If you missed part 1, go read it here.
She came to lunch the next day. I think it surprised her as much as it did me. I fully anticipated being stood up. She later told me that she had been glad it was at my house so that she could leave as soon as she finished eating. I was afraid she would say nothing; she was afraid that all I'd talk about would be poop and childbirth.
It was four hours of the best conversation ever. We spoke of politics, religion,current events and painful memories. She wasn't a hermit or unfriendly, just a Yankee gal in a foreign land where the sky was too big, the people were odd, and she knew no one. She had arrived in Oklahoma City two weeks before the birth of her daughter, a birth which can be best described as harrowing. She'd almost died, the baby had almost died, and then 9/11 had happened and we were at war. She lived daily with the fear of her husband being sent to the Middle East, and because she wasn't on base, she didn't even have the support systems in place which military wives depend upon in times of upheaval.
She is the best friend I have ever had. Four moves, six deployments, and my ever increasing family have done nothing to dampen the friendship that began that day over a pan of home-made macaroni and cheese. My only regrets are that I didn't wander up the street sooner and that I wasted my morning making it from scratch. I now know her well enough to know that her second favorite comfort food is the stuff from the blue box. Her first favorite is the pan of cinnamon rolls I make for her when things are tough, made from the recipe her expert palate helped me to perfect. Rolls the size of dinner plates and her own bowl of icing so she can slather on as much as she pleases are all that she wants. Mine has become a hot cup of tea, fixed “the British way” just as she taught me, with milk and sugar, piping hot and sipped as I curl up on the couch with my feet tucked under me, and chat with the woman who is now a part of my family.
God didn't send her to me, but gave me the courage and the kindness to walk up the street, knock on that door and overcome my nerves long enough to order her to come to lunch. It was just what both of us had been praying for.
10 comments:
This is beautiful. A real lesson in snap judgements and reaching out. Cool.
Yes, beautiful. Often, we think shy people (or those in an uncomfortable situation) are "snobs" so we don't make the effort to reach out.
3 things. 1 - great two posts, i hated waiting for part 2. 2- thank you for admitting that oklahomans are a little odd, and for not making fun of her for being a yankee. 3 - i really like cinnamon rolls... hint hint.
That was worth the wait! Fantastic and beautiful!
Loved that story!! Thanks for sharing!
What a great story with an important lesson. Loved it! You could be the next "Pioneer Women" with cliffhanger's like that!
Beautiful end to the story that is still continuing in a magnificent friendship!
Wonderful story! And beautifully written.
As a painfully shy mom in a new neighborhood with a white minivan, let me tell you I'm the one wishing some neighbor would knock on my door an invite me to lunch. Some of us just don't know how to make the first move and are scared to even accept that invitation if it does come.
Part 2, from said minivan woman:
I was surprised, but only because as a military wife, you have to go and seek out your friends. I had never had an angel descend upon my doorstep and politely foist food and friendship on me, seemingly out of the blue. I was oblivious that the lone vehicle garnered any attention at all. I guess that's what happens when you live in a neighborhood for more than a year.
It was the best 4 hours of conversation. The only other best thing she said that spring was when she showed me how to edge my lawn while my husband was away. She said, "So you went to prep school." (wheewhee sound of the weed whacker here) "So you learned to row." (wheewhee) "You went to X school." (wheewhee) "Didja ever learn anything useful?" Oh, that still makes me laugh. That was when I knew she was a friend for life. And that she'd turn up in my someday novel.
I don't know that milk and sugar is the "British way", so much as the way I'd request it "creamy and sweet" to torment my tutor. St. Augustine was young once, too.
She is not my best friend, she is more like a sister. She is the reason my baby finally tried solid foods, she is the reason I can mow my lawn and I know useful things. She is why I eventually took ownership of being Catholic, and why I survived the subsequent years of deployments. She is who I cried w/over infertility and the trauma and drama of war. She is who I know will laugh at the same things I do. She is a living example of what it means to be real and set the standard of friendship/family at the same time. Anyone would be lucky to have her as a neighbor, friend, sister, daughter, mom, aunt, etc. You get the idea. And don't even get me started on all those great kids..... :)
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