**The party I referenced yesterday? It’s going to last three days. I’ve lined up three of my very best friends to take over the blog in my absence. Cheers!**
Let me tell you about my sista friend, Sizzle. Our friendship runs more than 20 years. And we are talking well lived years. There are few people in the world, aside from my own blood, whom I call family. She is one of them. Call me “woo woo”, and I’m ok with that, because I am serious when I say she IS A GIFT. Hear me? A gift. And not just to me, but those who have been blessed by her love and friendship. Call me fanatical, it’s ok. I’ve made peace with my Sizzle worship.
There are probably 10 thousand things that I can say about what I love about Sizzle. But, I’ll narrow it down to maybe 10 or 15 or 50. Ok, well crap. Here we go…
So you know when your heart is broken in like 20 million pieces and you are drowning yourself in a beer or 5 and you can’t stop crying and you need to talk to someone who will tell you that whomever just broke your heart is the scum of the earth? Or maybe just a hug? Or be the voice of reason about your trainwreck brain “Should I call so and so and try to process it”? Call Sizzle. She doesn’t just hold the phone to her ear. You know those kind. No, not Sizzle. She listens. Really fucking listens. She gives feedback. She emails the next day “How are you doing?” She texts hugs. She makes you laugh.
Sizzle is funny. Wicked funny. So funny that I have literally & nearly peed my panties on MORE than one occasion. And not just when drunk (though some seriously funny shit happens after Sizzle has a few cocktails). Several times while driving. And folks, that is not pretty. Or safe.
And on those days when skipping work or school is the itch that can only be scratched by jumping in the car on a mission to reach the beach by the time your favorite CD is over? That CD that makes you feel every fucking emotion and you are not only excited that you both know the words to all the songs, but that you’re both on KEY? Sizzle is the person you want in the passenger seat singing along with you.
It’s 8am. Sizzle has made a cup of tea, fixed some protein, and produced a pen and notepad. With about 20 words, a few hand gestures and a nod, you can have your entire day planned out in about 2 minutes. No kidding. I would not make this shit up. Need a wedding planned? A party? A 500 person fundraiser? A date? Your life? Sizzle is your woman.
She is honest. With grace or brutally, when needed. She is forgiving. A blessing and a curse, maybe…but she sees people for their potential. She hopes for them. She roots for them. You want her in your corner. Seriously. She is passionate. About good books, jazz, finding the perfect cardigan, staying connected, shoes that make her feel strong, Vietnamese sandwiches, soul searching, composition, anything red, integrity. About figuring stuff out. Her own and others. Some may not necessarily love that…but those of us who love her, find it endearing. About family. She loves and cherishes her family. Quirky dysfunction and all. Hell and back can only bring you closer. She holds on. She is and strives to be a good human. She will own her “stuff” and works on it. She knows how to do “fluff” well, but if she lets you in, be prepared to be called on your shit, when needed. You will actually be grateful.
You know THAT person who doesn’t need to tell you that you are a cherished friend because you feel it? Sizzle is that person.
Today, I celebrate you, my friend, in anticipation of the anniversary of your birth. The gifts you bring to my world and to others in your world… are frankly, incomparable. Ok, maybe that sounds dramatic. But really? It’s the truth.
Happy Birthday, my dear friend.
I love you.
Jenny Two Times
Sat on their park bench
A newspaper blown though the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes
Of the old friends.
The old men
Lost in their overcoats,
Waiting for the sunset.
The sounds of the city,
Sifting through trees,
Settle like dust
On the shoulders
Of the old friends.
Can you imagine us
Years from today,
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange
To be seventy.
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears
-Simon & Garfunkel