When I decided to write about my friends, I believed it would be a recollection of stories celebrating the special women in my life. But as my deadline approached I found myself at a loss. How could I possibly convey the importance and value of my lady friends? Moreover, how would I include everyone without hurting someone’s feelings? Then I remembered, our bond is tight because we don’t compete. Were you to ask about any of the ladies mentioned here, I would tell you they are each my best friend, because they bring out the best in me.
I met Doe, Amy Belle, and Schmoozin’ Susan during, “my other life.” I have called many states home and I sure do love the fine folk in the State of Tennessee. (Go Vols!)
It was the first morning of the inaugural Leadership Tomorrow class, and as with any important function, you’ll find me on the front row because otherwise someone tall always sits in front of me. Doe was running late and the only available seat was beside me.
Don’t you hate being late and then having to walk through a group? You can feel their eyes boring into your back while you slink toward a seat.
Doe and I quickly bonded. I’m a dirt-lover; she owns a large strip of land. Someday I’ll let her tell you about the time the hooks on my boots locked together and I fell headlong toward a cow pie.
Schmoozin’ has a reputation of volunteerism that spans decades. There’s a statue of Dolly Parton in Sevier County, but there should be one somewhere for Schmoozin’. There isn’t anyone she doesn’t know or can’t connect you with. The same goes for Amy Belle. If you haven’t figured out, some of my friends have nicknames. Mine is Zippy, taken from the Captain Underpants book series. I had the distinct pleasure of having Amy Belle as a neighbor. Our kids were young and our mothers became sick at the same time. We’ve held each other up and gone through boxes of tissues. When I moved from Tennessee I missed Amy the most because I could no longer walk across the street and hug my friend. I’ve never again lived in a subdivision and let me tell you, as much as I love country living, I sure do miss having a neighbor as a friend. Angie is the one I will text 40-11 times a day. The one who make me laugh, who never needs to ask, “Can you take a call?” I met her in Georgia at a critique group. We both moved from the Peach State at the same time to return home. Our distance has made us stronger.
Goodness, I miss my Georgia friends, too. I’ll need a separate article for them. Peach-State-ladies, I love you to pieces!
I wonder, can others say their friendships endure time and distance, or are we too busy to cultivate strong friendships?
I think that was the case with Loopy. We were inseparable while I lived in Tennessee. Our kids are months apart in age. We spent a lot of time together, but time also caused us to drift apart, which hurt my soul. You see, I can never have too many friends. I needn’t chat daily, or even monthly, but I sure do miss them sometimes. I’m happy to say this year Loopy and Zippy are rowdier than ever!
We must change time zones as I speak of Claire. I wouldn’t have found a publisher for my debut novel, Outbound Train, were it not for the Southern generosity of Claire, who lives in Malibu, California. What in tarnation is this Southern Belle doing in Malibu? She’s just penning literary fiction and reviewing the best and brightest authors for the New York Journal of Books. She is also one heck of a fine actress who can memorize Shakespeare in a blink. How in the world did an Appalachian like me connect with Claire? Through Bren of course. No one connects writers and readers like Mama Red.
The best part of being a writer is meeting readers like Sharon whom I met at the Carolina Mountains Literary Festival. Her spirit is one of authenticity and kindness, which I greatly need. I attended the Christmas pageant at her church and we have big plans to sneak off into the woods with a shovel. But I’ll keep that little trip to myself.
Linda is a reader whom I’ve never met. Through the magic of social media, we connected and she has been a driving force, telling everyone she knows about my work. She is so influential I gave her the hashtag #LindaReadsAndShares. Prior to the release of Outbound Train, I posted on social media my goal to sew bookmarks using fabric remnants. This project was to honor the women from my hometown who worked in the factory. I also wanted to give the first 100 readers a bookmark as a token of gratitude. Next thing I know, Cecilia messages me offering to sew bookmarks. Her mother was a master quilter and they would be honored to help. Cecilia even purchased metal train-shaped charms to attach to the bookmarks. Talk about a gift from heaven, their craftswomanship was a billion times better than mine, and some of their bookmarks traveled to France for the novel’s international release.
Back in the Appalachian mountains, my roots are deeply tangled with LindaK, Rachel, and Melanie. LindaK and I have traipsed these hills like mountain goats.
I can’t recall a single important moment in my life that doesn’t involve these ladies. We’ve attended weddings, hosted toddler tea parties with pinkies held high, celebrated the birth of children, cheered the boys at football games and passed the tissues after losing a loved one. We’ve also spoken innumerable prayers. Recently, at my daughter’s wedding, I placed the trio together along with Smoozin’ and Doe. During the introductions, someone turned to Melanie and said, “You! You are the one we’ve been praying for.”
Praying is what my friends do best. While each friend has a locked vault of my secrets, as I do for them, their lips do not speak idle gossip; their lips carry prayers to heaven. They have been especially busy this year while I’ve been on injured reserve.
Lois is the last best friend I’ll mention. We grew up in school together and I’m blessed that her land joins my farm. When I feel like my prayers bounce against the ceiling, the maker of heaven and earth bends low and listens to Lois, who is one of the last hillbilly women in these parts.
I often recall memories with my best friends, of time spent laughing and loving each other; of flowers rescued and shared; of newborn children, and the celebration of the parents we were fortunate to have. Decades of time stitch us together. They are my rock when the floodwaters rise, the shade when the sun beats me down, and the voice of reason when I have collapsed into a puddle of tears. Their voices are strong when necessary, “Renea, you get one day to cry and then dust yourself off;” and also oh, so tender as they pull me into a fierce embrace and whisper, “I love you my friend.” As I journey through this precious life I’ve been given I am deeply grateful for the best friends mentioned and to others who are equally as special, but space doesn’t allow me to honor them.
Tell me about your friends. I would love to hear your stories.