Me, Tammy, and Monica. They are both so tiny that they make me look like a giant standing next to them.

Trying to make new friends after high school is hard enough to do when you go away to college, but trying to do it with a 3 year old kid in tow seemed nearly impossible for me since I couldn’t party and go to keggers every weekend like everyone else. (Right? Is that what they did? I don’t know.) Tammy made it easy for me and we were inseparable at school. We both finished college at the same time, but she later transferred to the U of I which was about 45 miles away from EIU where we started and then came back to Springfield to begin our teaching careers together at two different high schools here.

Three years ago, Tammy came to me and said that she had to finally get out of this town. She’d grown up here and worked here and left only for college. She’s well traveled, though, as a history teacher and takes students to Europe on a regular basis. She got so many students to sign up one year back in 2003 that the company she went through gave her a $1,000 stipend for spending money or a free trip for someone. Tammy called me and invited me to go but I insisted that she take Mallory, who was a high school sophomore, instead because I knew I couldn’t afford to send her at the time and that I’d take my own trip to Europe someday. For those keeping score, I haven’t gone yet. Tammy was, without a doubt, the only person I trusted to take my child across the ocean.

Tammy told me she wanted to move to Hawaii and get a teaching job there. Three years ago I nodded my head and dreamed along with her, sighing the whole time. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Two years ago, she told me again that she wanted to go and I could see that she was getting more serious about it. Last year when she told me, she asked me for a letter of recommendation. “Well, shit. You’re serious, aren’t you?” and then she had a Skype interview this year with the school administrators and got the job. The woman who interviewed her called me at my office one day to ask more questions about Tammy’s ability to do this and I gave her another glowing review and it was so incredibly hard knowing that my best friend could get this job and leave for Hawaii. I know she won’t be coming back.

Tammy loves her cherry pie. I mean LOVES.

I decorated the whole house last night for a Luau and made sure all guests wore a lei. After a lovely dinner of pasta alla carbonara, asparagus with Hollandaise sauce and her favorite, a cherry pie, I stood up to give her a speech:

Twenty-some years ago I walked into a lab class that almost all college Freshman have to take. We had a lecture part and a lab part for this class. Maybe it was Biology? I don’t know. (I looked up at Tammy and she rolled her eyes and said, “Life Science. Ugh. I hated that class!”) But we were on our own to figure out the materials and complete the labs. It was a sink-or-swim course.

Luckily for me, in walked Tammy. Shyly, she asked me, “Do you know what you’re doing?” and “Do you have a pencil?” We teamed up from that moment and tackled the labs. She wanted to know what floor I lived on in Carmen Hall, the all Freshman dorm that new college students had to live in. That’s when I told her about Mallory and explained that, because I had a child, I had to live in the Married Housing apartments on the opposite side of campus.

Stories that Tammy can tell you from this time include:

1. When we became Alpha Phi Alpha ’sweethearts’ together.

2. Not carrying Mallory across the campus like I did because she said, “I’m no sucker like your mother, girl, you know how to walk! You’ve got two legs!”

3. Trekking across The Tundra from her dorm to her classes.

4. Babysitting Mallory for me when I needed to go to class or the library or to write a paper and when I came to pick Mallory up once and found that Tammy’s entire floor was out in the hallway with crayons and coloring books so they could all color with Mallory.

5. Eating homecooked meals at my apartment, and…

6. Introducing me to and FORCING me to please call this guy who liked me and would later be my husband and ex-husband. (Tammy sheepishly looked up at me during this part of the speech and mouthed the word “Sorry” to me.)

Later, she would just solidify her place in my life as my best friend. She never forgets my birthday, she shoots me straight and hard with the general bullshit of life, and she encourages me to feel like I’m worth all the good stuff in life. She let me confide a secret to her when we met as 18 year olds about placing Maddie for adoption and she was the first person I called when Maddie found me.

I let her confide in me about her own adoption and the complicated relationships with her two mothers. (This is a rather bizarre story from when Tammy was 16 years old and accidentally met her biological mother at the hair salon.) She let me dare to be great. I watched her greatness soar to become Horace Mann’s Educator of the Year.

I held her when her mother died. She held me back because it took so long for me to find out and make the trip from college to see her. She is an aunt to my children. She is opinionated and won’t take shit from anybody. Her concern for people isn’t always easy to see unless you’ve been allowed to reside in her heart. After twenty plus years of friendship I know where in her heart I live with her.

We toasted her after that. To Tammy. Thank you for your friendship. Then, of course, there was lots and lots of crying.

As usual, partygoers invade the kitchen at a party. I bought this house was for this reason.

She is married to an incredible artist, Shawn, who has to stay here on the mainland for 4 more months until their dogs are cleared to leave for Oahu since it’s a rabies-free island. He is a great guy who loves and adores her and I have vowed, along with our friend, Monica, to take care of him with meals and packing until he’s ready to leave since Tammy leaves tomorrow to go and find a place for them to live and get ready for the upcoming school year. One of my prized possessions is a painting by Shawn entitled “The Mighty Acorn” that he gave me after seeing all the artwork hung on the walls of their house.

It makes me happy to look at this painting. Plus, it’s yellow and I love that color.

I now have a really good excuse to go visit Hawaii and have promised myself that Europe can wait, once again. That’s not regret talking. Naturally, it’s one my bucket list of things to do someday, but now I have set my sights on Hawaii because my best friend will be living there.

Aloha and mahalo, Tammy. You will be unbelievably and sadly missed in our daily lives.

My God. My childhood movie watching has morphed into my adult late night television watching and mixed itself a cocktail. Somebody either hold me or get me a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. Because I can tell this story is going to take a left turn at Albuquerque. 

LEFT.

Before I mention My People I have to mention running into some idiots this past week who were so far removed from My People that I had to wonder if they were people themselves. It was a group of people at the mall (the mall, y’all) where I had to run in to get my tights for the season. That sounds like a weird thing, but I love tights and wear them throughout the fall months because I enjoy keeping all my goodies intact even though sometimes I’m sure they’re trying to strangle me and sell my body parts to the Mattel Corporation for use in the mocha-colored Barbie dolls. There is such a thing, isn’t there? So, while I’m power walking through the mall to get said tights I see a gaggle of students whom I am trying to avoid because the administrator in me wants to yell, ‘PULL UP YOUR PANTS’ even though I know I shouldn’t do that when they’re just trying to get a warm pretzel but still. It almost comes out of my mouth but I sidestep them and they don’t really notice that it’s me which is a really good thing because I tire of the whole “What are YOU doing here?” question I always get because apparently I am an android who doesn’t require groceries or clothing or furniture polish. Then, I happen upon these people who are taking pictures of their socks. SOCKS. Socks that are not at all interesting. There are no sparkles or Santa wearing underwear or anything and I’m seriously starting to wonder if I shouldn’t do my tight shopping online. Socks. WTF, sock fetishists? 

My People like socks, but they don’t need to take pictures of them. My People were enthusiastic, creative, helpful teachers. We didn’t all teach the same curriculum either. Math, science, language arts. But something about this group of seven women clicked and we stuck with it. In the time since I started teaching with them we’ve seen marriage, divorce, house-building, pregnancy, miscarriage, hospital stays, autism, ADHD, and parties. There’s something I can say for that group: they know how to party. It was an anything goes time for us and someday I might tell you about the time we crashed a Halloween party when I was dressed as a pregnant nun and handed out communion (Hello, Hell. Are you ready for me yet?) and then later had to use the restroom so badly but didn’t feel like heading back into the house because it was constantly In Use so I just relieved myself outside. On the lawn. Of a stranger’s house. Dressed as a nun. 

These are the stories I can’t wait to tell the grandkids.

These gals helped me find myself and have fun doing it. They cried with me and laughed at me and we cooked together and I got my nickname of “Mocha” from one of them. It’s a beautiful thing when we can watch each other crash and burn and then pick up the pieces while each of us moves through the maze to find ourselves. It’s not always pretty, but it is what it is. But the really beautiful thing is that they also taught me to be vulnerable and allow myself to be taken care of and to always speak my mind because I might just have something interesting to say. Ok, so not like right now or anything. But sometimes. And when I get my lips to flapping I don’t always remember that it may be not-so-much-PC or that I let fly an opinion about a topic without wondering what the other person’s experiences have taught them about the topic and let loose a firestorm.

Last year I was talking with another former colleague and friend who told me that she won a $500 library for her classroom because of something I said. I was horrified that I might have said something rather stupid and I asked what thing could have possibly fallen out of my mouth to make her win books. One time in her classroom and we were talking about a myriad of things related to race and education and I told her that I started reading adolescent fiction and began to feel sorry for Black girls because they don’t often get to see a true reflection of themselves in literature. “Black girls don’t want to read ONLY about white girls and their experiences. They want to see themselves in books. Do you always assume that a character is white when you read a novel? Is that because the cover shows a white girl? Black girls want to read about themselves, too.” Without telling me about it, she responded to my comment by purchasing more adolescent fiction about Black girls and has continued to add them to her classroom collection until she started taking classes to get her Master’s degree and then mentioned this to someone who mentioned it to someone else and…well, the story goes that she wrote about it in a contest and won the money to put toward more books to help her students of all colors see themselves in what they read. She said to me, “If I made a difference it’s because someone opened my eyes. That was you.” Then, of course, I wept myself into a little puddle and felt so proud of my big mouth because, in a strange turn of events, it led to making a change in her that led to making a change in her classroom with her students and the students to come.

I might have made the youthful mistake of urinating outside one time while dressed as a nun, but sometimes my stupidity actually has some nice, unintended consequences. Willy Wonka would be smug about this whole thing.

Text Messages

was just seeing if you had lunch plans. are you even wearing pants yet?

We drank one in your honor. and then we drank another and another…

are you willing and available for little house party chili college football?

I told him I was texting his mother.

There are pancakes here. Where are YOU?

Polo!

Would you please come over and stop me from watching this Lifetime movie?

Just vindictive vendettas. Fun day. I’m growing an ulcer from all this stress.

Gonna take it slow. Remember when we said this about relationships and not our aging knees?

If you say that one more time I will punch you in the face. (As soon as you get here.)

I found her house! In the dark!

Housewarming, poker, and hot tub tomorrow night. 7:00 cash game.

Did you see that skirt she was trying to wear? TRYING.

Finally cracked my neck. It was worth a text to you.

The cute new neighbor just stopped by. I was wearing the ratty bathrobe and a scrunchie.

THANX SKEEZE BAG

Get on the bookface!!

Kick that guy off the barstool in front of me!!

Are you watching the trainwreck that is Housewives of ATL? Because “Tardy to the Party” is so deliciously awful.

Hope you’re feeling better. I’m stuck in never-ending-meeting hell.

Oh, bite me. And my coin purse. HA!

I’m delivering this food baby soon. Want to attend the bris?

Far left if you’re looking at the stage.

You left your hair over here. 

Gray shirt black pants and black glasses. Walking in now.

Is there cheese at home? I really need cheese.

Your daughter will be at my home in MINUTES!

Till the cows come home.

I have the popcorn farts. He took me to a movie. Damn.

You were making those clicking sounds like that African language. Marry me?

Where are you? Better yet, where am I?

I hope I’m not the only one who gets a kick out of re-reading text messages. Have a funny one? Do your worst people.

Depression is a bitch. For my friends and family who suffer from it I know only their experiences as an outsider. I’ve never had an addiction or tried to harm myself. The thinking behind these actions are beyond my realm of understanding, but it makes it no less incredibly important in my life. When they suffer, I suffer. It is responsible for broken friendships, marriages, and hurting families that have all touched me somehow.

If you know someone who is hurting, please get them help. Love them through it. That’s all they’d want anyway.

This picture is taken from my friend Whitney who has resurfaced in my life at the best possible time – when we both needed each other. I dedicate this entire post to her.

That stupid, nagging voice has been shut up for about 5 years now.

I must also admit: I had no idea that people from Springfield were actually reading me unless they were my friends who pitied me and felt compelled to write a comment now and then. I’M LOOKING AT YOU, BECKY. (I’m kidding. Becky doesn’t pity me.) (At least I hope she doesn’t.) (Because I love her to pieces. That’s why I hope she doesn’t. She’s ten shades of awesome yellow sunshine in my life.) (You know what happens when you mention just one of your friends? You have to mention them all.) (I’m going to get this over with, ok? Janie, Tammy, Kay, Lisa… hmm. Guess I don’t have that many friends.) So when I began reading comments recently I was surprised that so many people who live in my town are now reading my blog. I’d like to apologize if I’ve ever cut you off in traffic, ran to the checkout counter before you just to get served first, or if you sit behind me in a movie theatre because I’m so tall and annoying to have to see around. I also pop my gum and irritate most people within a 5 foot radius.

Other than that, I’m a pretty good neighbor. 

I’d like to think I’m a pretty good mom, too, because Mallory has sent out a request to her friends to help her mother’s Purse Drive out. Talk about being verklempt! I read her email and nearly fell over. Sometimes, we don’t even know how much we’re affecting our own children with our projects and activities. She came home from work last week (she’s a designer at an office space firm) and showed me this:

It occurred to me that she was designing purses and wanting to use scraps of leftover materials. She also wrote on the bottom “Home ec. class?” which makes me think she had a great idea for students to sew them (which is just an idea – I swear I’m not trying to make more work for the home economics teachers). This project is taking on a life of its own and I have friends in New York and Chicago and Houston who are collecting more purses for my school to donate. Hopefully, our boutique (the girls and I decided that “store” sounded less fun than “boutique”) will be open in two weeks.

Mostly, it inspired me to keep on thinking about this and dreaming big for my students. 

I admit: that’s a fantastic feeling.