Post Script to the last two blogs:
re Feb 11th post:
Hubbie and I traded our notes in the 642 Things to Love book for two weeks, and then I realized he hadn't given it back to me. I couldn't find it on his end table. He dug around in the drawers, and pulled it out. "You put our love in the bottom drawer" I teased.
I took it back to my private space and teared up as I read the astute and tender comments he made. Our love is not in the bottom drawer.
On my writing table is the same waxed amaryllis bulb I wrote about January 31st. It has bloomed for the third time. The stem is not as tall, the blossoms are not as big, but they are lovely. And they are a testament to the drive to thrive that is innate to living things. I'm ashamed of myself to note I don't always have as much tenacity as a waxed ball of plant cells.
How about you, how do you "fertilize" the desire to thrive?
Celebrating Valentine's Day on Sunday I dined with my husband and sent $5.00 bills origamied into hearts to the grandkids.
Now I wish I'd celebrated my close friendships, too.
During my school age years, our family made four state to state moves. My elementary school friends are dim memories. Those from high school are only photos in the yearbook. And I only have email addresses for two college buddies.
Once I married and settled in one place I tried to hang onto every friendship like a leech. Undoubtedly I misread clues and tried to stay tethered past the time I should have cut the line. Oh, I must have been so annoying.
Eventually I understood that friendships fade and I've learned to read the signals. When a gal pal can't find time for even an occasional social event, I think twice before making contact again. I only keep people on my Christmas card list for a couple of years before I eliminate the ones who don't reciprocate. When my maybe-friend only sends forwarded emails, I figure I'm not worth her time.
Electronics have not helped foster healthy friendships. Facebook helps me know where you are and what you're doing, but doesn't really invite me in. Twitter's like eating one bite of pie and calling it dessert. I feel like a piece of furniture when I'm talking to someone who answers their phone and drops me like a hot potato.
My time for making and fostering rich friendships is much shorter than it was twenty years ago. Maybe that's why I am so reluctant to admit kinship has withered on the vine.
So I'm that much more thankful for good friendships. They flourish because we're mutually mindful. I only miss my monthly dinner out with the book club if I'm infectious or feverish. We have a standing date for Wednesday lunch. And occasionally I even drop in on one.
I don't hear from far flung soul sisters frequently, but I know if Judy from Oregon comes within a hundred miles, she'll try to to rendezvous. And we'll pick up where we left off two years ago.
You can't make or keep a friend without investing time, and both blessings are more and more precious as each day goes by.
