dogs.  I still think of her each day.  When Al and I got married, her little urn sat right there with us.  She is still my constant confidante.  My Nola Jane.

Nola Jane Goforth

Judgy Judgerson, Dude

A Trustafarian is loosely defined as a rich young person who adopts a bohemian lifestyle and lives in a non affluent area.  I first encountered a Trustafarian in college.  I didn't pay much attention because we all liked to act like we were bohemians.  Years later, I heard a friend use this term to describe a fella who had decided to get an allowance from his dad and "find some good powder."  No, he was not a cocaine addict.  He was a snowboarder.  This was really the last time I had thought about a Trustafarian.

Last month, I was on a business trip.  I found myself in Denver with a lot of time on my hands.  I decided to go sample some beer.  I had my laptop with me, and I settled in at a small table, which was next to a huge wrap-a-around booth.  I ordered a fantastic local beer.  It was a chocolate stout.  Yum!  I was sipping my beer and waiting on my sliders.  I fired my laptop up, and I started doing some work.  There was movement from the large booth and the distinct smell of...patchouli?  Pot?  Who knows...

"Dooooouuuuude!  I can't believe we haven't made it to Vail!"  This caught my attention.  I look over, and I see 7 guys under the age of 25 years old.  Hmm.  Wait a minute....they all have dreadlocks.  All of them!  WTF?  I notice expensive Burton jackets being taken off.  Professional snowboarders?  Maybe.  I put my head back in my laptop.

"Doooouuude.  We will all have a Bud Light.  Thanks, man."  I look up, again.  The Danny Davis look-a-alike says, "Man, are we bothering you?  Sorry.  You look like you are trying to work.  We'll keep it down."  What?  They're nice.  Hmm.  I close my laptop and take a long sip of my beer.  The Shaggy look-a-like says, "Hey!  Do you want to join us?"  I think for a second.  I'm stuck in Denver until my flight late this evening.  Attractive, young men have invited me to their table.  I grab my stuff and pull my chair over.

Me: "So, what are you guys doing?"
Guys: "We are so on our way to Vail for some snowboarding."
Me: "Oh, are you professional snowboarders?  I noticed all of your gear.  It looks nice."
Guys: "Nah."
Me: "Umm, well, what do you do when you aren't snowboarding?"
Guys: "Snowboard?  We are always traveling and finding the best places."
Me: "Wait a minute."  I check out the dreads, the fine beards, the gear.  These are Trustafarians.  I smell it coming from their patchouli soaked pores.  I begin to get my snark on.  Then, I stop.  These young men have been really nice to me.  Why do I want to be such a bitch?  "How often do you guys travel?"
Guys: "Most of the year.  We don't always just stay in the U.S."
Me: "I'm just going to be rude and ask who the hell funds this?  You haven't talked about a job, and you said you weren't professional snowboarders.  What gives?"
Guys: "Our parents fund most of it."

At this point the Bud Light arrived.  I had one last question to grill them with.

Me: "So, your parents fund your hobby?"
Guys: "Yeah, dude!"
Me: "Then why in the hell are you drinking that shitty ass beer?  Here, let me introduce you to real beer."

We went on to have a great time!  I have always been a bit judgy about people who "do nothing."  You know what, though?  These young men were so nice to me.  They invited me to their table.  They would have paid for my meal and beer, if I had let them.  They talked to me more in depth about why they love snowboarding.  I could tell that this group had a bond.  It reminded me of me and my peeps, Sue and Penny.  They were tight for life, dude.  ;)

I am so used to only hearing and reading negative things about the Trustafarian.  Just look!

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An entire handbook on the Trustafarian complete with snarky comments.  Or, how about a more serious example.  Here is an entire article about how the Trustafarian is taking away chances for a college education from The Evergreen State College.  I think all of this is food for thought, but I have to say that the Vail boys made me think twice about the Trustafarian.  My aim in Marching Fourth is to not be so damn judgmental.  I made the Vail boys promise that their aim in Marching Fourth was to buy better beer.  Raise a glass to my Vail boys!  May they be somewhere cool and shredding the gnar.

Unfriendly Sky

Dark Cloud of a Pilot

I recently traveled to California to visit a friend and check out a freelance writing project.  My journey to California was...eventful.  I was trapped in the Denver airport for about 16 hours.  Yes, 16 hours.  During this time, my emotions were on a crazy and somewhat angry roller coaster.  I found myself waiting in lines.  I found myself dashing through the airport at top speed.  BTW, Uggs were not meant to be run in.  I found myself crying out of frustration.  I found myself sleeping in a corner with all of my worldly possessions clutched to my body in spoon position.  I never once found myself thinking of my pilot.

Fast forward to me sitting at my gate and finally having an assigned seat.  I was on my way to California!  I noticed a gentleman in a uniform sitting off to the side.  He looked tired.  He looked a bit frustrated.  He looked like me.  Marching Fourth is not only about my journey, but it is also about others and their journeys.  I decided to go take a seat beside him and see where this would lead.

I introduced myself and explained how long I had been trapped in that airport.  He gave me a lopsided smile.  I gave him one of my cards, which explains the blog and its intent.  He politely read it, and he introduced himself.  I asked him if he was part of the crew.  He said yes.  I asked permission to interview him.  He hesitated.  He told me was the pilot of the flight that was going to carry me to my destination.  Jackpot!

After going into detail about the day I had endured, I paused.  I had not ask him about his day.  Not how an interview goes, right?  I began asking him some basic questions.  He agreed to answer as l long as I didn't use his name.  Fine by me.  So, here we go.

The Pilot, which is what I will call him, had been flying for over 25 years.  It was his passion.  His favorite part of the job was greeting passengers as they boarded and thanking them for flying on his plan as they left.  Over the years, this part of his job had changed.  After 9/11, he no longer had time to greet his passengers as they boarded.  He had so much more paperwork and checklists that must be attended to.  Safety first!  He missed this part, though, because he really enjoyed the human interaction. For example, over the years, he had been able to spot those passengers who may be a bit uneasy about flying.  Pre 9/11, he would have taken them into the flight deck and showed them how the plane worked.  He said that this always calmed nerves.  

The Pilot also used to enjoy thanking his passengers as they left.  These days, though, passengers had their faces pointed down at cell phones.  Or, they had earbuds stuffed into their ears and music blasting.  Perhaps they were just anxious and a bit angry because they may not make their connection.  The Pilot said that he rarely had anyone look up anymore and tell him they enjoyed the flight.  At this point in the conversation, I would say The Pilot was feeling a bit like a city bus driver--load 'em up and let 'em off.  

During our interview, I realized what a clod I was being.  It wasn't The Pilot's fault that I had been in the Denver airport for 16 hours.  It was some CEO or upper-level management person from United's fault.  The Pilot just wanted to get his passengers from point A to point B safely.  He also wanted to interact with them.  He wanted them to feel appreciated and happy.  He wanted what we all want--some appreciation himself.  

My attitude about my journey changed while I was talking to The Pilot.  I thanked him for showing up early to the gate to make sure that my flight took off on time.  I thanked him for all of the extra paperwork and checklists he completed to make my flight safe.  I thanked him for not letting me fall out of the sky.  Let's face it.  That's the most important thing.  The next time you are on a journey, I hope you remember The Pilot.  Your journey involves other people.  Your journey affects other people.  Pay attention.  You'll learn something.  I did.  

Flying Citrus

I recently went to Yucaipa and Palm Springs, California to visit a friend.  I made new friends.  I strengthened old friendships.  I came back with a new job.  I interviewed many different people, while stuck in the Denver airport for almost 16 hours.  My point is that I had highs and lows during this trip.  I came back with double ear infections.  Low.  Through all of these things, I continued Marching Fourth.  Tomorrow is March Fourth.  My birthday.  The photo below was taken by a dear friend, Jessie Pearl Stuart.  The wind was blowing at about 30 mph, and the rain was pelting us.  I spotted citrus fruit flying and rolling on the street.  It made me so happy, and I had no idea Jessie had captured this photo.  This is me--Marching Fourth into a birth year.  Peace.

Photo by Jessie Pearl Stuart