Queens: Dining with royalty

In 2000, I learned that I would soon be single.  

Oy vey.

What a thing this God had allowed to wash over my children and me.  What a thing.

I was drowning.  Drowning, covered in chum, and dropped into the shark-infested water with only a flimsy life buoy – Gilligan Island style – to keep my children's heads above water and to bat away that which almost consumed us.

And then, someone threw me a line.  A redhead with a chartreuse jacket and a garden of waterfalls, birds, and a cup of peace invited me over for brunch…despite that I was bleeding over everything – heart wrenched and fearful.

We met, this pixie and I, in a life raft called, DivorceCare.  We called it "the fraternity no one wanted to join" and became friends.  Soon our friendship included a sweet, smart teacher with a flair for the guitar and ridiculous get ups…in public (like wearing a pig costume in the O'Hare airport during the swine flu epidemic).  One more "keeper" joined us – this tall calm clear-sighted friend whose life was a comet of cultivating the verdant "now" with the fertilizer of the "was."  These women became friends…sisters almost.  Queenly companions.

Two of them took my preteen daughter on a Cinderella trip to the mall for clothes shopping, a new hair cut, and dinner…because she needed to remember her beautiful self and I was not able…not able to give her that freedom.

Over Thanksgiving, my 9-year old son cleaned all of us out playing Monopoly…a room full of adults, college football players, savvy thinkers, and merry makers.  We were spanked by a 9-year. That cold wintry day of Thanks, Spring's forsythia bloomed in the stream by the house.  

Over the many years, we have held one another accountable-with great love.  We have laughed, toasted, cried, prayed, railed and rallied; and cheered during Kansas State University football games.  We even wore very obnoxious purple wigs to a basketball game and danced with the Pride of WildCat Land Band.  

We weren't looking for attention.  We were looking for life.  Laughter.  Joy – something we could take home and share with our kids and remember when the furnace quit December 24 as the sewer pipe backed up and the next semester college tuition was due. When dream jobs turned to nightmares, a tornado side-swiped our home, and the grandbaby needed extra prayer for a developing liver. 

We ate and laughed around many tables.  

We argued, fussed, held hands, cheered for the boyfriends, cackled like hens, road-tripped, shared the facts of life, celebrated weddings, graduation, grandbabies, and new jobs.  We snored on the couch, read magazines in the bathroom for quiet moments in all of the noisy living, chatted about our fellas, asked for wisdom on how to guide these beautiful kids; 10 in all.

We learned from one another.  We prayed.  We are so blessed.

Though we've fallen flat at times, we've always had a cheering section of …queens.  

You see, each time we dined, we clinked glasses with royalty, Sweet Potato Queens.  Books that helped us to laugh during what I've thought of as "The Voyage of the Damned" became something silly we "did."  We'd dress up and serenade friends, birthday celebrants, and even graced the K-State Homecoming Parade.  ("No kid, we're not in drag.  We're women…moms.  Now let me pass.")

Naturally shy,  I eventually opted to hold the coats and share my sparkly dress, boots, and wig with more flamboyant souls.  As much as I loved them, I could not dress up and shine in their parade.  Disappointed, but loving, they let me stand in the shadows, grinning, and…hold their coats.

Two of us are still hoping to hold a hand for a lifetime.  Two of us have found that.  

This Christmas, I received a photo of the three other SPQs…grinning and bundled up.  It is so good to be friends with such royalty.  Even in the silliness.  Especially because of the silliness.

"In good company, we can be brave."