Yes, friends are necessary for a happy life. Without fail.
I’ve talked about Vera and Mr. Vera in this forum. Vera taught Jack how to knit. Mr. Vera and Jack regularly cycle through the sort-of-rolling hills of Illinois. And Mr. Vera, another hospital administrator, understands the stress of the job and without me even saying one word, presented me with this:
Friends buy friends excellent Chardonnay. Without fail.
So this weekend, we had the lens through which we view life adjusted to reflect a more colorful, joyful existence. To be blatantly honest, things have rather, well, sucked lately. I knew I had a leadership retreat coming up Thursday and Friday of this past week and took the opportunity to book Jack and I back up at the beach house for the weekend. Why not?
It changed me. Maybe I needed it to change me.
I’ll start with the retreat. I went into the retreat, Wednesday night, with a sense of nostalgia, as it was our last retreat in the actual convent. I’ve had the same room for the last six retreats and it’s felt like “my” room. With every action- unpacking, studying theology at the desk, blow drying my hair, packing up to go home, I had a sense that it was my last time in the convent. As I padded down the convent hallway, at 6 a.m., in my socks, t-shirt, and gym shorts, past the adoration chapel, on my way to the coffee the Sisters lovingly placed there out of hospitality, the thought struck me, “wow, I feel at home here.” It’s a weird concept for a married woman in the secular world to feel at home in a convent.
But that’s a core facet of Franciscan hospitality. To make all people feel at home and at ease. It worked on me. If you ever have the chance, take a retreat with the Franciscans. After a grand total of 14 days in a Franciscan convent, I felt as though I didn’t want to leave.
The retreat itself was wonderful. Guest professors peppered us with upper level Franciscan theology that attempted to explain the substance of Trinitarian, Christocentric philosophy. Boiled down, that means that Christ came to earth because God loves us, not because we screwed up and introduced the concept of sin. The whole premise of Franciscan theology is that God loves us. Focus on the positive, joyful aspects of life instead. Rather that spotlighting one mistake, focus on the 378 good things that occurred.
Oddly, that Franciscan theology freed me…to see the sunshine instead of the clouds, the excitement rather than the fear, the experience rather than the time I-should-be-working-diligently-on-work-or-homework. As soon as you let go of the darkness, the light takes over, blinding all the dark places…
…Without fail…
So Year One of the Franciscan Leadership program is complete. I still look around the room and wonder how I was chosen for the program. I have so far to go, so much to learn.
I’m a Franciscan now. For reals.
So after the retreat, I turned my XM radio to station 67. Have you discovered station 67 yet? It is THE BEST jazz on the planet and after a long, tedious day, I flip to 67 and immediately feel my blood pressure drop by 20%. Jazz has that strange effect on Jack and I both- it’s like audio Xanax.
I took the audio Xanax and drove up to The Beach House (yes, it deserves capital letters). The Beach House draws me like a magnet, through the static and minutia of this life, to something Greater.
Anyway, we met this wonderful woman, Alex, in June at the beach house.
[What? I haven’t told you about the beach house? Sorry about that. Will do, even if it’s 7 months later! For the record, our lives were changed with a 10 day retreat on Lake Michigan at The Beach House in June of this year. Details to come, I guess!]
Alex is one of those high-on-life people. It’s all sunshine and daisies for Alex. Except when her mom passed away and she couldn’t gut through it. I met her three weeks later, during our beach vacation.
In June, we rented The Beach House, not really sure of what would transpire that week. As it happened, Vera and Mr. Vera came up for four days to visit and cook for us (insert evil laughter here). After they left, *I* was depressed. Our friends were gone. Sigh. Sitting on the stunning beach, looking dejected over a book I pretended to read, Alex found me. She had two golden labs running circles around her, daring her to throw the tennis ball. Ball! Ball! Ball! Ball! Ball! She handed me a frozen drink and told me it really cannot be that bad. Then she dashed into Lake Michigan, dogs following her, and challenged me to take the plunge.
I followed her. She was hilarious. Depressed, yet hilarious. We talked for at least twelve hours over the next few days and bared our souls. In fact, after Jack and I got back into our routine after vacation, I thought of calling Alex to say hi. I never did, but the thought never left my mind.
So that’s why, after the retreat on Friday, I found myself automatically driving toward Alex’s house, just to see if she was in. Was there a chance she at the beach with our two adopted doggies?
As I crested the lake shore, I caught a view of the two yellow labs on the beach, frolicking in the waves.
Throwing my suit coat behind in my car, I ran down the 35 stairs to the beach, barefoot, in my suit pants and shell, to see them. When I got there, Alex exclaimed, “Dorrie?! Is that you?! I don’t recognize you with make-up on, your hair done, and without a bathing suit on!” She hugged me and told me, “man, I wanted to call you and see how things are going for you! How are you!?”
THAT’s what friends are. They don’t recognize you in dress clothes and make-up and ONLY recognize you in your baseball cap and swimsuit.
Alex is great. Her dogs, Maggie and Kelly, are phenomenal. I threw a tennis ball AT LEAST 389 times into Lake Michigan for Maggie to fetch. She always deposited the ball at my feet. Such loyalty. Without fail.
This is Maggie, coming in from the 248th fetch from the Lake:
I spent a couple hours with Alex and the pups. When the sun started to dip below the horizon, I knew I had to go meet Jack at the house, where he would be arriving any second. As it was, when I arrived back, coated in sand, happy, and high on life, he had the bikes locked up and groceries stashed way. What a good man.
The next morning, we went for a long bike ride on the hilly Lake Michigan coast. Resting before New Buffalo harbor, my work friend Mary texted me and said, “We’re at Round Barn Winery. Are you nearby?” Of COURSE we’re nearby! Do you not know me!? After finishing our ride, we met Mary and her hubby at Round Barn for a couple hours. It was divine- there are few things better than some 70’s rock, some wine, and some good friendship. Without fail!
After some great fellowship and memory-creating, we headed for The Beach House. Our home on Lake Michigan. Of course, our neighbors, Alex, Maggie, and Kelly were out, ready to play. Alex, handing me a Corona Light and heading out into Lake Michigan, challenged me to follow her. Thinking the water would be 39 degrees, I braced for a “polar swim” entry into the lake. Weirdly, the water was at least 75, warm in the sunshine bathing the beach. In Michigan, the 55 degree nights smell of burning leaves, campfires, and s’mores; it was just weird that we were swimming in Lake Michigan and not freezing our butts off in mid-September!
[At that, my brain wondered why we spent thousands going to Anna Maria Island when Lake Michigan was one hour’s drive away from home- and they looked THE SAME!]
See?
Anna Maria Island:
Lake Michigan:
Regardless, I had the best weekend ever. It recharged me. The last convent retreat taught me to truly focus on the positive. Then I went to the beach only to find Alex and the pups, right where I left them in June. Then we met work friends at a winery, despite all the crap from work and living in a barely-surviving hospital scene, and had a great time reminiscing over Michigan wine. Jack and I bonded, oblivious to the stress of life. Then we went back to the beach and resumed where we left off last June, in Lake Michigan, while hatching plans to open a bed and breakfast that Eric Clapton would frequent.
Top it off with a Notre Dame win, plans to return to The Beach House next year, and plenty of jazz—and we know we’re going to make it.
Life is good.
Without fail.
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