Lauren - A Counterbalance Friendship

There's something about that first friend you make in a new place.  My best friend in college, Vanessa, was the very first person I met on campus.  My best friend at work, Adrienne, was the very first person I met at the high school where I teach (granted, she WAS my cooperating teacher, but you see my point).  And I have the urge to tell you about another "first friend"... my dear Lauren, my best friend from Governor's School East 2002.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the concept, North Carolina Governor's School is a summer program for rising high school juniors and seniors designed to offer a unique, challenging experience in various academic and artistic areas.  At the time we attended, 200 NC high school students converged on the Meredith College campus to embark upon a six-week adventure.  In the hottest days of the year, we lived together, laughed & cried together, learned and grew, created and dreamed together.  To this day, I still marvel at the explosion of new ideas, philosophical and religious discussions, and more than our fair share of supervised teenage debauchery (think fully-clothed Crisco wrestling on the quad; I swear, the only thing we were high on was life).    

I met Lauren on the first day of GSE because I chose to wear a tank top that said, “Dancer” in big bold red letters, and she approached me on this basis since she was there for the same program.  We were instantly friends.  Looking back, I see now that our spirits immediately recognized one another, destined as they were to join in mutual understanding, love, and friendship.  There’s a quotation attributed to Aristotle that says, “A true friend is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.”  That summer and in the two years that followed, it certainly felt that way with the two of us.

During Governor’s School, we got to know one another through our dance classes, while hanging out with our big group of friends in the caf and on the quad, and by sharing our massive journals of poetry.  After GSE, we mailed one another “care packages” of poems, letters, stationary, and drawings.  We phoned frequently (this was before dime-a-dozen cell phones and unlimited data packages), and visited as often as possible.  We attended one another’s dance recitals and birthday parties, and spent hours lamenting over boy drama, the pressures of school, and how to transition from being a good-Christian-high-school-girl to being a college-woman-of-God.

One of my favorite memories of Lauren was when we went with my mom to visit UNC Greensboro. It was September of my senior year of high school (Lauren was a junior), and I knew I wanted to attend UNCG to major in Dance and English Education.  Mama was working on her Masters in Nursing, so we got to tag along to tour the campus on our own while Mama went to her classes.

It was such a wonderful day.  We took a tour of the Dance building (from that situation I learned to be assertive because Lauren was the one who ended up going in the office to ask for a tour), walked around and looked at the gorgeous old dorms on College Avenue, ate lunch in the EUC (we were entirely impressed that we could eat Chick-fil-A at school), bought new journals in the book store, and sat quietly writing and reflecting as it rained and we watched students pass by outside of the big glass windows.  It was a day that not only solidified for me my choice of university, but it also reaffirmed that I’d taken on the right kindred friend the summer before.

            I made SO many friends in the summer of ’02, but after ten years, she’s the one that has truly stuck.  In the last five or six years, we’ve had our time periods when we lost touch for a while (she has a tendency toward long-term international travel that makes phone calls difficult :-P), but we always seem to find our way back together.  We currently have a scheduled phone call every two weeks in which we catch up on current happenings, especially those things in our lives that show God’s divine orchestration.  I’m so impressed with her online business, Atoning Yoga, and I’m always proud of and happy about the Godly marriage she has with her husband, Kevin. (I like to think that I’m responsible for them getting together.  She was working concessions with me at an NC State basketball game when they were freshmen, and he came by to visit her.  He was shy, but obviously smitten with her.  Lauren wasn’t quite sure about him yet, but I gave her a swift elbow to the ribs and a look that said, “Girl! Get on THAT!”  They started dating shortly thereafter.  You can see where I feel responsible, though I’m probably the only one who thinks of their relationship in these terms. :-D )

Lauren has been one of the most creatively stimulating friends I’ve ever had.  The flurry of poems we once mailed back and forth would be evidence alone.  In addition, though, there’s the recent dance piece I choreographed on six students at an open dance clinic held for four days in June.  “That Place, That Time” was an exploration of remembering a specific day, time, or event which we (myself and each dancer) remember fondly.  My thoughts centered around that day with Lauren at UNCG. And to round out this episode of Kindred Friends, I’ll leave you with the latest poem inspired by this dear heart for whom I thank our most loving and benevolent God.

Counterbalance
I still think of you so often, Dear Heart.
Any time Lauren’s Theory of Wind-and-Lipgloss is proven,
Or when I hear John Mayer, and any time I recognize a moment of
“Comfortable silence."
You and I could once sit together
For hours
Just writing
Just enjoying
Just being...
Kindred friends.

Remember that duet we created that summer?
That contemporary piece
That started out with just
            a breath?
That was our cue.
A breath, and a prayer.
And then we were entwined,
Supporting and being supported,
Discovering and exploring
The counterbalance of our friendship.
There was the beige soft texture of our costumes
Wrapping us in neutral femininity.
There was the shadowy lighting illuminating
Our forms, our connections
            with the other souls on stage.

It would seem, Dear Heart,
That our ten-year friendship
Has been such:
A flowing dance, cued by a prayer,
Characterized by supporting
            and being supported,
All the while enhancing our connections with the
Souls around us in our own
Separate lives.

Would that the world saw more friendships
Such as this,
Less would be the loneliness of humanity.


KM, July 5, 2012

Jess - The Cousin My Kids Will Call "Aunt"

I've been waiting for months to write this blog entry. It's been in my head nearly as long as this particular blog has been in existence.  And I'm extremely happy to be able to bring it to fruition tonight.  Brace yourself.  It's gonna be a good one.

I'll begin by setting a scene from approximately 1995.  It's any given summer afternoon.  The heat outside is sweltering, and my cousins and I are relegated to finding entertainment indoors at our Grandmother's house.  The old standard brick home smells of Pall Malls and coffee, and there's the hum of an oxygen machine that our Great-Aunt Millie uses twenty-four hours a day.   It's after five o'clock, so we can go in the front living room to play now that Grandmother's up from her nap and making her afternoon pot of sludge... I mean strong coffee.  For the last hour or two, we've been playing in the den and the back bedroom, sifting through old books and toys from Grandmother's teaching days, watching Disney movies over and over, and trying to figure out what adults see in Scrabble.   But that hour is behind us now... we can be a little louder.  So Jess and I make our way to the front room of the house to do one of our favorite things of our epic childhoods:  make up a new dance.

So we put in the cassette tape (the latest technology), stretch ourselves out in the way that ten and eight year old dancers know how to, and we begin our evening's work.  We twirl.  We jump.  We add in way too many pas de bourres and pour de bras.  We create new path ways.  We rewind the tape over and over.  We practice.  We smile.  And when all is said and done, we call Grandmother in so we can put on our show.  We adjust the pillowcases and afghans we've fastened around ourselves to be our costumes.  We have cousin Katharine run sound and lights for us, our very own stage manager.  When it's done Grandmother smiles and hugs all three of us, and tells us we "danced per-ty."

Jessica and I bonded young over our love of dance, and when I look back on all of those dances we made (think Mariah Carey's "You'll Always Be My Baby", "One Fine Day", and the like...) I automatically smile and feel my heart swell over with love and nostalgia.

When Jess came to the same college as me, I was ecstatic.  While we certainly saw one another over the years at holidays, weddings, and funerals, we grew apart in our middle and high school years due to distance.  Those mutual college days gave us a space to get to know one another as young adults, late-teen and early-twenty-something women who shared blood and a history and a love of all things comforting.  We took up crocheting together (along with Meggy, my current BFF, whom I met through Jess back then), we ate lots of wings and pizza, we watched movies, we cried over stupid boys, went to dance concerts, and laughed until we cried and couldn't breathe on too many occasions to count.

During those college days together, she played a huge role in getting me through the depression that ensued after Daddy went Home.  In a time when I was the saddest I'd ever been, I could just be with her and talk about my family and I didn't have to explain context or history.  She just knew.  That fact alone brought me more comfort than I think anyone else could have at that time in my life.

And now here I sit on Tuesday night, thinking back to the weekend and all of the gloriously fun festivities that took place in order to celebrate the fact that Jess is now a Double Mc.  In marrying John McQueen, my Best Cuzzy has reached a new chapter of comfort in her life.  I remember the night she called me to say she thought that this was it, he was who she'd end up with.  We both cried on the phone, she in her car, and me in the middle of the sweater section in Target.  This guy was her other half.  The one who would love her no matter what, who would laugh with her and be there for her to come home to, the one who would adore her forever.  It was a really cool night, and standing there next to the clearance rack, I was happier for my dear cousin than I think I've ever been for someone close to me who has found their soul mate. 

God made John for Jess, and the hilarity of their way with one another makes me smile so much my freakin' cheeks hurt.  My favorite part of the weekend was watching them dance to "Rosanna", in their wedding best, alone in the center of the ballroom, with crazy, pose-filled moves that were so perfect they seemed choreographed. He dipped her so hard she fell, and he fell with her, and then he swung them both back on their feet, just in time for them both to strike another awesome pose to the next chord.  Everyone in the room laughed and snapped pictures throughout the whole thing, and my heart felt like it was swimming in an ocean of joy for my cousin and my new cousin-in-law.

I'm so blessed, Friends, because God has given me so many people in my life who understand and comfort and fellowship with me in different ways.  I'm more loved and surrounded than I deserve.  But right now I'm overwhelmed with gratitude to our brilliant, benevolent God for Jess.  This very afternoon when we talked on the phone, she gave me words and encouragement that only she could give.  As a teacher, I know she gets my frustrations.  As a McNeill, I know she gets my kind of crazy.  As a believer, I know she gets my humble questionings toward God.  As a woman, I know she gets my need for male companionship.  And as a cousin, I know she understands that there's something about our relationship that is just exceptional.  And tonight (and everyday!)  I thank God, thank God, thank GOD for the gift of Jess in my life as a kindred friend.

PDub & PReal (aka Paula & Philip)

In anticipation of the Thanksgiving festivities that will ensue later this evening and continue on the morrow, I thought I'd write an homage to two of my little cousins.  I use the word "little" loosely, considering the fact that Paula is now a bonafide adult (having both a college degree and a grownup job to her name), and Philip hasn't been little since he shot up to 6 feet tall at the ripe old age of twelve (I think he's currently hovering around 6'4 or 5 at the age of twenty).

Some background info: my brother, sister, and I grew up in the country.  The real country.  The country referred to as "The Stix"... our childhood home was surrounded by multiple agricultural fields, thick woods into which we were not under any circumstances allowed to venture, and an old deer stand out of which Brother and I built a treehouse using old plywood and rope. 

Paula and Philip grew up in Richmond, VA.  We called them our Cityfied Cousins.  They didn't run barefoot outside.  They always lived in cul-de-sacs with multiple neighborhood children to play with.  They didn't say "y'all" NEARLY enough.  Philip always got really excited to go to Aunt Surrie's house because he got to eat grits (not that my Aunt Gracia wouldn't fix grits for them.... it's just that they were a daily staple in my house).  Let me say now that their City-Southerness has never bothered me nor my siblings... it's just that our differences made for fun conversations growing up. (I should also note that recently I've realized that I think I now qualify as "City-Southern" since it's been such a long time since I've lived in the true country.  It was a hard realization, but I'm starting to accept my new lot in life.)

One of my Favorite Funny Stories Involving Paula:
During the Prime of The Crocodile Hunter, there was a parody on South Park of Steve Irwin's interaction with a wild crocodile.  In true South Park fashion, it was a little crass and involved a statement along the lines of, "Crikey!  This is one of the most dangerous animals in the WORLD! Let's get closer!" And then the parody Irwin proceeded to suggest he stick one of his digits in an orifice of the animal to quote-unquote, "...see if we can piss 'im offfff!!!"  That summer, my family was on vacation at a beach house in NC (Holden, I believe it was), and that was THE joke of the week.  When we went crabbing, many jokes were made about trying to piss off the crabs.  You can only imagine the possibilities. 

So anyway, one evening we were sitting on the back porch watching the glories that accompany a sunset over the Intercoastal Waterway, and there was a string of jokes made, none of which I remember.... but I DO remember it all coming to a boiling head when sweet, innocent, shy twelve-year-old blonde-haired blue-eyed Paula pipes up at the PERFECT unexpected moment with a, "Let's see if we can piss 'im offf!!!" I realize that as I type this, it's probably not that funny to you, but it makes me giggle every time, because I look back on that as the moment that Paula went from a child to a non-child in my eyes.  It was HILARIOUS.

I Don't Think I Can Pick Just One Story About Philip
What can I say about this guy?  When he was little, I had to figure out how to balance between the two of them, convincing Paula to play tag one hour, and convincing Philip to play Barbies the next (sorry, dude... you did it, I'm just retelling it).  When he was a young teenager, I made fun of him for liking Twilight but then had conversations with him about why he liked it (since I was teaching kids his age by that time).  When our families went to the beach six weeks after my dad died, I sat sadly in a corner of the balcony as I wrote really-bad-I'm-super-sad poetry and looked out at the ocean... and when I turned and saw Philip looking at me, he gave me a sad smile.  Strangely, I think that smile defines my relationship with him... it that one expression it felt like he said without saying, "Dude, I'm so sorry.  I miss him, too."

So tonight they'll arrive with my Aunt Gracia for another holiday gathering, and I'm psyched.  It's fun now that they're both adults (mostly :-P), and we'll start a bonfire in the chiminea in the backyard, and we'll all stay up too late, and we'll laugh at crass jokes and make s'mores ("How can I have some more if I haven't had anything?" "You're killin' me, Smalls!").

Even if they ARE Cityfied, I still thank God upon every remembrance of them. :)

Jay & Jennie - Blood Relatives Make the Best (and Funniest!) Friends

So I'm the baby girl of my family.  I grew up knowing that I was the princess.  I did my best to never let it go to my head, but after all, at the age of sixteen, my family DID dub my first car "The Princessmobile."  I was loved, and I knew it.  Every girl should be so lucky.

This knowledge of how well-loved I was (side note: everyone in my family was just as well-loved, but of course I can only give you MY perspective and experiences) resulted largely from being told every single day by my Daddy that I was pretty or beautiful, and that he loved me.  Mama told me so, too.  Again, every girl should be blessed with such a childhood.

From my older siblings, this knowledge of being loved came in a different form than, "You're beautiful!" and straight up, "I love you"s... it came from experiences, and shared amusement at the most random things.  (Now that we're adults, Sister and I often dote on one another's beauty, and I haven't had a phone conversation with either of them in which we didn't say "I love you" since 1999.)  It's these things, and these memories of hilarity and inside jokes that have always made me feel like my brother and sister have always been two of my best friends and greatest allies.  I could write an entire book on each of them and the mushy, wonderful, sappy things that make them awesome older siblings, but let's face it... the funny stories are more fun to read. :)

One Favorite Story About Sister

When I was in high school, there arose an occasion when I drove to Monroe to pick up my childhood BFF, Ashley, and Sister (her name is Jennie, but I mostly just call her Sister) volunteered to ride with me.  On our way home, for some strange reason, we decided that it would be fun to own a pet cow.  Now, we were from agricultural families, but we'd never actually owned livestock, so this was a fascinating topic for us.  We proceeded to decide what we would name our new pet cow that we were going to beg Daddy to go buy when we got home that day.  It started out simple with us naming cows that we knew of.  Ashley had raised a lamb named Ernie, so we discussed giving our cow a people name.  George, Walter, and Arthur were all thrown out as suggestions.  We naturally found this to be an amusing way to pass the miles.
 
Then I remembered that my first boyfriend's family had a cow named Sugar.  We thought this was cute, so we started thinking about food names for our imaginary pet cow.  We went the dairy route at first.  Cookies n Cream was suggested if we got a black and white cow; Chocolate Milk was suggested if we procured a brown one.  Our giggles grew more hearty at the thought of naming her Cool Whip.  Then Sister upped the stakes... by suggesting that we name our new domestic family member Steak.  Well naturally, Ashley and I lost it.  This was the funniest possibility yet.  Sister then ran through a list of progressively funnier suggestions, including Sir Loin, T-Bone, and Chuck R. McNeill (the R, of course, standing for Roast).  At this point, I was crying because I was laughing so hard.  I nearly had to pull the car over at the apex of the hilarity: we decided we were to name the cow Spare Ribs, and her future calf would be named Half-Rack.

A New Favorite Story About Brother

When I began this blog entry, I just wanted to illustrate the fact that Brother, Sister, and I are Kindred Spirits, but I'm accidentally also illustrating our bizarre fixation on cows, for Brother's story is something that took place today, and it, too, has to do with cows.  I blame Mother.  She loved cows, and the small, cozy house in which we spent the bulk of our early childhoods had a kitchen that was decked out in everything cow.  She still has the black and white cow-spotted tea kettle.  I should also blame Daddy.  Any time we drove by a field of cows, he would honk and wave, then look at us incredulously if we didn't join him in greeting the bovines.  Gotta love growing up in the country (that was said sincerely, not facetiously).  :-)

SO, this story about Brother can best be illustrated by simply relating the text conversation we had this evening.

Jay: July 8th is cow appreciation day at Chick-fil-A.... Dress like a cow, and get a free entree (partial costume)... Full costume (head to hoof) get a full meal for free.

Katie: Bah haha! Love it.  Please tell me you're going to do it.

Jay: Hell yeah I'm doing it

Katie: Yes!!! Pictures are a must! :)

Jay: No prob.... U should grab some friends and do it

Katie: Haha, yeah.  I think I might visit Holly that day.  We'll just take their dairy cow in. :-D

Jay: U could dress the cow as a cow

Katie: Ah hahahaha! I nearly choked on my latte just now!

Jay: LMAO!

Katie: BAAAAHHHH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!


Friends, I looked like a fool a few minutes ago.... sitting in Barnes & Noble, choking on my latte because I was stupid enough to take a drink of it when I read a text message from Brother.  I should know better by now.

There are so many more reasons why Jay & Jennie are the greatest older siblings on the face of the planet, but this is just a short commentary on one isolated reason that I thank God when I think of them: they're freakin' hilarious.

KMc 6/23/11

Holly & Andy – Natural, Spiritual, Conversational

I had the wonderful pleasure of spending a couple of days this Memorial Day weekend with two of my very dear friends, Holly and Andy.  They are, in a word, inspirational.  Spending time with them at their country home is like taking a step out of worldly living and going on a little pastoral adventure, complete with dairy cows and free range chickens.  Their love for God – and one another – is something that should be captured in a Nicholas Sparks novel (or perhaps a Katharine K. McNeill novel, one of these days).

Holly and I grew up together.  My brother and I took piano lessons from her mom, then later she and I took dance classes together.  She and I both had our first point solos during the same recital.  She was the Lilac Fairy and I was the Silver Fairy, both from Sleeping Beauty.  After she stopped dancing to spend more time with her horses, I started spending the night at her house, going riding with her on said horses, and joining her family for the many themed parties they threw. 

I was always intrigued by the differentness of her family.  Holly and her two sisters were home-schooled, they could all sew amazing outfits, play multiple musical instruments, and they could sing like angels.  Their family had rather strict dating rules at which I admittedly scoffed, and they attended a non-denominational church, which was an entirely new experience for me.  I started going to youth group with Holly and this was the first time I ever really experienced praise music.  I was used to my traditional Presbyterian hymns and I found a lot of joy in the freedom of this non-droning style of praise and worship.  (As an adult, I now vacillate between hymns and contemporary Christian.  I believe God loves BOTH forms, as long as your aim in singing is to praise and honor Him.)

The thing that struck me then (and still holds true, to this day) about Holly was how firmly she would stand upon her convictions.  She knew what she believed in and why, and she would defend her beliefs to whomever, whenever the need arose.  Even if that meant she had to defend those beliefs to me, her best friend.

I met my first true boyfriend, Levi, through her.  I was fourteen, and at the time Holly strongly believed that the idea of courting was the proper path toward Christian marriage.  (Courting, of course, is the idea of a guy asking a girl’s father/parents for permission to spend time with her and get to know her with the intention of heading toward marriage.  This is in place of traditional dating, and the intent is similar to the old idea of being betrothed.)  She and I got into MULTIPLE debates/arguments about my relationship with him, and to my recollection, these were our only arguments.  In the end, I only dated Levi for six months, and she eventually had a change of heart about the concept of courting.  And thank goodness, because good old-fashioned boy-likes-girl dating is what led her to Andy.

I’ll not hash out their whole love story, but if you ever meet them, DO ask about it, for it’s lovely and adorable and God-ordained.  Suffice it to say that I had the privilege of standing at the front of the church with them on the day they vowed before God and man to be best friends forever.

In the nearly six years they’ve been married, I have watched these two build a life and a family that seek God’s will first, and they do so with such honesty and candor.  They don’t put on airs for others, but rather they readily admit to the challenges they face as a family who strongly believes in living naturally as God intended.  They own a dairy cow, Little Red, and twice a day Andy puts on his cowboy hat (literally!) and goes out to milk her.  They make all their own dairy products (Adam and Eve didn’t have pasteurization methods!), and she makes all of their bread.  They’re raising free range chickens that will soon add to their resources, and they buy humane, organic beef.  They have a huge garden, of course, and there’s not a drop of sugar in their house, other than what’s found in fresh blueberries, or grapes, or honey (which is what they use to sweeten their organic, French pressed coffee… some of the best I’ve ever had!).  For goodness’ sake, they grind their own wheat!

I’m always so impressed with the way they live, but that actually has less to do with the logistics of their eating habits and child-rearing methods (they have three GORGEOUS kids) than it does with their hearts.  These two friends of mine have the sweetest souls of two people I’ve ever known, and their pure, God-seeking ways never fail to leave me feeling blessed after hanging out with them.

They told me as we were driving home from church on Sunday that what I do (in my job) is such a blessing to so many kids.  They told me that my ministry is giving of my time and talents to my students.  This is something I’ve known for a while, deep down, but it was one of those things I didn’t know I needed to hear until the words were coming out of Andy’s mouth.  Holly said, just after that, “God’s giving you these opportunities NOW to teach and dance because He knows that in the future, at a time after your singleness, you won’t be called to devote yourself to this ministry as whole-heartedly because then you’ll have the ministry of a family that will be your priority.”  Wow, Holly.  Way to hit the nail on the head. J

I believe my favorite part of the weekend spent with them was on Saturday night.  Holly and I got back from her little sister’s dance show around 11:30, and we all wanted a snack.  Andy and I sat in the middle of the hardwood living room floor (just because) and talked about the denominations of our upbringings, as Holly popped a HUGE bowl of all natural white kernel popcorn and topped it with natural homemade melted butter (courtesy of Little Red) and sea salt.  Holly joined us on the floor, and the three of us then proceeded to DEVOUR this deliciousness and have immensely enjoyable conversation for the next hour (though, for the life of me, I can’t remember now specifically what we talked about).  As we said our goodnights, we vowed that we must visit more so we’ll stop staying up talking until 12:30 a.m. every time I’m with them.

I recently wrote a statement about Holly in my journal, and after this weekend (in addition to some other recent visits), I find it to be true of Andy as well.  The reason these two are such Kindred Friends of mine is because they are “vessels of God’s direct conversations here on Earth within my life.”  And I thank God upon each remembrance of them.

KMc 5/30/11

Meggy - When it comes to Best Friends, she takes the cupcake!

Megan and I were destined to be BFFs.  She went to college with my cousin, Jess (about whom I will most certainly write one of these entries), and in their senior year, my friend Rachel and I hung out with the two of them A LOT.  I can't exactly pinpoint a moment or a night when we just clicked (though I think there may have been some yarnwork involved) but the fact of the matter is, we did.  When it came time for Jess to move back home after she graduated, Meggy and I were already rockin' the beginning of a solid kindred friendship.

We were perfect together.  That first bit of time we spent together was like an extended BFF honeymoon.  We ate sushi two, three, four times a week.  We sat on her couch and watched hours of tv while making old lady crafts.  We indulged in Blue Cupcakes at least once a week.  We shared clothes, perfected the art of the high five, and cooked endless meals together.  Our love for each other was so cute it was sickening.

Meggy and I have been BFFs for nearly a year and half now.  Lots of things have changed in our lives over that time.  My crazy guard and teaching schedule combined with her Kickass-Head-Grad-Assistant (that's her official title, in my mind) schedule have not done us any favors this academic year.  At times, I believe, we have both had our moments where we've felt distance and strain in our relationship due to life's happenings.  I hate when life does that, but the nice thing is it makes the reunion outings even that much more fun.

I have three stories I want to share which illustrate why I love Meggy so very much.  These are not arranged chronologically, but instead they've been ordered for greatest written effect.  (You should be feeling intrigue and excitement right now.)

Blue Cupcake
In the spring of 2010, there was a two or three day span when I was just having a rough time.  The kids at work had gone nuts, I was way behind in grading, and I was stressed over multiple life situations.  Meggy knew I was having a time of it,  and we had plans to meet for dinner.  When I sat down in the booth at the restaurant, she produced a plastic container with a Blue Cupcake.  This Blue Cupcake gets initial capitalization because it was one of the most delicious desserts on the face of the planet.  It was delicious because it came from Carolina Cafe at Friendly Center, and it was comprised of amazing vanilla cakey goodness topped with luscious blue icing.  It's heaven in cupcake form.  Meggy knows this.  She knew I was having a bad day.  So she brought me a Blue Cupcake.  Do you see the amazing BFF love in this situation?

Hobby Lobby Reunion
Last summer, Meggy and I went for nearly two months without seeing one another.  In the interim between undergrad and Graduate school, she spent most of her time with her parents in her hometown in western NC, and I spent a lot of time traveling to see friends and family in eastern North Carolina.  In August, on the first night that both of us were back in Greensboro, we planned to meet at our then-favorite sushi restaurant and catch up on some much needed quality time with her couch & tv.  I got there a little early, so I went into Hobby Lobby to look around and wait.  She called me to check my arrival status, and we realized that she was near and that she TOO needed to go to Hobby Lobby.  So it was set.  We would reunite there.  And friends, how we reunited.  We weaved through the aisles and ended up in the middle of the store in a giant, loud, girl-squealing, dropping-purses-on-the-floor, lasting-nearly-two-minutes hug.  There were stares from customers and employees alike, and I'm sure we were a public nuisance.  But I think they could see that this was an important hug.  It was a hug for the books.

The Night She Kept Me From Crumbling Into a Million Pieces
So we all saw it.  I had been hanging on entirely too long to a guy and a relationship that were slowly but ever so surely draining the hope and joy out of my life. The relationship had been precarious at best for about two and a half years, and the demise of it was inevitable.  It REALLY started to groan with the threat of collapse in those last six months.  When I finally made the decision that I wasn't going to do it anymore, Megan was the one I called.  I told her that morning that I was going to call him after work and that I needed her.  We met at her house and I left him a voice message to call me back.  I knew he wouldn't be able to call until he got off work, so to keep me occupied, she took me out for sushi (we like it a lot, if you can't tell).  We talked a little about the situation, but I think she mostly steered me toward other topics.  By the time we got back to her place, I felt a thousand percent sure that I was doing the right thing and I was in capable hands.

He called right as we parked at her complex.  In a calm, only slightly shaky voice, I ended a six-year relationship with a two-minute phone call.  As soon as I hung up, I felt myself fall onto Meggy's lap and just dissolve into sobs.  They were good, solid, healthy sobs and my tears formed a huge wet spot on her jeans.  Megan, a woman who is not a fan of other people's bodily fluids OR of distressing emotional situations, lovingly stroked my hair and allowed me to take my natural course.  When I was done, I sat up, wiped my face quickly and said, "Lets go watch Glee."  At which point she promptly provided me with yarn, Matthew Morrison, her couch, and a Blue Cupcake she had picked up in preparation for the evening.

I wouldn't have survived very well without her that night.  I didn't just end a really long relationship.  That night, I took a big, scary step out of the boat and dared to truly believe that God was going to keep me above the water.  Not just above the water, but walking with Him on top of that tumultuous water that I had feared so long because I knew it would swallow me without Him.  When you make the decision to take a step like that, and you choose to allow yourself the possibility of a better life than you ever thought you deserved, it's a scary frickin' moment.  It's a moment when you need a kindred friend.

So that's why she's my BFF.  I laid alone in a field in Tennessee when I accepted Christ when I was twelve, but Meggy held my hand on the day that God truly saved my life.

KMc 5/15/11

James - The Corey to my Topanga, Without that Whole Being in Love Part...

Many girls have that "best guy friend from home" that seems to have always been there.  You know the one.  He's the brother of one of your childhood girl friends, he dated your best friend, and he's the one you call when you need advice about guys FROM a guy, but without having to call your own brother (because you might not necessarily want to let your own brother in on the specific details of your dating-life).  Wait, you don't have one of those??  I feel sorry for you... 'cause I do.

James and I went to elementary school together.  Well, it was Kindergarten through third grade if you want to get technical, but I'm not splitting hairs here.  When we were five years old and in Mrs. Smith's class together, I spent all of my time with Angela, the prettiest girl in the class, and Jessica, James' twin sister.  In first grade, James and I (along with another girl, Jo) gave a show-and-tell to our class about our different asthma medications.  I think that might've been the first time that I felt a kindred connection with James.  He understood that whole not being able to breathe thing that I've always dealt with, so I was excited about that.


At some point during those next two years, I proceeded to develop a completely healthy elementary school crush on James.  He was one of only two boys that my little group of gal-pals hung out with, and I had already had a crush on the other one from Kindergarten through first grade.  By the time third grade rolled around, we were in the thick of being members of Armstrong's Army... our brilliant third-grade teacher had this fabulous way of bringing us together and literally keeping us in line.  We marched out to recess, stood in line for "inspection," and sang army-like chants on our way to lunch.  We ate it up.  (This actually has nothing to do with reminiscing about James, but when I think of third grade, I think of three things: (1) the moment I'm about to tell you about that I had with him; (2) playing the supporting lead in the class play we produced entitled Fidelia about a young Hispanic girl who learns to play the violin, in which I played the encouraging music teacher [my love of teaching must've started young]; and (3) Armstrong's Army... I still remember her has being one of the prettiest, sweetest, most motivational teachers ever.)

So this pivotal third grade moment with James happened when we were lining up for lunch one day.  Let me preface the story by saying that I was a precocious crusher.  From a young age, I was truly destined to be boy crazy, because I was told every day of my life by both of my parents - but especially my daddy - how beautiful I was, and I watched all the Disney movies that have princesses ending up with princes over and and over and over.  Girls are supposed to swoon over boys.  People are supposed to couple off.  You have to, in order to get to the happily ever after, right?  Well, in my eight-year-old mind, I wasn't going to waste any time.  Thus, it was only natural that I should be in love with the boy that stood on the fringes of our circle, even if our only true connections were his sister, and our shared inability to process oxygen properly. 

As we lined up in the classroom, I whispered (probably in a stage whisper, now that I think about it) to my then BFF, Heather, that I had a crush.  This was big news.  A new crush meant new gossip.  And we severely needed a distraction from the headaches we had just developed over learning our multiplication tables (math is HARD!).  So Heather was properly enthused, and she played her role perfectly.  She giggled and tittered just enough to pique the curiosity of Angela, Jo, and Jessica (James' twin).  Pretty soon, word spread through the lunch line, and word reached James.  Being an eight-year-old boy, he was properly grossed out at the fact that a girl liked him, particularly at the fact that it was KATIE who liked him.  (I haven't yet mentioned the fact that I was in the LOWER end of the "in" crowd for most of my childhood.  I was a little awkward, I loved wearing hats with dresses to school on picture day, and my lisp didn't help me out much, either...)  As this was my first true venture into the dating world, I didn't know the social cues that indicated that I should back off.  Instead of being crushed by his rebuff, I simply threw up the ASL sign for "I love you" which we had just recently learned.  James, bless him, showed more of the proper eight-year-old disgust, and we soon departed for lunch, marching off down the hallway with the illustrious Mrs. Armstrong leading the way.

My crush on James didn't last too much longer after that, mostly because the school year came to a close.  I think the reason it comes to mind as I reflect on the years I've known him is because I realize now that he is the first boy to whom I said, "I love you," even if it WAS in American Sign Language.  I changed schools in fourth grade, and then we went to different middle schools.  James and I reunited in ninth grade geometry class (a class in which he did VERY little talking), but we didn't truly become friends again, I would say, until tenth or eleventh grade.  During our senior year, and the subsequent summer, we spent GOBS of time together, and when I think of those times with him, I think of some of the happiest days of my life.  We laughed at the good ol' days of Armstrong's Army, and we stood in awe of the fact that we'd grown up so very fast and that we were about to head off to college.  One day, while heading back from the cafeteria during our lunch period, I jumped in a giant rain puddle and soaked us both all the way up to our waists.  I laughed until my stomach hurt, but James was outraged:  "NOW WE'RE GOING TO BE WET ALL DAY!!"  I just laughed harder and said something to the effect of, "So what!  It's just water.  Relax a little..."  In my yearbook a few months later he wrote, "Thanks for teaching me how to play in the rain."

We're true, full-blooded adults now.  James owns a house, and we both have fabulous careers.  We've both had substantial relationships that we sought one another's advice about, and we call every few weeks to leave messages for "My Katie!!!" and "My James!!!"  We talk about how good God has been to give us a friendship like this that lasts.

He once told me that when we were little, I was like Topanga from Boy Meets World... I was the strange, eccentric one who always went my own way despite what others thought, and he admired me for that.  In a way, I always thought of him as my Corey, the boy I grew up with.  I know, I know what you're thinking.... sounds like there's deep hidden romantic feelings, right?  But it's not that way.  It's so much more, so much different than that.  He's one of the very few friends in my life that has never let me down.  And I'm so very, very grateful to God to call him one of my Kindred Friends.

KMc