There’s something to be said about having rich friends. These are people I call “Friends with Benefits.” And no, not the kind of benefits traditionally associated with that phrase. Lets get our minds out of the gutter, okay? Allow me to explain…
I belong to a local tennis club where I’ve met some great ladies. I guess it’s kind of like belonging to a high school club where you have a common interest, like chess. I know absolutely nothing about chess so that might be a bad example. Maybe the tennis club is more like belonging to a book club, only a bit more aerobic. Actually, let’s just say it’s like belonging to a tennis club, shall we? Continue reading
Previously posted in 2013
This week, when my younger friend Hilary told our ladies’ tennis group she needed “less mature” friends because we oldies are struggling with injuries, I quickly fired off an email to that healthy show-off, explaining what she’s missing by not being an interesting 50+ year old…
My “young” friend, Hilary
My Dearest Hilary,
Let me set you straight. Younger friends are boring. They have nothing to complain about as far as body parts aching. What is there to discuss if you have no wrinkles and therefore can’t debate the best ways to disguise them? What could possibly replace the topic of whether it’s better to use a color rinse or permanent dye when trying to cover gray hair? Continue reading
There’s nothing quite as special as friendships between women. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying men don’t have similar relationships with other men. I’ve known some who do. But I think women tend to nurture their personal relationships to extraordinary degrees. And thank goodness for that.
Last Tuesday my friends and I celebrated Kim’s birthday. We’ve all been friends for over 40 years. Sitting at our table with these ladies at Old Chicago’s Pizza got me thinking about how lucky we are. Of the 9 of us there, only Kim hadn’t played on our softball team. We played together for 10 years and went 33 games without a loss – 3 full seasons. The 34th game? No comment.
Every year in March my tennis friends and I head down to Palm Desert for the BNP Paribas professional tennis tournament. All the biggies are there; the best of the tennis world. It’s like attending a Grand Slam but only an hour flight from home. Yep, 6 glorious days of sun, fun, food, drinking, shopping, swimming, hot tubbing and of course, tennis.
With work and having 8 animals, I don’t get away too often. So when March rolls around, I get desert fever. But as soon as I pull out my suitcase, my dogs go into moping mode, lying on the bed watching forlornly while I pack.
My mutts are no dummies. They know when I’m leaving so might very well benefit from anti-depressants mixed in with their kibble. Instead, I try to trick them by packing when they’re not around. Now don’t get me wrong; they still seem to sense it. Like I said…they’re no dummies.
She’s leaving, isn’t she?
I guess you could say my Christmas spirit was missing in action this year. Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not like me to forgo decorating with enough holiday decor that borders on being embarrassing. However, I was swamped with work so finding time (and the gumption) to drag everything from the shed was rather daunting. So I skipped it, other than placing a wreath on the front door, giving the illusion I’m festive.Normally I invite my 10 besties over for a tree decorating party in early December. We eat, drink and are consequently quite merry. Karen hangs the lights because she does it best. The gals hang most of the ornaments, yelling at me to “Come help us!” That’s because I’m usually busy gabbing. Dinner is just a ruse to lure them over. I’m like Tom Sawyer, only instead of painting my fence, they decorate my tree. But this year I gave them a reprieve. Continue reading