I've made several good friends since moving to Colorado. I enjoy doing things with them and making new memories here. But there's something about your old friends--people you've known so long that even when you haven't seen them for ages (because maybe they move far away, like to Mexico, ahem), you sit down and practically pick up on a conversation as if you might have been having it yesterday. There's that shared history--they know your backstory and you know theirs. There's just nothing sweeter than that.
I have a few friends with whom I've been friends since, no lie, kindergarten. Wendy is one of those friends. Each year she brings a group of high school girls to the valley to take part in a lacrosse tournament. Usually her husband and kids are with her, but this year Wendy travelled solo. So we took advantage of this totally unusual situation to go out--just us girls--drink a little wine, eat a huge dinner next to Gore Creek in Vail, eat ice cream, and talk, talk, talk. Hmmm, I actually feel a little ill thinking about everything I consumed tonight. Ah, well. Tomorrow is another day.
Anyway, at the end of the evening, after strolling around Vail and gabbing for hours, I suddenly looked at Wendy and said, "Do we look 41?" Frankly, I don't know what 41 is supposed to look like, but I'm curious to know if we look it. We decided we weren't sure, but we hoped not.
We also took the opportunity to call our friend Rachael in LA and harrass her and make her jealous that she wasn't present and drinking wine with us. I think she might actually have been glad not to be taking part in our debauchery. If that's an actual word.
So I drove home pondering my good fortune in friends and giggling about some of the predicaments that made our friendships what they are today. Which is priceless.