Saturday, February 18, 2012


Yes, this post was started on my birthday back in January. You're just going to have to take it as read that I apologize for my sloth. Pretty much that's my whole existence at the moment--I should just get up in the morning (ha!) and wear a sign that says, "I apologize for my sloth." 

But the sign I want to focus on is the one above. I went out to the mailbox on my birthday and started pulling out postcards. Multiple postcards. All plain white on the front, save for my address and message from various of my dear friends. Should I admit to how long it took me to figure out that on the back, the postcards were puzzle pieces? Something else we'll take as read: I am not that swift. However, I did finally figure it out and there was my birthday message from my loved and clever and thoughtful friend, Angie. (The two missing postcards showed up the next day.) 

It nearly--but not quite--made up for not being around my best friends on my birthday. As happy as I am in Boston and making new friends (hooray!), there are moments that remind me of those I miss so much. You can see some of them below (taken in Utah at Christmas--wouldn't you just love to have these women as your friends? I am so lucky!)

Ann Patchett wrote: "Here's my idea of real intimacy. It's not the person who calls to say, 'I'm having an affair'; it's the friend who calls to say, 'Why do I have four jars of pickles in my fridge?'"

Here's to pickles and postcards and, most of all, friends. 

I love you. 

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