Loree Sandler
Friendsgiving might smack of a modern (Hallmark?) holiday, but friendship plus giving is timeless. In this difficult year of relationships gone awry, I’m more grateful than ever for the keepers.
We first went to Oostburg, Wisconsin, in 2005, to celebrate Lisa’s 45th. Six moms, two vans, one long weekend. Lisa told us how she chose us, but I don’t recall. And really, it didn’t much matter. We cooked, read, practiced yoga on the beach. We hired a masseuse, but only 30-minutes apiece.
Minus Covid summer, plus a trial winter, next year will mark our 20th.
Mostly we hang at the house. But once we picked strawberries, once we toured Kohler, once we hiked in a mosquito-filled forest. Once we tried Zumba, once we saw “Bridesmaids,” and once I forced everyone to a museum.
In turn, they forced me to play pickle.
Canasta, margaritas, Trader Joe’s Chocolate Covered Sea Salt Butterscotch Caramels - to each her own. Some of us run, some of us run- walk, and one of us (ahem) only walks. One of us dozes at the end of the day, and none of us(?) sleep through the night.
We tweak the menu, but never mess with breakfast: plain yogurt, vanilla yogurt, fresh fruit, cottage cheese. With Jackie’s granola, it sings.
As sommelier, Jenny pours glasses for all, but less than an inch for me. It’s what I prefer, and it leaves me more room to be first for seconds on food. Once-a-trip we abandon our sweatpants to dine at Stefano’s, in Sheboygan.
WIFI’s gone from iffy to reliable, but scheduling moved in reverse. Six moms (two soon-to-be grandmas!), several SUVs, and only one overlapping night.
Fortunately, back home there’s more time together - to host showers, plan shivas, walk my dog - in a pack. We (almost) never miss a birthday, though we (almost) always celebrate after-the-fact. The big ones, with zeros, garner gifts.
“I’m supposed to ask what you want,” said Jackie, because they know I’m awful to shop for.
“Jewelry from Stacy?” I suggested.
Stacy has no website. She’s kind of a hermit. I had to track her down myself.
“Wear them around,” she said, “see how they feel,” when she dropped a few off at my house.
I model the necklaces on FaceTime for my mom. “The big stones are more of a statement, but I’d wear the beaded one more.”
“Maybe they’ll get you both,” she suggests.
“Both is more than we spend,” I reply. “But not by a lot,” I add.
When we finally meet for dinner, I confess to my friends that I can’t decide which I prefer.
“Keep both,” they say, these generous women, who have loved me a third of my life.
At a play the next week, an actress proclaims, “Great necklace!” in front of the crowd.
“It’s new,” I admit, hand-to-beads, before taking the slightest of bows.
And then at a wedding, dolled up in the stones, guests crossed the room for a view.
I’m nothing but grateful, but it has now become clear: my friends have potentially forced me into a pickle. If we Friendsgiving once, do I wear beads? Or stones?
