Last week I went to a concert at a beautiful park in the middle of the city. The weather was perfect. Cool with just enough humidity that you couldn’t forget that it was June in Virginia. It also just happened to be my 39th birthday.
As I sat in my fold-up camping chair, eating a bowl full of quinoa/arugula/avocado and sipping my beer– I took in the crowd around me. Standing just behind the sound board in a more open space were two women with long wavy hair and pretty sundresses. They laughed and talked to some other people near them. They huddled close together over secrets and inside jokes. Later they took their shoes off and danced. They knew all the words. Continue reading
At a concert last weekend, Jill Phillips’ introduced her song Mortar and Stone by explaining that she had written it about friendship. About how walking through life, especially the stormiest parts of it, is easier with others by your side. There were two women in front of me. One of them reached over and grabbed the other’s hand. They were both wearing hats, one of them was red. My writer’s imagination decided that Red Hat had survived cancer. That was their stormy part. Of course, this could be the furthest thing from the truth. Maybe they just like hats. Maybe they have both always been perfectly healthily. But whatever it was, there was a bond there, the same one that Jill was singing about on stage. The mortar was strong. Continue reading