I don’t think I’ve actually seen Erin in person in nearly eight years. We worked at a camp together when we were in college. In my mind, Erin was this incredible, beautiful, vivacious person–and I was shy and awkward and uncomfortable in my own skin.

In the years following college, in the flurry of marrying and having a family (her) and moving and moving (me) we lost touch. But around a year ago, thanks to the miracle of social media, we reconnected. And every week, I look forward to our chats.

After eight years, we’ve had a lot of catching up to do. But we have moved past the “where do you live and what are you dong” to “tell me about your life.” Some weeks we have difficult discussions, about hard relationships and grief and fear. Other weeks we ask each other mundane questions that inevitably end with the phrase “Oh my gosh, me too!”

In Erin, I have found a true friend. Someone I trust and admire. I hope that she has found a similar friend in me.

We have both shared so deeply that sometimes we pause and say “I can’t believe I told you that.”

And in our honesty, we have moved past beautiful and vivacious (her) and shy and awkward (me), to falling down and getting back up (us).

So every Thursday night, after our chat is done, I close my laptop, stand up and stretch, and feel a little less alone.

I’ll admit it. In general, guys are better drivers than girls. There are absolutely exceptions to that rule. But I’ve found that the majority of the time, the rule holds true. Maybe it’s just how our brains are wired. Maybe something to do with hand/eye/foot coordination?

Wanna hear a story that typifies this rule? (And don’t you love the word typifies?) Well of course you do! That’s why you’re here, right?

When I was 15, I began taking a driver’s ed class through my high school. Coach Wilkerson was our teacher. That man terrified me. He was cruel. He made you parallel park between the principal and vice principal’s cars. He taught you how to back into a parking spot at the police station. He quizzed you on driving rules as you whizzed down the highway. But the worst was the last day of class. It was the thing that high school legends are made of.

I went first on that fateful day. Charles, my driving partner sat in the backseat, calm and collected. I sat in the front, with Coach Wilkerson at my side. He had the radio tuned to a local country music station. I drove to the top of a hill, a line of cones dotting the parking lot below me. Coach Wilkerson reached over and slowly lifted the armrest that separated us.

I put it back down.

He lifted it.

I put it back down.

He lifted it, and threatened to fail me.

I left it up.

He edged nearer, his foot moving closer to the gas. Suddenly the car lurched down the hill, his foot mashed down on the pedal. I screamed, trying desperately to dodge the cones in front of me. Thump thump. Cones flew out from underneath the car.

“THAT COULD HAVE BEEN A CHILD!” yelled Coach Wilkerson.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO KILL IT!” I yelled back, my hands shaking on the steering wheel.

“That was just to show you that you don’t have control when you drive too fast,” Coach Wilkerson said calmly, turning up the radio so he could hear Garth Brooks over my ragged breathing.

Charles and I then switched seats. I walked around as Charles smiled sympathetically and I righted the crumpled children cones that surrounded the car. I sulked in the backseat as Charles effortlessly drove the car between the cones. He didn’t kill one innocent child. Coach Wilkerson patted him on the shoulder, and the two harmonized to the closing lines of “Unanswered Prayers.”

At least, that’s how I remember it.

I ended up with a B in driver’s ed, and I got my learner’s permit a few weeks later.

And traffic cones still give me nightmares.

What? You don’t believe that February 28 is Brandy Day? Well, I have proof.

I mean, there’s nothing more trustworthy than a 5-year-old standing by an easel proclaiming Brandy Day, is there? This is my buddy Eli. He’s one of the coolest kids I know. He and I spent Brandy Day hanging out. One of the traditional activities to do on Brandy Day is arts and crafts. Because, you see, I’m incredibly talented at arts and crafts. Especially drawing dogs. Do you doubt me? See for yourself.

Check that out. That puppy has googly eyes. And it looks so real that you probably thought it was a photograph. Don’t worry, it happens all the time.

The second event we tackled on Brandy Day was an outing to Home Depot. Okay, technically, it was a birthday party. The audacity of someone having a birthday party on Brandy Day. But it’s okay, I’m a forgiving person.

Eli and I were a dynamic duo when it came to building. I held the nails and he hammered. And we emerged with all of our fingers intact, and only a few tears. From me. Building can be frustrating.

After our building project was complete, we chowed down on some Brandy Day cupcakes. I just let that other kid think that it was his birthday cake. Because I’m really kind like that.

All in all, I’d say Brandy Day was quite the success. So don’t forget to mark it on your calendar for next year. I guarantee, if you take your cues from Eli and me, you’ll have the best Brandy Day ever.

But don’t forget your safety glasses. Brandy Day celebrations are not for the faint of heart.

I can’t overstate that. And I can’t overstate how important they have been to me over the past few months.

It’s not always easy being my friend. I’m often insecure. I second-guess motives. I feel undeserving. I put up walls to protect myself. Walls to keep others out.

I know that I’ve blogged several times about friendships. But they keep coming through for me in beautiful, unexpected ways.

They show me the character of God.

My friend who gets up early once a week to meet with me and hash out my struggles reminds me that I serve a God who never sleeps–who never tires of me.

My young friend who snuggles up next to me when I’m feeling down reminds me that it’s okay to just be still–no answers, no revelations, just quiet.

My friend who puts her arm around me when I cry, when I am not funny or smart or entertaining, reminds me that I can not make God love me any more–or any less.

My friend who asks me what’s wrong, and actually wants to know, reminds me that there is nothing too big for my Savior.

My friend who challenges me to be a better person, even if that means I will whine and complain, reminds me that God has bigger plans for me–plans to bring me hope and a future.

My friends who pray with me remind me that God is listening.

I have amazing friends.

They remind me that I serve an amazing God.

• I was helping a friend make up her kid’s bed, and things were just not working out very well. I called said friend in, and asked why there was this weird elastic seam thing running through the middle of the sheet. “You have it on wrong,” she said. “No way,” I responded. “Look, it’s…oh. These are stupid sheets!”
• Conversation with the same friend, a few hours later:
  Me: I have this cut on my knee, and when I drive, it rubs against this console thing, and it really bugs me.
  Friend: Why don’t you put your seat back a little.
  Me: (reaching for the seat lever) I can’t. You see, it…oh. Stop laughing at me!
• Also this week, I found myself trying to reason with the dogs for which I’m pet-sitting. “I really need you to come inside, because I’m running late for work. Oh right, you don’t know what work is. You just sit here and sniff each other all day.”
• In the past two weeks, I have left the garage door open all night, left the door unlocked all night, walked into two screen doors, and started one blender with the lid off.

But I’m not stupid. I swear!

Of course, there will be fireworks and food (mmmm, gelato!)

But there will also be insanely big eagle statues and lots of pretty flowers.

There will be giant cars made out of Legos.

Incredible mountains and the most fabulous smelling roses ever.

And the most important factor–friends. Really great, incredible friends.

God bless America

I love how you can start with this:

And end up with all of this:

But most of all, I love these people, at my house, eating my food:

And if you’re interested, I’m putting these recipes on my food blog, so click on the names below to see the recipes.

Caribbean Spiced Chicken Burgers
Fresh Fruit Tart

That’s the kind of weekend I had. And I would like to share it with you dear reader. In two parts.

Part 1: Pictures

Part 2: Haiku

The farmer’s market
Is a land of yumminess
Avoid the stickers

Tomatoes, cherries
Honey, peppers, fresh baked bread
Could life get better?

Patio seating
Is the only way to go
Except for green bugs

Those who cannot run
Sit at the finish and cheer
My friend is faster

Proving dorkiness
With light-up Barbie pom poms
But that’s how I roll

A perfect weekend
Is my friend tired of me?
Nah, I’m too much fun

Saquajawea
Led us on our U-Haul truck
We’re lost without you

Packing a U-Haul
Kinda like playing tetris
With heavy boxes

When moving couches
Remember to lift with legs
Hernias hurt bad

Warm beer is nasty
So remember this lesson
Leave out some ice please

Look like a great friend
By scrubbing the bathroom floor
Avoiding real work

Driving the U-Haul
Is not for the faint of heart
Good thing I’m riding

Helping friends is good
But now I can’t lift my arms
It was worth it though

• A “well child” area and a “not so well child” area is really a waste of time when the not so well children aren’t behind a steel door. What, are the germs just going to stop at the edge of the sick area and say “oh right, we’re supposed to stay over here”? Yeah right.
• Pediatrician’s offices NEED a play area. At least some children’s books. I was getting bored, and I’m not an ADD, fever-ridden child.
• In addition to the well and sick areas, there needs to be an area for brats. Preferably a pen outside.
• Parents of sick children often look more sick than their kids do.
• Parents of sick twins look positively macabre.
• Free stickers make any matter of shots and nasty medicines better.
• It’s frowned upon when grown-ups ask for stickers.