Mason Dixon meets a Yankee

So, I'm attempting to enter into a blogging/essay contest hosted by Real Simple on the subject of "Who Am I Most Surprised to Be Friends With?" This is my original essay, which I then had to pare down to 300 words for the contest. I had 178 extra words. Argh. Editing oneself is always difficult because we hold our own words so dear, which is something my journalism professor used to remind us of in class. Turns out, she was right. Who knew I would have trouble editing out the word "unmistakably" simply because I had written it. Anyhoo, here's my entry:


I grew up with a very imposing portrait of General Robert E. Lee gracing the wall of our family home. The General was something like a great-great-great uncle whom I had never met but knew a whole lot about. Our family's annual vacations almost always included some variation of a Civil War memorial/battlefield/museum. And, now, even as a slightly more cosmopolitan adult, I still vaguely believe that a southerner is able to feel the impact of crossing the Mason-Dixon line much like the family dog crossing the electric fence's boundary at the edge of the yard.

When I was barely nineteen, I watched the tall pine trees of my home state of Georgia disappear as the plane I had boarded slipped into the horizon, headed for Colorado and the camp I would be staffing for the next three months.

Soon after arriving in Manitou Springs, a quirky mountain town with a flair for the unusual, I was unpacking my bags in the "penthouse" of the old, un-air-conditioned hotel that housed students and staff. Before long I had been introduced to my roommate for the summer and, lo and behold, she was from Michigan. A real live Yankee. Her accent and mine could scarcely fit in the same small room together.

It didn't take long for me to realize that ours was to be a somewhat uncomfortable roommate situation. There was an icy tension in our 100 degree room at the top of the hotel. Eventually, I was traded like an unpopular baseball player and found myself a few floors down with another roommate, also from Michigan, but with a bit more love for those of us who said "y'all" and "fixin' to" with frequency.

Within a week or two, the most unlikely thing happened. My former roommate and I found ourselves working the same kitchen shift and couldn't keep ourselves from having a really good time. Before long, we were attached at the hip and the old tension that had pushed us apart seemed to have melted away like so much peach ice cream at a Sunday school picnic.

Our unspoken reconciliation did find us confessing to one another at some point that summer how at first, she had unfairly assumed I was a "redneck" and I had just as unfairly assumed she was a "rude yankee." We laughed at our foolishness and spent the rest of that summer with arms linked. We parted ways in September with tears, she to her cold northern state and I to my warm southern one.

Coming back to the South after having been gone for a while is much like being the returning prodigal son. This time, however, I had glimpsed a life outside the humid, peach-scented world I'd grown up in and it didn't take much to carry me back to Colorado two years later for another summer of camp.

Friends are Friends Forever: Part Deux

There are a few things about adulthood that I don't like. Some things on that list include some things you probably don't like either: wrinkle cream, cellulite, taxes, housework, antacids, etc. Ranking pretty high up there is the fact that making friends just isn't what it used to be. In a word, it's kind of HARD.

In the old days (as in, my youth), making friends included sleepovers, passing notes in class, dishing about the eighth grade boys (read: older men) we liked and sharing clothes. Fast forward ten years and making friends looked pretty much the same, only transportation was easier and fashion had improved. Essentially, friendship was simple. You hung out, doing somewhat unmemorable things for hours upon hours and before you knew it, you were best friends who finished each other's sentences and shared each other's closets.

Fast forward ten more years and marriage, husbands, babies, bills, etc. have filled up every square inch of your life so that there isn't much room for much else. You meet potential friends at church or at the park, but because there isn't time for essential friend-building experiences like random, late night Wal Mart runs followed by scattered, smothered and covered at Waffle House until 2 am or anything remotely close to the loads of empty time you used to be able to spend getting to know someone inside out, now it seems to require months and more likely years to really get to know someone and to be known by them at the level you hope for.

I've been thinking about this lately because it seems that so many women I talk to have similar feelings. Creating friendships that reach the depth that came so naturally before there were so many distractions can feel almost impossible now. Maybe it's not this way for men, but I find that it's almost always the case for the women I know.

Recently, I got to see two of my best friends together for the first time in over a year. I have to admit that it was bittersweet. It was so good to see friends who have known me long before Matt was ever in the picture and long before I was a thirty-something stay-at-home mom. I'd forgotten how affirming it is to spend time with friends who are so incredibly familiar and who know things about me that even I have forgotten.

But, driving away from that visit, I couldn't help but feel some sadness knowing that sort of reunion will probably be a rare occurrence. I also found myself wondering why it's so hard to forge friendships as dear as those anymore. I know it has so much to do with the time (or lack thereof) factor, and despite the desire and the need for deep friendships, it's just stinkin' hard to create those relationships in this present stage of life.

I'll admit to not being sure what the solution is here. I doubt it's more social media and it probably isn't going to be something easy like potluck dinners. But, there's got to be some way to enable friendships with the depth and the familiarity that we were created to experience with each other. Currently, I'm thinking a commune is the answer, but there's probably something that requires less moving and isn't so cult-ish.

Until I figure this out, I'm sure as heck glad I've got some girlfriends around the country who've known me long enough to expect my voicemail box to always be full, my hugs to possibly break their ribs, and my cookies to most likely contain nutmeg.

Here's to you, old friends. I wish you lived next door.



Side Note: If case you were wondering, here's what Sam's been doing lately...