Through These Eyes

green and brown.
wrinkles and laugh lines now.
laugh lines.
laughter.

Laughter so deep your abdominals ache already from your tomorrow's turns and twists.
Laughter so rich your eyes weep trickling streams down the sides of your face.

laughter genuine.
real.
down to earth good times.

I think there is something to be said for the left hander. I, myself, being one am proud as punch to be a southpaw. I love the quirkiness of my crook'd hand whilst I write as well as I shift in stature so to contort "my person" as opposed to the paper before me.

And it seems the left handers suit me too. Like we southpaws gravitate to one another on an entirely deeper level for some reason or another.

For example:

I married a lefty.
My best friend is a lefty.
I have 2 very dear friends who are lefties.
Our babysitter is a lefty.
Our A/C repair man is a lefty.

Alas, you get the drift. And wouldn't you know it, this sweet thing is a lefty too. We have shared so much with one another along life's way. Connected at the hip we were such a long time ago. Yet, out of no where, our hourglasses each turned upside down inadvertently leaving us out of sync for such a big chunk of time. You see, she and I...

Well, Stella tells it better. Here have a listen:


That's right.
A reunion was well overdue and very much in order.
Planned and on the ready, we are back and my abdominals are murmuring swear words at me from this very visit.
Cuss all you want, lovies; I wouldn't have it any other way. Stella brings a brightness to your life that makes you even happier than you already were in your own skin if that makes any sense. Our day was divine to say the least. Stella, being quite the planner that she is, had us all Eddie Ross'd up for a quaint lunch complete with her grandmother's vintage linen napkins and placemats, bamboo plates, and a menu too die for compliments of a Stella-Meg tag team bake-n-bring. For my unbelievable foodie that I follow, lunch was as follows:
homemade chicken salad (Meghan)
fresh cherries (Stella)
homemade spinach bacon pinwheels (Meghan)
potato salad (Stella)
homemade sugar cookies (Stella)
We scarfed our goodies right up in and amongst the onlookers watching us with tilted heads and furrowed brows perplexed as to why anyone would go to that much trouble to eat lunch in a park.
Did we care? Nope. Cause that's exactly how Stella and I roll and have rolled in years past. Details mean the world to us. There are several girls I know who would scoff at going to this much detail all to meet for lunch. And that's okay. But not Stella and me. This {the details, a meaningful and special presentation for our lunch together} means everything to us.
Cause meaning is where it's at. We giggled, sipped, shared and listened to each other tell tale of our last 6 1/2 years spent. Hours passed like minutes as we talked of heartaches, what-ifs, shootmestraights, and whaddayathinks.

And a candle was lit by each of us to represent a hopeful wish for our current selves. The small flicker of a flame was nothing more than a tiny representation of what each of us needed at that moment. Not a need that the other could fill, but a need to share and anticipate for the other.

At one point during our lunch, my candle blew out.
I looked down in panic with a yelp to Stella, "Ack! My wish! Oh no! What do you think this means?!"

To which Stella said nothing, but simply used her candle to re-ignite my flame.
And she did just that.

green and brown.
wrinkles and laugh lines now.
laugh lines.
laughter.

Laughter so deep your abdominals ache already from your tomorrow's turns and twists.
Laughter so rich your eyes weep trickling streams down the sides of your face.

laughter genuine.
real.
down to earth good times.

Through these eyes I see a forever friend. Perhaps you should visit Stella here and find out what she indeed sees. Tell her hello from me. I think she'd like that.

.mac :)