Tuesday, April 16, 2013


I have all kinds of friends. I have practical ones and motherly ones and hilarious ones and beautiful ones and crazy ones and crafty ones and ones who call me on it when I'm being a brat and ones who pretend that I'm perfect all the time because they hate confrontation and ones who write me sweet letters and ones who like to try new things and ones who go out for coffee with me every week so that we can get all nostalgic and talk about how we were when we were 16 and ones who are still friends even though we don't keep in very good touch and adventurous ones and comforting ones and other ones, too.

Becky is one of the ones. I like our kind of friendship because she lives down the street from me and I can walk over to her house and say something like, "Let's go," and she'll come, and we won't worry about if it, whatever it is, will be fun or boring or weird or scary or lame; we'll find something good about it and it will become one of those memories that you like thinking about a lot later. 

We explore our city together. We have coffee at the airport and watch the planes come in. We go to music festivals and shows together and we meet strange people and walk down side streets and downtown and into art galleries and pretty much wherever we feel like, and have long and good conversations. 

Last night we were feeling cold and storm-stayed, so we built a blanket fort out of some chairs and a clothes drying rack, and we made caramel popcorn and took a record player and a Byrds record and an Andy Shauf record into our shelter and we sat and talked for two hours.

It warmed me right up. What would I do without a blanket fort friend?
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