| Sunny Side Up Sept 18, 2002 � 2001, Kathleen Gibson Old Friends and Bendy Roads It was a friendship destined to be. We wore identical maternity smocks to our first prenatal class. During the break I got stuck in a potty cubicle. Amidst our laughter and my subsequent rescue we discovered we�d both decided to name our babies, should they be girls, Rebecca. Mine wasn�t. We met in Vancouver, but both of us have lived all over the map ever since. In spite of the distances, our friendship has lasted nearly twenty-three years. Lasted, like a dried up starfish? No, thrived, like a fern in the shade. Carole and I had an easy camaraderie from the start. She�s an artist who writes a little. I�m a writer who doodles with art. Our husbands get along; some of our children � her four and my two - have become good, even best friends. We�ve raised and educated our kids together � although in separate parts of the world. We�ve stuck by our men, giggled, canned, vacationed, and hunted for willow together. Side by side, we�ve attended La Leche league meetings and worship services. Over the phone we've bemoaned and salivated over the prospect of empty nests. And together, we�ve executed some pretty major flip-flops. Carole has watched me go from thin to fat, and back to medium. I�ve listened to her expound the virtues of a particular religious movement, only to decry the same movement a few years down the road. She�s heard me say emphatically �I�ll never have any black in my house,� and laughed as I tell her, calendars later, how I love the black accents in my newly painted living room. There�s more. Carole suffers from fibermyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome. I�ve watched her abandon conventional medicine for the allures of alternative therapies, only to make a gradual about turn back to conventional. She�s heard my vociferous protest of anything alternative, later observed my grudging acceptance of a few proven remedies. Somehow, we landed on the same square on that one. We don�t always. That�s what happens when you stay in someone�s life over the long haul. You get the chance to view the bends in their road, the u-turns, the pull-outs and scenic routes. If you�re really lucky, you get the chance to smooth out each other�s paths occasionally. We never signed a piece of paper declaring us friends for life. We�ve never cut our skin and exchanged blood. We�ve never asked for promises for tomorrow. But we both know we didn�t arrange this. I was in B.C. recently. There wasn�t much time, but Carole hopped a ferry from Nanaimo to meet me at Tim Horton�s for coffee. Halfway through my cinnamon bun, I remembered that I�d used lipliner before I left the house, but had forgotten to add lipstick. �Good grief, Carole,� I cried, hand on mouth. �I just realized I forgot to color between the lines.� She looked surprised. �What? Well, I never even noticed.� I can�t explain a relationship like ours. I really think heaven had something to do with it. I just know I�m rich. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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