It’s not every day your best friend turns 70. And it’s certainly not every day you get to say, “I’ve known this woman for 68 of those years.” That’s right, sixty-eight years. We’ve been best friends longer than some countries have existed. Honestly, I’m not saying we’re old… but if we were a bottle of wine, we’d be very expensive and require a special corkscrew.
Let me tell you about this woman I’ve had the honor of calling my dear friend. My sidekick, co-conspirator, and Maid of Honor (more than once, but let’s not get into the details ) she’s been there through it all. At times, she’s been the only person who knew what I was thinking before I even said it. I have four biological sisters, but it’s this sister of two brothers that I chose as my heart friend.
We met in the dawn of time when poodle skirts were fashionable and nobody had heard of gluten-free anything. Somehow, through childhood chaos, teenage angst, marriages, moves, careers, families, heartbreak, and more laughter than I can measure, we stayed hand in hand.
One of my favorite chapters of our lives together was set among the vineyards of our youth. There we were, two teenage girls, riding our bikes down dusty country roads, hair in the wind, pedal-powered freedom in our hearts, sharing secrets like they were currency. If someone had stopped us and asked what we were talking about so intently, we probably would’ve said something deep and poetic like, “Do you think Glen Campbell would marry either of us if we could play guitar really well?”
Playing the guitar really well (or any other instrument) is her God-given talent. Never depending on sheet music, she can pick up any instrument and play it. For decades, she sang. She danced. Eventually, she had a following on Friday and Saturday night as she crooned Anne Murray songs with her backup band. The band members were all adults and had added her as their singer. It was SHE everyone in town came to see at Fresno’s own Hacienda Inn.
Which brings me to another treasured memory — the guitar lessons. Not in a classroom. No sheet music. Just two girls, a lot of determination, sore fingertips, and a well-worn LP of Glen Campbell songs. She taught me how to strum, to laugh at wrong notes, and to believe that music could stitch up the parts of your heart that life occasionally scuffs up.
We’ve been through it all, from weddings (did I mention she’s really good at delivering Maid of Honor speeches?), to labor, delivery, and child-rearing, ridiculous fashion phases like hot pants (there are photos, and yes, they’re safe for now), and now this wild, wonderful phase of life they call “golden.” Which, let’s be honest, is a lovely euphemism for we can say whatever we want, and people find it charming.
At 70, she’s still the same fierce, funny, big-hearted, slightly stubborn, always-wiser-than-me woman I’ve known forever. And even though we stopped riding bikes decades ago, the conversations are still deep, silly, and full of love.
To my girlfriend of nearly seven decades, thank you for being my REAL sister. Thank you for the memories, the music, the laughter, the honesty, and the endless support. Here’s to the next chapter. May it include more Glen Campbell sing-alongs, soft sunsets, spontaneous giggle fits, and maybe a few bike rides… even if they’re three-wheelers now.
Happy 70th, my beautiful friend. You’re aging like the finest grapes we passed on our bikes, only with better stories and much better taste. When rocks foil your plans, you’ll figure out a way to get free, just as in the children’s book you wrote. Have the best day ever!!!!
Love always,
Your lifelong partner-in-crime,
Joy
