Strongly Worded

From Windy to Rainy City

I had the best time in Chicago this weekend. K., and R., and I visited our dear friend Melinda, who wrote a poignant post on the topic (which you should read after you finish this). Melinda used to live in Boston, and broke our hearts by moving to the heartland this Fall. Before then, we used to meet up fairly regularly to snarf Thai food, knit, and discuss yeast infections, dating exploits, assorted outrage at work, and many other topics more in keeping with our collective intellect. Since Melinda left, our collective communication has become very blog-centric, which, in a way, makes it more constant than ever.

We left for Chicago on Friday, and got stuck in the airport for five hours because, as the impressively well-trained and PR-minded United Rep announced, "the plane is broken [she actually used the word "broken"] and we'll have a decision at noon about that." Had I been by myself, I would've raged and stressed. But R. and K. and I passed the five hours chatting and eating overpriced sandwiches and Starbucks. It was actually fun. Once the plane was "fixed" and we boarded it, the captain explained the source of the "disconcerting sounds you might hear from the engines" and attributed our 35-minute runway wait to the loading of 6,000 pounds of fish into the cargo bay. Then he thanked us for flying United.

While the ratio of annoying travel to bonding could have been better, we had a great time. We engaged with Melinda's pug, who is damned cute and did a whole lot of licking, even after my repeated assertions that I only allow myself to be licked under very specific circumstances. We spent the weekend eating, sitting on the couch, wandering around, sitting on the couch, and watching the pretty terrible flick Stick It. We also procured a particularly sublime combination of yellow cake and strawberry ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery. Then we sat on the couch some more.

The irony of the visit is that it came about because Boston-area R., K., and I couldn't find a time to get together. We emailed for weeks about possibilities of Sunday brunch, Saturday craft night, or Friday game night. Our schedules just didn't mesh, so we decided to go to Chicago. Last weekend was the only time that worked for all of us, and that made our couch time ever more precious. We cranked up the Rhapsody, (including in the playlist Nick Lachey's homage to heartbreak which we're totally owning--right, Melinda?), we talked and talked and talked. Our bonding was renewing in the way of a good cry or a fantastic meal.

So. The moral of the story: we women need one another. We're all so busy and oversubscribed with work, school, romantic relationships, and the general white noise of life. We need to pick up the phone, get on the plane, sit on the couch. Our friends are our touchstones, our team members, the ones, in the words of our friend Dar Williams and her slightly cloying new album, who know.

Posted by Dori at 5:34 PM