Whenever I go home I visit with family and a few friends- not news, but one particular friend is, well, a l-o-n-g-t-i-m-e friend.
We’ve been friends since I was three and she was two, and our mothers put us together in a playpen, lit their Lucky Strikes and poured a cocktail, gave us a few cookies and left us to our own imagination.
We have been playing together ever since.
Barby (no ‘ie’- her mother hated the American doll icon) and I have taken different paths in life, that have curiously always looked very similar.
She is a teacher.
I was a teacher (for a while).
She loves the country.
I love the country (but live in a city).
She has a successful long-time marriage.
She has two children. A son and daughter.
She loves to cook and garden.
Yes. And, Yes.
She still looks 21.
She raises chickens.
I raise hell.
She has dirt (literally-and on me).
Me- not so much (except on her).
But we don’t sow what we can’t reap and let the harvest go to waste.
|Barb and Randy’s Garden.
|I never leave without the offer of
and a ride home.
|An interior wall
that still has an original
exterior window in it.
|This is the money shot.
Barby is the cutie on the far left having the party.
I am the tall drink of water in the yellow
dress (second in from right)
that is giving the party a
Nothing new about that.