The Women of My Life

Today is my birthday. Unlike many women I know, I don't fear this day, or dread the dawning of it in any way. Being a true Leo, I love the attention that a birthday brings- the calls, the email messages, the flowers, the cards, the gifts, the pedicure, the dining out. Bring it on! Although this sounds quite brave, I do have enough of the great lion in me to also resent the signs of aging that are becoming increasingly more obvious with the passing of each year. Why is it that in my heart and in my mind I still feel like I am 25, but the calendar and the mirror remind me that I am 43? If I could only combine the energy and perkiness of a 20-something body with the experience and wisdom of my 40-something mind. What a marketing concept that would be in this day of wrinkle-reducing, fat-burning, calorie-counting, youth obsessed culture.

Apart from the obvious glow of the birthday celebration, one of the most important reasons why I welcome this day each year, is the coming together of the people in my life. My children and other members of my family are given little choice in remembering my day with my subtle and not so subtle reminders of the big event. Really, how could they miss the calendar posted on the fridge (that they frequent at least a dozen times a day) with August 14th highlighted and then written in big bold letters "MOM'S BIRTHDAY!!!" They patiently play the game of building up the suspense of my gifts, planning some surprises, and then embarrass me in front of a crowd of strangers at Boston Pizza with the singing and clapping, and the eating of the 10,000 calorie gigantic hot fudge brownie dessert, smothered in vanilla ice cream, dripping with caramel sauce.

I love my family dearly for the attention of the day. But, today's post is going to be devoted to another group of "sisters" who not only remind me on my birthday of their unconditional love for me, but at so many other times throughout our almost thirty year friendship.

We formed our bond in our high school years, initially because no one seemed to really understand our sense of humour, or our desire to live up to the words of Cyndi Lauper's hit song of the time "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun". The groundwork was laid for the coming together of the seven women of my life on a typical rural Ontario night of fun. There were no hip bars, fancy nightclubs, or big band concerts to attend where we came from. We were deep in the heart of redneck country where fun meant a party of your closest three hundred friends, a huge bonfire, broken styrofoam coolers, tight jeans, plaid shirts, loud music with speakers the size of a house pillar mounted on a barn bank, peeing in the field with an animal of some kind usually staring back, and the careless sense of teenage invincibility everywhere you looked. It was at the end of one such night- our first night together as a group- that the "Silly Seven" were christened, and would proudly be called by their new name for the next thirty years. We were leaving the party, heading towards the big red Cougar (and I'm not referring to today's popular meaning of the word "cougar"; it was actually a car!). I don't know if it was the scent of our female fun or the sound of our high pitched giggling, but whatever the reason, when the farmer's two Dobermans were inadvertently released from their pens, they ran straight to our group of seven teenage girls. Panic followed, with background yelling from the crowd, and the very loud, angry barking of the dogs. Disbelief soon turned to fear, as those menacing jaws came directly towards us. The scene unfolded: seven girls screaming; seven girls running; seven girls climbing on top of the hood of the car just as one dog grabbed a hold of the pant leg of the last girl to climb up, thankfully tearing only cloth and not skin; seven girls hugging and crying as close to the middle of the hood of the car as they could get, with the dogs furiously growling and leaping upward to get at their prey. The car was locked. This was years before the time of the automatic door unlock on today's key fobs. Desperate to get inside the safety of the car, the girl who was driving laid down on the roof, reaching over with the key, trying to insert it into the lock as we tried to distract the dogs. No luck. You may be wondering what the rest of the two hundred and ninety three of our friends were doing while we were imprisoned on the hood of a car by two dogs. Apparently, we were putting on quite a show. After what seemed like an eternity, the crowd lost interest, the owner called off the dogs, and we were able to scramble for cover inside the Cougar. The hysterics of the past few moments screamed loudly inside the vehicle as we all tried to outdo the other with our story of fear. Our driver wanted to make a quick escape. I'm sure we were a distraction to her. I'm sure she was feeling the effects of the scare. I'm sure that is why we ended up spinning out of control at the end of the laneway and landed in the ditch on the other side of the road. Oh what a night!

The memories of our teenage years makes me fear for the safety of my own teenage children every time I see them walk out the door for a weekend of fun. If they only knew what lay in the memory bank of their mother.

After high school graduation, we all ventured off in different directions- university, college, work force. But we always kept in touch. We didn't want to lose that connection that had taken hold, a connection that had seen us forsake the rule of our parents and the time spent with boyfriends; a connection that had us craving the fun and the familiarity of each other; a connection that few people are ever lucky enough to find. Our bond grew as we lived through the joy of weddings and the births of our children (20 babies between the seven of us). It grew stronger still as we lived through the heartbreak of losing some of our parents, dealing with the struggles of our children, the difficulties of our most precious relationships. I have felt joy with these women, as we share old memories and create new ones, laughing til my stomach aches and tears are running down my face. I have felt their sorrows, seen each one of them cry, held each one of them in an embrace of friendship.

Yesterday we enjoyed the celebration of two of the August birthdays in our group. It began as a very adult get together as we all try to remember that we are now in our 40's. We were dressed in our summer favourites, sipping cool drinks on a patio at one of our favourite Italian restaurants. The facade slowly faded as the afternoon wore on and we slipped into our familiar comfort zone of Silly Seven humour. Moving the party to the private backyard pool of one of our group uncovered even more of the teenage spirit that we still hold on to. Drifting lazily on the inner tube, I slowly opened my eyes when I heard the counting. 1, 2, 3, Bomb Her!!! Attacked from both sides, I didn't have a chance and gave in easily to the sinking of my body under the water. I resurfaced from underneath the tube, giggling with the fun of the moment.

Today's posting is dedicated to these women of my life. I love each one of you. And I can't wait to bomb your inner tube when we turn 80.