Happy New Year Stranger!

(My Column from the NK Villager/EG Magazine)

Her visit during the holidays took me completely by surprise. My husband, trying to help preserve the last remnants of my sanity, took the kids to visit his parents where the eight of them would carefully and patiently (ha ha) help to decorate their Christmas tree. Not able to recognize the sound of peaceful stillness, my body started to twitch a bit each time I tried to snuggle up on the empty couch with my book. That’s when my unexpected guest arrived, precisely as I was flipping pages and nodding off simultaneously.

I invited her into my home and she smiled as her cashmere sweater gently brushed against the fresh pine wreath that hung on my front door. “Ahhh, smells great in here…………did you just bake a pie,” she asks? “Be careful on that terrazzo tile, I’ve just washed and waxed,” I caution. “Tell me, how do you keep your entry way so pristine looking and so darn organized--I mean, I could just live right here in this room?” she gushed.

Before I can answer, she’s wandered straight into my living room and is stroking my extra plump chenille pillows. Her eyes dart straight to my mantle where I’ve artfully displayed several paintings--the soft glow of candlelight framing them perfectly. Next, she looks me over from head to toe and gleefully gives me a tight squeeze. We used to be inseparable, but haven’t seen one another in nearly 15 years right about the time I became a mother.

With so much to catch up on we head straight to the kitchen where I debate between offering her a mug of hot steaming tea or pouring us each a large glass of Merlot. The Merlot wins hands down, so we pull up a stool to my sleek, clean island that has nothing but a delightfully decorated miniature Christmas tree on it and we then toast our reunion.

“You still look the same,” she smiled. “Oh stop! We both know I’ve put on a few pounds during the past decade and surely you’ve noticed a few more laugh lines on this here face of mine,” I replied. “But you on the other hand are timeless. Your smile is still as carefree as ever and it’s obvious that you’ve kept up with your exercise routine all these years,” I sing back. With our pleasantries now exchanged, she slowly enjoys the fine wine we are sharing and asks, “Remember how we would sit on the beach and plan our futures—our careers, who we would marry, how many kids we would have, what our dream homes would look like,” she asked? I sigh and nod. “However did we become such strangers so quickly? “ asks my long-lost friend.

I sit and just stare at her. Her presence is very calming and I wonder, too, where she has disappeared to for all these years and what has prompted her return right before the New Year?

I begin to look back on the past 15 years and smile and say nothing--instead I direct her to the family portrait we have hanging outside our Living Room taken nearly three year’s ago before our eighth child was born. Even though I’ve kept a long-distance relationship with her over time, I thought she’d like to see with her lovely brown eyes what I spend most of my time doing—raising a family. The handsome guy in that portrait is my husband of 20 years, and no, not the guy I thought I’d marry when we would sit on the beach and throw Cheetos to the seagulls and discuss such dreamy matters. I met him on my 21st birthday when he had his teeth cleaned in the dental practice I worked in for 15 years, another change in course from the career I had planned for myself in the hot summer sun—that of a school teacher. Funny enough, with eight kids (my plans called for three!) I guess I got my own classroom after all.

She gives me a swift elbow to the ribs and begins to laugh. As she does I look over at my kitchen island and realize I can barely see the top of it because it’s piled high with family stuff and the box of that fine vino we were drinking is right in the center. I sense she wants to ask me something else but she’s now poking around by the mantle and straightening my collection of broken nutcrackers that are hiding the crookedly framed school photos that desperately need to be updated. And why are those plump chenille pillows now looking a bit frayed and tired? The prodding continues until my neck jerks upright and I see my 5-year old staring at me and yelling, “Mom, we’re home!”

I search the room for my friend but she’s gone again. Instead, my husband has returned with our brood and they are all anxious to tell me about their visit to Grandma’s. My book has since dropped to the floor and somehow made it’s way down the stairs into that stunning entryway of mine that is laden with shoes, mismatched socks and even somebody’s toothbrush. I am now completely awake in my dream house—the home I share with my family, and realize that I will never see that girl again, the person I was before I had kids, but I am not sad. A part of me will still always be her no matter where I’m at in life, and I can think of no better time than the start of a new year to reminisce on my leisurely past but to stay focused on the here and now with great anticipation of all the new experiences my friend and I will reflect on in another 15 years.