My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Browsing Category Friendships

That’s Just Me

by on ·Blogging, Daylight Savings Time, Fashions, Friendships

Experts recommend that bloggers post a minimum of one-to-three times a week. I find that laughable. One-to-three times a month is more my speed. Some resourceful bloggers post daily. God bless ‘em!

As everyone knows, few things leave you more vulnerable than exposing yourself to public scrutiny. Being the author of an online journal certainly does that. Bloggers are known to be opinionated, and the cost of speaking our minds sometimes draws criticism, which means it helps to have a thick skin, a touch of chutzpah, or both. Nevertheless, we must still be wary of many things, including naming names or saying anything that might set off a wackadoodle or two in this crazy world (and it doesn’t take much).

That said, I’m trying to step up my game and post more frequently. If you think that is easy to do, slap yourself – twice. Bloggers may be opinionated, but putting our thoughts out for the world to see is not something a wise person does indiscriminately for numerous reasons. And if you need to analyze that statement, then slap yourself again.

So, for my regular readers who are wondering why this is my second post to pop up in your email box within a few days, consider it explained.

Some of you can relate to this: I struggled to make it through last week, but I did it! Every year Daylight Savings Time (DST) throws me off-kilter. This year is no different. It’s a week since DST began, and my episodes of suddenly nodding off and deliberately napping throughout the day have finally subsided. It’s bad enough that I rarely get the recommended amount of sleep. I can’t remember the last time I slept 7-to-8 hours a night.

A day or two after DST required that we move clocks ahead one hour, I heard Whoopi (on The View) and other television personalities lament the annual time change. One doesn’t have to be a specialist to realize that something strange happens to many of us during the twice-a-year time change. The fall-back change isn’t as bad as the spring-forward. I don’t know about anyone else, but the latter screws up my body and mind, beginning on the Monday after and for the days following. I can’t drink enough coffee to avoid frequently yawning and nodding off like a drug addict.

I learned that a bill is pending in congress to make Daylight Savings Time permanent. So this is one time I hope that legislators, if necessary, will vote across party lines and support a law that would eliminate the twice-yearly time change.

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Have fashion designers run out of ideas? I see styles trending back to those big, ugly shoulder pads in women’s clothing. I didn’t like them when they were stylish in the eighties, and I don’t like them now. Back then, I cut out some of those monstrosities from my blazers and blouses. Need I say that in some cases, that did not go well?

Nevertheless, if I were to buy something with shoulder pads now, which I would not, I’d remove them again. I have no problem with my tops revealing the natural slope of my shoulders. That’s just me. You all know what I always say, “Different strokes.”

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Some people go out of their way to make friends. I’m not one of them. However, ask anyone who knows me well, and they’ll likely tell you I am friendly once you get to know me. I’m just not what I’d call a people person. (That sounds contradictory, doesn’t it?)  I’m not inclined to walk over and introduce myself to someone at a social function or welcome a new neighbor to the hood with a gift basket of cookies or teacakes. I’d also be suspicious if a potential neighbor did that for me. I’ve probably watched too many episodes of Fear Thy Neighbor on the ID channel. But lest I am misunderstood, let me tell you that I have cultivated many genuine friendships over the years, including other bloggers.

Speaking of friendships. Here’s a question for the court of public opinion. Say you come home and find on your voicemail a message from a platonic friend whom you’ve known for several years. Then, you two fell out nearly a decade ago over an argument concerning a particular obnoxious politician. (Need I name names? LOL) The phone message left says, in short, “Hi. This is (I won’t reveal his name either). I’m just calling to see how you are doing. You can call me back (and he leaves his number unchanged from the one I already have in an old address book).

What would you do? Act as if nothing happened and return the call, resuming the friendship as it previously was, with periodic emails and phone calls, or would you ignore the message, and move on, leaving the acquaintance in the yesteryears (while in your mind wishing the former friend well)? I chose to do the latter, and that’s just me. What would you do?

 

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My Circle of Friends is Shrinking

by on ·Aging, Friends and Lovers, Friendships

A friend is one who overlooks your broken fence and admires the flowers in your garden. – Anonymous

 

My circle of friends is shrinking. I know I’m not alone. The same thing is happening to other folks in my age group. Nevertheless, I miss my friends.

Despite being extremely shy and introverted when I was a child, I was fortunate enough to acquire a few lifelong friends. My bond with former playmates and teenage pals persisted throughout our school years, after graduation, in early adulthood, into middle age, and in some instances, continues in our senior years. In those early days, we played together, partied together, and occasionally some of us worshiped together at the same church. Of course, sometimes it isn’t easy to maintain a friendship without frequent contact or interaction, but true friendships stand the test of time.

As we mature and our lifestyles and priorities change, we become more selective about who we consider our friends. Two decades ago, sites like Facebook, Friendster, and Twitter, came on the scene and expanded the word’s meaning; now, nearly anyone who lands on our social media page is called a friend. Despite the superficiality, I have formed some genuine friendships on social media.

I read where researchers say that we make nearly 400 friendships in a lifetime, but only about half a dozen will last. However, another study states that if a friendship lasts longer than seven years, it will likely last a lifetime. While I still feel blessed to have some lifelong friends, I’ve lost some of them through one circumstance or another.

Sometimes when I am relaxing in my recliner, I think about some of my longtime friends.

There was that warm Saturday afternoon in the summer of ’77 when Marcie and I were sitting on my living room sofa sipping beer (yes, I dabbled a bit back then). Forty-fives were spinning on the stereo, and I was consoling my despondent friend over the pending breakup of her marriage. (My own marriage had gone kaput five years earlier.) When Melba Moore began singing her hit Lean on Me, we pumped up the volume, oblivious to the neighbors. Near the end of that song, just before Melba belts out, “I’m gonna … make it, make it, make it, make it if you lean on me,” Marcie jumps up from her seat, throws her head and arms back, and mimicking Melba hits and holds that unforgettable high note that lasts for over 20 seconds. Marcie could sing as well as any professional songstress. It has been over ten years since my contact with Marcie, but that day when she and Melba brought down my house, so to speak, remains embedded in my memory.

In recent years, I’ve become more discerning in my choice of friends. I weed out drama queens and kings, egotists, arrogant jerks, and users – folks who only get in touch when they want something. Furthermore, as for making new friends, my attitude is iffy. At this stage of my life – if I do, I do, and if I don’t, I won’t fret over it. It’s not that I am not open to making friends; I just don’t go out of my way to do it.

Everybody knows that friendships sometimes turn into loving relationships, whether or not that was the intent. That’s what happened with me and LB back in the sixties. Soon after our accidental meeting, we bonded and established our favorite hangout places and songs, including The Marvelettes’ “When You’re Young and In Love” and The Blackbyrds, “Rock Creek Park.”

Sometimes on weekends or in the evenings after work, we would enjoy long rides cruising through the streets in his Ford Mustang while listening to Smooth Jazz or The Quiet Storm on the radio. Occasionally, he would arrive at my job on a warm day during my lunch break. I’d climb on the back of his motorcycle, put on the extra helmet, and hug his waist as he zig-zagged through downtown traffic, heading to our preferred fast-food place where he would buy our favorite gyro sandwiches. Then we’d find someplace to chow down and chat. Afterward, he’d whisk me back to my job and head back to his.

Initially, we were in a monogamous relationship, and then over the years, we each drifted to someone else. Nevertheless, our friendship persisted for 32 years. Those cherished memories of our times together live in my head and heart, like one day in the early days of our union when he took me past his mom’s house. She was preparing a delicious smelling, mouthwatering meal for her and LB’s father, her husband’s dinner. The aroma nearly lifted me off my feet. Our visit was short but as we were preparing to leave, LB went into the kitchen with his mom while I waited by the front door. They came out together and she handed me a dish of paella wrapped in foil. Later that evening when I was eating it alone at home, it was so tasty I wanted to lick the bowl. Whenever she prepared paella after that, she would occasionally send me a plate by LB. “Can’t come in right now,” he’d say, “but mama sent this for you.” He would hand it to me, and off he’d go. If there is such a thing as soulmates, he and I were that.

When LB came to visit me on April 28, 2001, for about 90 minutes, we laughed, talked, and reminisced about our old times together over lemonade. Then, four days later, at 53, my BFF suddenly died. Whenever I replay that last day in my mind, I don’t think it was happenstance. Instead, I believe that it was God’s plan for us to spend that time together because unbeknown to us, when we hugged, kissed, and said goodbye as we always did when parting, it was the last time. His final haunting words to me were, “I’ll call you on Monday.”

My circle of friends took a heartbreaking hit.

 

 

 

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