Old Friends

For the past umpty-seven years, PianoLady and I have been meeting in New York City for a Broadway weekend. (Want to read the accounts dating back to 2006?)

This year we decided to change things up a little. She has two sons in college; I have bills I'm trying to consolidate. It was time to hold our purses a little tighter.

Her across-the-street neighbor has become a dear friend. They discuss books together; they drink wine and watch chick flicks together; they take quarterly girls'-weekend-away trips. I had met Susan on our past two Broadway weekends, and could understand how she and PianoLady had become such close friends.

So when Susan asked, "Why don't you and Jan have a staycation at my house this year?", I willingly and eagerly signed on.

She has a lovely 30s home in Westchester County, filled with lovely works of art that she and her husbad have amassed in their travels. Her hand-crafted pottery is everywhere. The room I stayed in was filled with antique quilts. Get it? Yep, kindred spirits.

We spent the weekend watching old Meryl Streep movies, traveling to an outlet mall to find the best bargains, and just getting to know each other better.

Here's the thing about good friends—especially old friends. They validate you. They've known you on the hills and in the valleys. They've known you through elation and heartbreak.

When I say, "I wish I had done such-and-such differently", PianoLady (who has known me since January of 1969) can say, "Ah, yes, but then this (or that or the other thing) wouldn't have happened."

One comes home from such a visit saying, "My life has turned out the way it was supposed to."

And that's a good feeling.