Home of "Call Me Friend" podcast
The note to myself I wish I had all those years– “Dear 20, 30, & 40 yr-old Self: It’s possible you’re obsessing about all the guys who dumped you, broke your heart, who you were so convinced were “The One?” Yeah, I know, there have been some, ‘Will Someone Ever Really Love Me?’ ugly cry moments. I want you to know if you just hang in there, you’re going to meet this guy who was put on this earth to
Leave it to a bunch of chickens to teach me a lesson. About gratitude. About what is enough. About what makes a party. Yes, I did say, “chickens.” As in the 7 crazy chickens I have living in our backyard. Got my first chickens about four years ago, the day before my first date with my now husband. That was one lucky week. Lets get right to it. Folks always want to know do we get fresh eggs? Sure do.
My friend called this week to explain something I’d never considered. Great friendship comes down to a stack of pancakes. Her sweet call was apparently prompted by a visit with another friend of hers. A friend who has just filed for divorce. “Being there for her reminded me how you were there for me,” my friend said in a voicemail that I know I will keep for a long time. “How years ago you were there for me during my
Too many days. Too many days, that awful, despicable, rude, ruthless bully called, “cancer” has knocked on the door of those I love. That day in high school when it took the life of my best friend, Cyndi’s, mother. That day just out of college when my roommate, Sandra’s, mother was diagnosed. Doctors gave her less than a year. She got the rare last laugh and lived 10 more. That day in ’97 when it was my other roommate, Heidi’s
Get my friend, Claire, on the phone right now! We need to have lunch. Like now. I got some ‘splainin’ to do to my friend who happens to be about 15 years younger than I am. The urgent need popped up when I got an email from her earlier this week. Seems sweet Claire is tired of watching what seems like all of her friends getting married and having babies. Oh, how I remember those days, which for me turned
Is it possible to be rude, bored and fired up all at the same time? I’m thinking, “You, bet!” as I look the latest “100 Most Powerful Women” list from Forbes Magazine. Rude, in the sense that I’m ready to tell this highly respected business magazine what I think of their list. And I’m not thinking “Yeah, Baby! You hit it!” Bored, as in the sense, that I have time to do such web surfing because I’m stuck at home
It’s the looming question waiting for every woman at the bottom of a plastic bottle. The answer you give that informs the world information about you without your saying a word. What do you believe? What is beauty? And so, Dear Woman, I know you’ve asked yourself. Will you or won’t you? Do you or don’t you? When that time comes, do you— Reach for the bottle? Bottle, as in plastic. Bottle as in— Do you choose to color your
My daughter just might be ready to call the authorities. Yes, it’s possible she might turn me in. Indeed, I must face the facts. The evidence. The now undeniable truth—I’m unequipped to be a parent to a teenager. Unequipped as in technically unequipped. Technically, as in technology. Technology as in, Dear Reader, how do you parent a teen when you have no practical life experience with the technology that steers, informs, controls, and inspires a teen brain? Truth is, this
“We have a crisis going on here.” Those are not exactly the words you want to hear from your daughter when you’re calling home from the other side of the country. “I’ve only been gone a few hours. What could possibly have gone wrong?” I asked with a jillion scenarios racing through my mind. “Daddy can’t find his keys,” my daughter explained. “Oh,” was all I could say, at first simultaneously giving thanks that that was all it was, and
He has no business loving me. The very idea of me could easily inspire a Bitter Party For One. I wouldn’t even blame him. I am not an answer to his prayers. And yet… Here we are at Mother’s Day. I’m the one being celebrated. I’m the one who gets the joy, privilege, and honor of raising his only grandchild. And yet…. The man we call, “Pops,” has experienced more loss than one person should bare: his first wife
