Rules? There are no Rules

I'm coming up on my 30th class reunion and I couldn't be more excited. It should be well attended and pretty fun. Reunions are fairly predictable so I'm actually not excited about the reunion itself. Oh, it'll be nice seeing people I haven't seen in years and reconnecting with them face-to-face. But that is really just a sidebar to the real reason I'm going. Girls night. Me and some of my dearest, been-friends-since-middle-school, friends are going to get together and just catch up after years of absence and hundreds of miles of separation. Robin, Glenda, Heidi, Beth, and I are going to eat, talk, laugh, and drink some wine for as long as we have stuff to talk about. These women know the secret to friendship and what it means to have relationships that span the decades. No rules. These are girls whom I can not talk to for literally years and if I shoot them a message to check in I can count on the fact they will respond like it was only yesterday. They don't fire back an angry response with a “you don't follow the friendship rules” scolding. They wouldn't dare! Because they don't follow them either. They don't get feel rejected if I don't call because they don't call me either. Robin, Glenda, and I keep up by reading posts on each others Facebook accounts while Heidi and I text once in awhile. Every 10 years or so Beth tracks me down or I track her down via email. And it's always the same. They understand like I do that life gets in the way most of the time and that a lack of contact doesn't equal a lack of caring. It's just life. We all have kids and jobs and dinners and sports and other stuff that wears us out and makes time fly by. But in a couple of weeks we will pick right up where we left off all those days or months or years ago. I am so excited to see these ladies that I get butterflies in my stomach. I can't wait to see their faces, ask about their families and hear about their lives while they ask about my family and hear about my life. We will make big plans to get together again and promise to do more than Facebook, email, or text, even though we know deep down that it won't happen. Nobody will get offended, or feel slighted. We will enjoy the moments we are together as much as we enjoy the few times we touch base when life gets in the way again. No judgement. No accusations. No rules. Just as it should be.

Yes, You Can be a Biker and a Wimp

Ever since I’ve been riding motorcycles either as a passenger, or a driver, I’ve been a “fair-weather rider.” Literally. I usually say “no thanks” to a ride that’s going to take place if the temperature is below 60 degrees (no, we don’t own anything battery-operated that will keep our fingers and toes warm).  I also don’t care to ride in the rain (sleet & hail included). Most of the time, once you get wet on a motorcycle, you get cold.  When I protest about riding in less than ideal conditions Tom will say, “You can’t be a biker AND a wimp.” Now that I have my own bike, this summer I was out to prove that I am a real biker.  A few weeks ago we went to downtown Charlevoix to support our friends’ fundraiser, a motorcycle poker run to benefit military veterans in the area. Since the forecast showed rain, we decided we would just ride down, buy a couple of t-shirts and then head home. But when the sky started looking OK’ish, we changed our minds and joined some friends on the poker run, heading south of town (the exact opposite direction of our house).  Somewhere around Norwood, the rain started. I had on my leather jacket and jeans, but no real rain gear. It rained for roughly a minute and then it began to pour. Buckets. And buckets. And buckets. I thought to myself, “Ok so I’ll get a little wet. My jeans will dry. At least I have my jacket on.” As the rain refused to let up I thought, “I won’t turn around. I can’t be a biker and a wimp.” Around Eastport, my boots began to fill with water. My jeans were completely soaked and then my coat soaked through to my shirtsleeves. It was like that kids’ song “I’m being swallowed by a boa constrictor and I don’t like it very much!” We inched our way to Bellaire in the monsoon conditions. When we got there I took my boots off and squeezed the water out of my socks. I was wet and cold to the bone. We checked the radar and decided to cut our losses and head home. The ride home was worse. We were already wet and cold, but the wind had kicked up. My teeth were chattering and I was thinking “This is the worst. I am never, ever, ever, going to ride if there is even the slightest chance of rain in the forecast!” As we neared our home I pictured myself hugging the hot tub.  Looking back, some would say I passed the wimp-test. But I disagree. That miserable ride was enough for me even though I’m not giving up riding. I’m here to tell you that you CAN be a biker and a wimp. So if you ask me to ride on a day with a questionable weather forecast answer will be “Call me a wimp, but I don’t ride in the rain.”