Tag: friendship

The Joys of Hiking with Friends: A Personal Reflection

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I’m not sure why hiking with friends seems like such a novel activity for me. I’ve always liked hiking, and taking walks with people but it didn’t used to happen very often. Now that I am retired, on my own, and motivated to stay active it’s different. It’s more frequent, of course, but it’s also more vital. It serves so many purposes.

I’m reflecting on this topic as I’m wrapping up posts on the Door County hike. One night at dinner I had to tell our group that I appreciated them. I appreciated all the planning that went into making the trip a success. I didn’t have to do any of it, and that was a new vacation experience for me. I appreciated visiting a new and interesting place and not having to do it alone. I appreciated the length of time we spent, the many conversations, the shared interests in nature and hiking (and eating…). I appreciated having women friends who were willing to spend time, effort and money having fun together. I appreciated that we were all healthy enough to walk a few miles at a time without complaining. It was great. I wanted them to know it was a blessing to be with them.

Every new hike, out would come Sue’s selfie stick
I was standing nervously on the edge of a cliff
Amazing, we are all still smiling.
Brr, brr, brr…

And then I started thinking about all the other times walking filled a need. Needs for friendship, family connection, inspiration, comfort, and relaxation can all easily be met through a walk with a friend. Walking and talking go together so naturally. The pace can be adjusted for reflection. Periods of silence are comfortable (especially when climbing hills). And since I usually walk in quiet places, I’m not struggling to hear conversation. I can concentrate on my hiking partner.

I can’t ignore how wonderful hiking is for my physical health either. I would even hike alone for that reason, but it’s more certain to happen with friends. On the days when I get my 10,000 or more steps in, I sleep better, think better, and worry less. I wish everyone could walk a distance, and I feel sorry for those who can’t.

The five women who went on the Door County weekend with me are members of the Birkie Girls hiking group. The group is much larger, with a variety of ages, stages of life and physical abilities. They meet every Tuesday at 10 am for a hike somewhere chosen by the planners for the month. Two hours is allowed for hiking. By noon they are usually at a restaurant for lunch, or doing the bag lunch thing. Fellowship is a big part of the plan. The special trips farther away are open to all, but only happen a couple times a year.

Gwen
Elizabeth

I have other friends who love to get together to be active. Among them is my friend Gwen who hiked the Birkie Trail with me a couple years ago. I’ve started hiking it again with another friend, Elizabeth. Truth is, I’m always thinking of people I’d like to invite to hike with me – people I’d like to get to know better. Hiking with friends is so worthwhile. I have to say, it is one of my greatest joys.

A to Z Challenge: Valerie

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Being in a choir was not the usual thing for Val, although she did sing pretty well. This particular choir was quite a large group. They were practicing a moderately difficult program to be performed over the course of a week at a conference. There were singers from all over the world who had come for the music and for the fellowship. They were a faith based group, which made it possible for Val to feel a small degree of comfortable, but that wasn’t saying she was all the way there by any means.

She was standing in the alto section without being sure that was where she belonged. It was better than trying for notes up in the stratosphere. She was standing near another singer who didn’t seem as timid and unsure as she was. She decided they should become friends, and set about making it happen. She was good at that job even though she came across as being the quiet type at first. It just took her a while to get warmed up.

Valerie, who preferred to be called Val, was a Virginia girl with a slight southern twang to her speech. Like everyone else, her family had its share of dysfunction, but it was still a supportive, intact family. Val had finished high school and her first year at university when she met her friend in choir. They found out they shared a high love for adventure. Val also had a dry wit and a sense of humor that drew friends. She looked at life with an expectation of fun, and who wouldn’t want to be around that?

After singing in each other’s ears for a week the conference ended. They went their separate ways, but their friendship started its long distance phase. Letters went back and forth frequently. There’s something about the safety of writing to someone far away and not having to deal with judgment, for at least as long as it takes for a return letter – they became very well acquainted with each other’s personal lives. They were both writers, who actually preferred the written word as a means of working out their everyday angst. Their bond deepened.

Val was working on her degree in elementary education which left her somewhat free in the summer. Her friend had children who were old enough to be self-sufficient. So it came about that in the summer of 1996 her friend, Louise, invited her to do a trip out west with her. They would meet at Louise’s home in Florida and travel to Colorado in Louise’s aging Dodge van, camping as they went. Val went for it.

Patterning themselves after the duo of “Thelma and Louise” of Hollywood fame (well, except for the illegal parts, which make up most of the movie, oh, and the ending…) they set off to have an adventure. They had a great time traveling the Florida panhandle the first day. Safely reaching the campground Louise had lined up for the first night was their first triumph. They managed to set up their tent, have a walk on the beach and survived their first camp meal out of a can. It was the next day they were excited about and spent some time discussing. Neither of them had been to the city they were coming to next, and they had a list of what had to be seen and done.

“Thelma and Louise” in New Orleans, yeah, it had a good ring to it. Let the adventure begin…

A to Z Challenge: Gayle (and Allie)

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Most of Allie’s friends were special in one way or another, but not often did one come along with the cultural charm that Gayle had. Here was a person who had grown up in a foreign country, even spoke a foreign language fluently – this was rare for Allie’s small town lifestyle. Always the opportunist, Allie signed Gayle up for giving French lessons to her homeschooled daughters. That was the beginning of years of shared adventures, shared ups and downs, shared faith.

Gayle was a superior hostess with French flair. Instead of “get to the table before it all gets cold”, which Allie was used to, there was a before dinner conversation time, with appetizers and wine. Art on the walls, flowers in the vases, music in the air, and a leisurely but simple meal could always be counted on with Gayle’s invitations. Without Gayle, Allie would have never tasted kir or known what a porte couteaux was. Probably wouldn’t have known that a madeleine was a cookie or have adopted that wonderful slow roasted brisket recipe.

Porte couteaux. Why? Because you don’t want a greasy knife on your tablecloth.

Gayle was the kind of friend she went to for advice on furniture purchases and making home a lovely place. Gayle worked in a design shop and with that as a credential, she talked Allie into painting her bathroom dark green – whoa, shocking! She helped Allie find a great upholstery shop to revive a favorite recliner. In turn, Allie helped Gayle network, even if it was just helping her find horse manure for her rose garden. They both loved taking long walks, cooking out at the beach, and breakfasts in small morning restaurants. They both loved their cats, and their husbands.

They both loved their God. After Allie had pestered her numerous times to go to Bible study with her, Gayle gave up and went. Mutual faith deepened the friendship and became an anchor as they shared their saddest times and prayed for each other. They both knew God to be adventurous, and frankly, kind of wild, in a good way.

Allie got the kayaks out one day and made Gayle go with her on the inland waterway. It was a bit out of Gayle’s comfort zone but it ended well. They survived a beautiful afternoon with nothing but a little sunburn.

Gayle asked Allie to watch her house and feed her cat one year when she and her husband visited France. She suggested a midnight skinny dip in the pool which was surprising to Allie and a bit out of her comfort zone, but why not? Who’s to know?

Most often though, it was that they talked and knew how to tell each other important things. Sometimes they were on the phone, sometimes in person, but over time it all started having a preparatory nature to it. Because of that, they were not all that surprised when the big “thing” finally came around… Not really.

Being A Friend

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There is an art to being a good friend. It’s mostly about showing up in the right way, at the right times, consistently, and that’s not easy to do. It takes somewhat of an artist. Today I had fun looking at pictures of a “friend artist” that I have known for years. I should have finished this task yesterday on her birthday. But I believe in birth week, as well as birthday, so I’m still on time for that.

She came all the way from Florida to visit after we moved to Wisconsin.
She and her husband were our business associates for 30 years, which amounts to lots of dinners together, lots of discussions, lots of influence.
We both like to take walks and eat in cute, casual restaurants. She knows how to enjoy her friends in all kinds of settings.
She doesn’t mind getting into unusual places, meeting unusual people with me. This was at the barn of the Cracker Poemer. She adopted my friends as her own.
Always the smile is there. DeSoto Park.
Not afraid of new things or of following God’s leading. I remember this BSF leadership conference that we attended together.
I could always get her to show up for birthday parties I was throwing for friends – even at the beach on hot July days.
She has a way of loving my children as if they were her own. They feel that way about her too.
She and her husband give and serve in so many ways. I love hanging out with people like that. Walk for Life in Bradenton FL.

There are so many ways that this lady has exhibited friendship, that it would be hard to name them all (her husband too, but it’s not his birth week). We are thousands of miles apart now, but there are ways of being a friend at a distance and she knows how to do that too. I never had a sister, but she makes up for that in my life. Happy birth week Arlette. I love you dear friend.

Look through your photos, your letters, your memories and have fun today thinking about a friend who has meant a lot to you. You don’t have to wait until it’s their birthday. Tell them how much you appreciate their friendship. Tell them now while you have the chance. Just sayin’…

Telephone Tribe

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I’ve just read a post in the online support group for dementia caretakers that made me think. It was about how those with a diagnosis of LBD, who have been good friends with many in better years, don’t hear from their friends any more. Actually it was a caretaker writing the post, who was sad that the friends didn’t even contact her to ask how her husband was. She was wondering what their excuses were. Were they unable to handle the changes they saw in him? Were they afraid dementia was contagious, or that they would somehow get it? Did they think that their absence wouldn’t be noticed by anyone so why bother?

My husband who has Lewy Body Dementia is probably not your typical dementia victim, because he has refused to let people forget him. He calls them up if he knows their number. He hunts them down if he doesn’t know their number. He calls them again if they don’t answer the first, second, or third time he calls. He checks up on them even if they don’t check up on him. He remembers what they’ve talked about. These people are his past business associates, the members of the band he used to play in, and family members.

Many times I’ve listened to the conversations (he is always in the living room and doesn’t try to keep them private). Sometimes I cringe when I hear him repeating the same story to someone who has heard it all before. Sometimes I feel sorry for the person he calls because he talks so slowly and often has trouble hearing. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t try to sound like an authority about other people’s problems, or misquote things he’s read, or be so simplistic about things I think are much more complex. But at the end of it all, I see that there are those people who do take his calls anyway. There are some who listen to his stories, even if somewhat impatiently, and respond with interest. Some tell him that he has encouraged them, given them hope. They are his telephone tribe.

I hear patience in their voices when they talk to him, laugh with him, ask him questions. When they don’t have time for his hour long versions, they tell him they need to go in a few minutes. They set limits in kind ways and show respect. They call him back when they say they will or apologize if they forget. They continue being good friends. They know they are doing something for him that friendship is supposed to do, and they are not afraid, not too busy, not “turned off” by the changes dementia has brought to him. I am so thankful for those friends, because they also help me. I am thankful to have married a man who chose his friends wisely. If you are this kind of friend, thank you.

A Much Needed Visit

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Friends. Most of the time I am aware that I have some, here and there, people to smile at, speak with, do an occasional lunch or other outing with. But then there are those times when people show up, at great expense to themselves, when I am not at my loveliest or in the greatest of circumstances. They are the truest of friends who show up and do life with us, me and Dennis, when they wouldn’t have to. That is what happened last week.

It surprised me when my invitation to come “up north” was accepted not just with “sure, we’ll come someday”, but with “when is a good time – I’ll buy tickets…” Not many visitors make it up here, although it is a great place and to cool off in the summer. I also was thinking of the perfect time for them to come. My whole local family was taking a two week Alaskan cruise. I couldn’t see how we could go with them since I had just done my Grand Canyon trip. I was fairly content to stay home, watch the animals, water the plants and weed the garden. Having friends come would be the perfect thing to keep me from feeling sorry for myself.

Arlette, a.k.a. “French girl” has been one of my best friends for several years. Her husband, Dwight, and my husband, Dennis, started the American Aldes office in Sarasota way back in the 1980’s. They had heard a lot about our Wisconsin home since helping us move last July. Now I had a chance to show them some of its charms.

It started with the three hour trip from Minneapolis airport to Hayward. Then we rushed them off to eat at The River Deck, a waterfront restaurant where my nephew had just started working. It’s also the location of the National Lumberjack Championships, which had to impress them (I think). And although we didn’t visit it, I did point out the gigantic Musky (at least three stories tall) in the nearby park.

Eating out was one of the easiest things for us all to do together, and I had my list of favorite places. In addition to the River Deck, we were able to go to The Angry Minnow, and Garmisch Resort. Each of these places had its own unique vibe and I think we all enjoyed the differences.

One of our lunches was a bit different. It was on a boat, out on my favorite Round Lake. I had heard of the Jacobson’s project from my brother. Ralph Jacobson and several of his friends built the “Galilee”, designing it to host small groups on the lake, as a ministry opportunity. He and his wife Carrene, served us lunch and spent an hour showing us their part of the lake. It was a beautiful day, weather wise.

Thank you, my friends, for your supportive visit.

Dwight and Arlette, the brave ones.

Slapping mosquitoes on a hike. Photo ops were brief.

The 15th of October

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I have a friend (at least one, thank God!) who has a birthday today. What a joy it is to me to think about someone who is special and dear, and be able to share those thoughts publicly. Meet my friend Arlette.

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There is something about her that actually looks French, but I’m not sure what it is…

You will notice that she has a name which I think both looks and sounds French. She is of French origin and this comes through in so many of her ways. Of course, there is the accent which she has not been able to shed (nor should she) even though she is fluently English speaking. I hardly ever have to wonder what she is saying. I love the way she and her French-speaking husband call each other “chere”. Sometimes, she will be thinking of an exact word in French but not able to immediately find the English equivalent. She will question Dwight and together they will come up with it. Endearing.

I met Arlette because our husbands were thrust into work together. The men set up an office in Sarasota for their company, an American subsidiary of a French corporation. Although we women knew each other and the Shackelfords were very kind in helping us get settled in Florida, we did not automatically jump into friendship. That started when Arlette agreed to tutor my home-schooled daughters in their French lessons. Merci beacoup mon ami!

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Two people who speak French very well, and a daughter who still knows a little of it, I think.

As time progressed, we became better friends, mainly because Arlette is an accomplished hostess (which she has trouble admitting, but it is true). Her invitations were NEVER turned down. I don’t have any other friends who do a small, intimate dinner evening for two or three couples so excellently. She loves beautiful flowers in simple vases, interesting tableware, luxurious touches like cloth napkins, just the right music, and well-planned food choices. She believes in appetizers, which I have to admit were a new thing for me. My family experience – we sat down and ate. At Arlette’s house I learned to enjoy a warm up meal before the real thing.

We deepened our friendship in the last ten years because we learned of common things in our faith worldview. I felt Arlette would really enjoy Bible Study Fellowship, which I was attending. She finally agreed to check it out, hoping to put an end to my annoying requests. I was right, she liked it. We have had nearly ten years of enjoying spiritual growth together. It is hard to put into words what sharing our hearts, and mutually acknowledging what God is doing in our lives has done for me. I view her friendship as a gift from God, evidence that he kindly answers my need for companionship.

Arlette is my friend who says she is not brave but nonetheless allows herself to be talked into outings a bit past her comfort zone, like expeditions in the kayak. She has braved a weekend in a motel with me, let the husband and I have free overnight stays in her home, exercised me with many long walks, hauled my furniture and boxes around, advised me on home décor, helped me plan parties, listened to me for hours on end. There are some things I haven’t convinced her to do with me yet, but the potential is still there. I don’t intend to let this girl rest.

So, happy birthday, my friend. Don’t worry about getting older. You are still younger than me and, barring a miracle, will always be. God bless you today and always. I love and appreciate you.

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You are lovely!

I Call It Love

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They were friends.  She didn’t know why it happened and she hadn’t really asked for it.  They had moved in to the house where her new friend apparently had lived sometime in the past.  Let’s call the new friend… call her Kitty.

She knew Kitty hung around, a lot.  Most of the others ignored her or actually shunned her.  But she hung around outside a lot too and that’s why she and Kitty got used to each other to the point of toleration.  She didn’t look for Kitty, ever, but Kitty evidently kept an eye out for her and came running  whenever she came out the door.  As she walked around the grounds she had a companion at her side.  When she sat on the deck at the top of the stair, Kitty sat with her.

Although they didn’t have a lot in common, except the time they spent together, that was enough.  They became a pair, a pair of friends.

It looked almost like love.

Yeah, love comes in crazy forms.

It was love. She didn’t mind at all.

Tessa with her friend, Kitty

A Season of Crying

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I felt it coming as I was reading that morning, and it did several times. The words on the page set the tone for the whole day. The tears came again as I gave Mom a good morning hug, and again in church, and again as I talked with my friend, and oddly, again when I stopped to “air up” my tires at the WaWa station.

I’m brought into these seasons of crying not by hormone imbalance – that I recognize and this isn’t it. It happens when I realize that I’m on to something important, maybe life changing, certainly life enriching.  It happens when I become aware that I’m learning something, not by my own doing, by through God’s hand, his methods, his inspiration.  It’s so cool, it makes me cry.

Suddenly, I feel kind of raw, hyper-aware of people and circumstances around me.  There is possible meaning, potential meaning in EVERYTHING because I feel God in action and I have no idea what he’s going to do next.

I guess, to start with, I’m just so impressed that he’s dealing with me, on a personal level, giving me something I didn’t have before.  That happened, with the aforementioned book.  Later, the same subject came up with a little more to think about as I listened to the sermon. And the friend thing…  I think it’s pretty common to lose it when a friend who knows you well notices that something is going on. All it took was a sympathetic word and I was crying again.  Sorry Christine (haha, and thanks).

The hyper-awareness part comes when I realize that I’m being taken care of by someone in high places who is listening in on every conversation, every thought and is literally everywhere around me, even as close as the air I breathe. Small favors are no longer coincidences, they are blessings and assurances.

How does the gas station work it’s way in there, you might wonder.  Lately I seem to be searching for air pumps at gas stations all the time.  I felt pretty lucky when I started finding that they accepted credit cards and I didn’t have to hunt for change.  But last Sunday when I pulled into the WaWa, I found an air pump labeled FREE AIR! What unexpected generosity…  It was a sweet machine with good instructions.  It gave me a digital reading for each tire before it pumped it up to the amount I punched in.  And I was crying again because it was cold and raining and I was grateful for something that worked, worked well.

Today, to match this season I’m in, the sky is also crying and I feel somehow aligned with it. We were made to have seasons, the sky and I, and I’m glad for that.  Just sayin’…

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lots of tears out there…

The Birthday Problem

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I have no one to blame but myself.  I think it all started for me with that first picture (I have no actual memories of the event),  the one where I’m in my high chair with a cake with one candle in front of me.  I have an unknowing look on my face but I’m about to start a lifelong habit of expectation.  People are lined up on both sides of the table and I’m obviously the center of attention.  And why not, it’s my birthday.

Ever since then birthdays have presented one kind of problem or another.  Sometimes it’s a problem for those who remember and must plan an event, a card on time, a meaningful greeting or those who forget and have to assuage their guilt.  Other times it’s a problem for the birthday boy or girl who can’t decide if they want people to know or if it would be better to pass the day in anonymity

There are some people, the husband for instance, who must not have had their birthday expectation pump primed in infancy. There is never a hint about the approaching holiday. There is never a post birthday let down.  It’s just another day and these people might even be surprised if you remind them that they are a year older on that day.  There are others who, like me, anticipate what might happen with a fair amount of excitement.  I have a list of these kindred souls.  Some years I even go out of my way to feed their birthday appetite.

And so it was several years ago with my friend J. Carroll Barnhill.  He talks about his memorable birthdays and always includes the one where I kidnapped him out to the beach with a picnic supper.  He hadn’t been there in years and it was quite a trick to get him out of his boots to wade in the surf.  A little sand on the fried chicken, a picture of the sun setting with a sailboat silhouetted against the sky, and you have a birthday memory.

There was also the year that he actually cleaned off the back porch and I got him a swing to hang from the rafters. Another time we had a breakfast party with a stack of whipped cream frosted pancakes for a cake.  And the year he turned 80, I managed to get the word out to most of his family and friends for a get together complete with presents and pot luck food.  Why do I do these things? Because I know he loves the fuss.  How do I know that?  Because, like a kid, he is reminding me that his birthday is coming.  Sometimes once, sometimes twice or more.  He clearly hopes to have fun because of what happened on seven, twenty-seven,thirty-three.

This year, knowing I would be out of town on the infamous day, I took him out to dinner at a restaurant.  It wasn’t his favorite restaurant but it was convenient and he had a good meal.  And we enjoyed ourselves.  It’s your day J. Carroll and I’m giving you a little notoriety on my blog to memorialize the event.  Happy birthday fella!.  Hope you’re having a great day.

Here you go, birthday boy! Not bad for 80+.
Here you go, birthday boy! Not bad for 80+.