We were Friends

We were friends once,  young, maybe 10 or 11 years old,  when times seemed easier. Days started early, meeting by the old tree at the school; a natural meeting spot half way between your house and mine.  Our biggest decision of the day may have been, do we go to the taco place or the burger shop  for lunch? Laughing and sharing an afternoon,  a booth at the burger place, the red plastic basket lined with red and white checked paper, filled with hot fresh french fries.

Riding bicycles around the neighborhood, down by the creek, behind the pizza place.  Visiting the library to check out new books.  Home again, only  when the sun started to set.  Youngsters, without a care.   We were friends back then, in those idyllic youthful times.  And then you moved away.

I was saddened when you left, a part of life, at that time, new to me.  You wrote once, I think I did as well, but our lives moved on, we grew up, lost touch.  I heard, a few years later, you returned.  We reconnected, but only briefly as we lived in different parts of town.   We were friends once, but  life changed, we changed, we had moved on.

We caught glimpse of each other again one night, in passing. You inside, behind the big window, me passing by on the street.  Each with our own set of friends, going about our evening.  It had been years, so the glimpse of recognition was coupled with wonder.  Is that who I think it is?  Your smile and slight wave affirmed what we both knew.  The moment was quick, and  I remember thinking you looked well, happy.

Although we were friends once, I wonder if you would recognize me on the street now. Would I, you?  I would hope so.   We shared a portion of childhood, but that was our youth, and we certainly are not those young kids anymore.   Were it not for that earlier connection, would we be friends now?

Maybe it’s different for shy young girls of 10 or 11.  Maybe  that earlier time mattered more to me than to you.   I know I still recall those days with fondness and a smile.

We were friends once, and I still wish you well.

What’s in a name?

I took our dog Henry to the dog park this morning.  Saturday mornings are busy there, and today was no exception.   When we showed up, there were already several other dogs there  and Henry made the rounds of greeting each one.

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We have been coming to the park for about 6 weeks now, and we are  becoming friends with the other owners and Henry with the dogs. Henry will be 6 months old next week and some of the other dogs are the same age.  It’s nice to see them and watch them grow along with Henry.  Sometimes it will be a week or so in between seeing some of Henry’s  friends, but we tend to get a warm greeting when we arrive.   This morning, as we came through the gate and started to walk to where the others were, we were greeted with smiles and  ” OH, Henry is here! Hello Henry”.    I got a smile and a hello directed at me, and it dawned on me, I don’t know their name nor they mine.

Maybe this is dog park etiquette?  I somehow have to earn my way into first name basis?   The dogs run around sniffing each other- I don’t think that would be appropriate in my case.   We exchange pleasantries as we monitor our dogs behavior, and clean up after them, but so far it hasn’t occurred to anyone to actually  exchange names.

As we go along in life we are defined by many things, each one a name.  I am a wife, a mother, sister, aunt, coworker, a friend, Henry’s owner, new blogger.   Most important I am me.  Finding  my spot in the family, and in life.   I don’t always get it right, but I am here, giving it a shot.