Life in My World--There's no friend like an old friend . . .

I haven’t seen or heard from Rhonda in twenty years.  A few months ago she e-mailed me and when we realized we both had kids living in Seattle and would be visiting them the same week we planned to meet. 

Rhonda and Jane 2010 version

We decided to meet at a bakery about five miles from where Ray and Cali live.  Since Ray and Cali both had to work I planned to take the bus.  Last night we realized it was over an hour long bus ride – plus it would require a transfer.  I doubted I could successfully navigate a transfer with only one try, so I decided to walk to the bakery and call that my exercise for the day.  Cali gave me a walking map, Ray gave me his secretary’s phone number (and assured me she knew just what to do for situation lost), and Grace insisted I take a water bottle.  My only worry was what my walking shoes look like.  I’ve been wearing Calvin’s tennis shoes and you just don’t greet a friend you haven’t seen in twenty years wearing male shoes that are three or four inches too long.  I packed some sandals in a sack (with my water bottle) and switched shoes a block from our meeting place.  Senseless worry.  Rhonda is the same wonderful Rhonda and I could have been barefoot or wearing snowboots and she wouldn’t have even noticed or cared.  Rhonda is one good friend, always has been.

Rhonda, Jane, and earthworm parts 1978 version

Rhonda was good at biology.  She helped us find ALL of the worm parts and correctly identify them.  I wasn’t interested in biology, but I was interested in good grades.  Rhonda was a perfect bio partner because she was interested in both.

Rhonda was an incredible athlete, the kind the newspaper writes a full page article on and puts on the cover page of the sports section.  I loved being Rhonda’s teammate.  She was competitive.  She was compassionate.  Rhonda could throw a softball or hit a volleyball harder than anyone I knew and could throw a basketball the length of the court, no sweat.  I had some nerve damage in my right arm our senior year.  Rhonda would get behind me in practice drills and throw the ball for me when the coach wasn’t looking so I could save my arm and keep the coach from hollering at me.  On the other hand, Rhonda had serious knee injuries so I would get behind her in dribbling drills and promise to make us look good, but promised to never steal the ball from her so she could save her knees for the games.  We never tried to exploit each other and yet we both loved to win so gave it all we had.  She was a perfect teammate.

It just felt so good to see Rhonda and catch up with her.  It was fun to see her toss her head back and laugh that old familiar laugh (she’s always been a good sport and laughed at things I say that aren’t very funny).  It was good to see her son and meet his wife and to sit on the sidewalk in the sun near the beach. 

After we parted I stopped to eat some fish and chips down by the water.  A nervy seagull came and stood three feet away from me with his beak wide open.  He thought he could shame me into sharing, but seagulls aren’t supposed to eat deep fried fish with tartar sauce and potatoes with ketchup; they’re supposed to eat fish from the sea that they catch themselves.  I like to think he’ll be glad I helped him be self-sufficient today.

Then I walked back home – grateful to be alive, spend a few hours with a dear friend, smell the sea, walk a block with a little boy with bifocals (we be mates) and hear him tell me about his new red wheelchair, listen to Vitamin String Quartet, and think and think and think.  Grace greeted me when I got home and then after a nap (I’m not marathon material) we ate a bowl of ice cream on the deck.  Life in my world today was salty, sweet, wonderful, and one of a kind.