About Friends … in honor of Carol

By Cami Beiter – October 14, 2016—

 

When we were young rambunctious teenage girls, sleepovers consisted of staying up past the new episode of Fantasy Island. We slumbered in sleeping bags bought from the Sears catalog that and waited weeks for. We gossiped about idiot boys, slutty girls, evil parents. We snuck a few shots of Jack Daniels from behind the bar and, even though it burned and tasted disgusting, you lied to show off your bad ass self. Cigarettes were stolen from mom’s purses and collected like playing cards, only to be handed out after Mr. Roarke waved good-bye to his guests in their polyester wardrobes. You laughed at each other’s personalities while embracing individuality. Everything good was happening before your eyes, yet you had no idea what forever, cherished memories you were creating. Breakfast was likely prepared by a helicopter mom wearing a matching robe and slippers. Or even better, we found a stash of forbidden sugar cereals stacked in the pantry. It was heaven. Things we normally didn’t do, or weren’t allowed to do at home, were suddenly there for the picking. We were a handful of Eve’s in her garden.

 

Things haven’t changed much, despite the passing of time.

 

Recently, friends Carol, Wendy, Sue and I packed our excitement, our overnight bags and groceries for a weekend in Vermont. Like any cluster of hens, we all beaming with different personalities. We’re mature (age, not level) enough to let the small stuff go, laugh at everything important while understanding we’ve not only lived and experienced life’s hurricanes, but managed to survive and learn from them. Together, we’re opinionated, random, forgetful, messy, organized, loud, humorous, catty. Between us we have 11 children, some out of college, in college or high school. Throw all that in with two days of Wine & Harvest festivals, exploring the Vermont landscape, eating and shopping and it makes for an entertaining weekend worth telling the world about.

 

The last time we had a group trip to Vermont, Carol forgot her house keys and getting in involved breaking down a door with a heavy log and Carol’s sweet karate kick. So before we left home, a key check was in order then we were on our way.

 

Driving with Carol is like being a passenger at the Indy 500, except with swift, sudden braking. She drives with one hand, twirls her hair with the other and chatters about six different topics. I tried to keep her focused on upcoming brake lights, road construction and accelerated speed, but gave up. Burping up the half eaten pumpkin donut and bittery iced tea we grabbed earlier, my concern level grew with every clanking wine bottle shift in back. If you know and love Carol, you understand keeping her focused on anything is never a winning game. It’s better to hold on to the handle, fight the car-sickness and enjoy the ride.

 

Sue and Wendy bypassed the roller coaster of fun by heading up earlier on their own. So we zipped over to meet them already enjoying the Wine & Harvest Festival and Soup Stroll in quant Wilmington. We roamed the cobbled sidewalks and open shops while sipping the variety of soups and local wine. The feeling of autumn was in the air. Patches of leaves in a cornucopia of colors…premature yellows, purples and oranges were randomly selected from the clusters of green.

 

On occasion, we separated to venture off independently. When lost, Wendy’s high pitch squeal of laughter was never far off. I always found her, no matter how misdirected I was.

We found Sue, who had no problem grimacing with surprised taste buds, often leaving the soup creator a bit puzzled.   Like children, we tried to pawn off less desirable samples to each other. When negotiations failed, we’d wander around with half sampled soup, desperately trying to locate the trash. We took photos while poking fun at silicone mamas and trophy wives…convincing ourselves botoxed lips must make soup slurping challenging.

 

The wine tasting was less than satisfying. If my 8th grade math proves correct, I’d have to hit about 10 different wine tables for a healthy glass. Sample size brought on a whole new meaning.

 

Conversations are often mindless and polite while waiting in line at such events. Everyone sniffs their glass, opines on flavor and pretty much just waits for the next opportunity to hold out a glass for a small pour. Yet, when the patron ahead of you decides to fart, politeness exits while humor stands. Moments passed with Fartman unfazed by his faux ignorance of ownership. There was no sign of embarrassment, only his voluminous stories of inaccurate vineyard geography. Thanks for the laugh Fartman.

 

Upon arrival back to the cabin, we each made up our beds with sheets that neither match nor fit. Know one seemed to notice or care. No sexy nightwear…just stretched out sweats, old college hoodies and washed faces with a thin layer of greasy Ponds cold cream. Make up was off, glasses put on. The remainder of the evening was spent mixing cocktails, figuring out wifi connections, laughing at one another and consuming Costco chicken meatballs. The more things change the more they stay the same.

 

I woke the next day to my habitual addiction and necessity for coffee. I tip toed downstairs to investigate the stock and start the old school Mr. Coffee. I open the cabinet and all is see is RED. Folgers red. I thought only bold ladies and churches bought this shit. I opened the can, stuck my nose in for a healthy snort and ultimately surrendered. Beggars can’t be choosers.

 

While Wendy and Carol characteristically snoozed away, Sue busily created a culinary delight, leaving me in charge of the fruit salad. She gave me a few moldy peaches she, “brought back from the beach.” I paused and stared. Knowing she’s a traditional Yankee, I felt a slight breech of etiquette by refusing to use it. The attempt was made, but after a few incisions, there was no hope. Sue is the friend that’s up with the sun. She’s not distracted with technology and often questions the necessity of group texts. Yet, what she lacks in 2016 communication, she makes up for in cooking, fixing, gardening, efficiency. She’s frugal, through and through. When ordering a meal, she normally asks who wants to “share” a plate. Wasting food or resources are not in her vocabulary. She’d rather do something herself than rely on others. She doesn’t drink coffee, yet prefers orange juice in tiny 4 oz. glasses. I admire that she can create a gorgeous, one-of-a-kind holiday centerpiece for the dining room table.

 

After breakfast, we loaded into Wendy’s womb-of-a-van. With four teenagers, it’s become her second home. We brushed dog hair and crumbs from dirty seats, questioned how long the colored M&M had been on the floor and tossed the Target yoga mat in the back. Tub & tile cleaner on the floor brings quizzical looks. Wendy doesn’t clean. On with her Jackie-O glasses, she adjusted the rear view mirror: “Sorry about the mess, just move all that crap.”

Just like her van, Wendy is that randomly beautiful presence of space and comfort.

 

The day was spent roaming and eating all over the Vermont countryside. We disrupted southern visitors on a covered bridge, drank beer at a micro-brewery, napped on the grass of a phallic battle monument and saw a house teetering atop a grain silo. We took stupid pictures, consumed enough parmesan french fries to pop a few buttons and argued over the corporate dominance of Wal-Mart. Surprisingly, Donald Trump was not a topic of conversation.

 

As the weekend progressed, time seemed to come to a crawl. With experience under our under-wire bras, we know to slow down and make every minute with one another count. We are no longer those rambunctious teenage girls, unaware of everything good happening before our eyes. We are receptive, seasoned women, well aware of our gift to one another. We’re older, a little wiser and confident enough to weed out the bullshit. We build each other up, accept, support and love one another.

 

Generally women find it necessary to highlight our age, our sagging bodies, our faults, often convincing ourselves it’s all merely a cruel life lesson. We’re mysterious creatures, masters of harboring conflicts and doubt all the while pulling the wagon of our families and responsibilities. This is one of many reasons why our female companionship and support is so critical. We remind each other we are all in this together. If one of us become lost or absent, we send out the troops, dodging landmines and rallying to make the pack whole again.
After a weekend of acting like mid-life teenagers, we returned to reality refreshed and clear-headed. And although my days of stealing cigarettes and late nights with Fantasy Island episodes are done and gone, I’m grateful that slumber parties with friends have evolved into weekend trips to Vermont and giving ourselves permission to just be. It’s as necessary as that last shredded square of toilet paper, delicate and small yet so important. It may not be the most beautiful of comparisons, but that’s life.