Kaya

We all have friends who are special to us for a discrete amount of time. There are the temporary ones, like the friend you make on the airplane ride home from vacation. Or the friend you make in line at the movies. Then there are the longer term ones, like the friends you make during a summer job or even at your regular job that never really make it out of the work place. But if you're extremely lucky, you've got those friends:  the ones with whom you make a soul connection, the ones with whom you share a level of trust and care that simply transcends time. I have been lucky in this world and I can count those people on one hand. Amongst them is Kaya.

I met Kaya when she was called Sherry. We bonded as girls often do, over the shared dislike of her then roommate. For months we swapped stories of how horrendous living with that girl was. For example, when Kaya had the stomach flu, her roommate heated and ate tuna casserole in their bedroom. It was then that Kaya coined the phrase, "socially stupid." It was perfect for that roommate, and like a sign I hand out à la Bill Engvall, I've dubbed lots of people socially stupid since (including myself on occasion).

It was Kaya who got me through my first big break-up. And even then she had the wisdom to give me permission to patch things up with him if I wanted to. Somehow, her telling me that gave me the resolve to let him go for good. Best move of my life, btw.

After Kaya graduated from UW, I worried that I'd never see her again. So heart broken that my friend was leaving my geography, I helped carry her boxes out to her dad's car just to steal a few more moments with her. But as she was leaving she turned to me and said that I was one of her forever friends. That I couldn't get rid of her if I tried. That was exactly the right thing to say to me.

She has a real gift for that, being able to say exactly the right thing. Words are her superpower.

For years I was amongst the lucky people who got Kaya's Xerox letters. For those not in the know, they were pieces of paper upon which she had written, drew, and mused about her life. Each square inch of the sheet was covered with her loopy print -- which changed a little when she became a teacher -- much more teachery. I loved getting those and at some point realized that I needed to keep them. I've got a stack of them somewhere. As much as I loved getting them, I loved even more finding the ones where she wrote on the back or included another sheet, just for me. Those were the treasures.

When my father died, I can't believe it has been almost 10 years now, I was in such a deep dark place. I spoke to Kaya shortly before the funeral and her words gave me my first moment of laughter -- so much that I kept reminding myself of them, telling my grieving family them, just to keep putting that salve of laughter on our broken hearts. She said that she imagines that heaven and earth are a lot like visiting a third world country and the United States. That you're living in the US and you think that maybe you'd like to visit a third world country just to see what it's like, just for the experience. You go there and the living is hard. There's no running water and you have to wipe your ass with your bare hand. Then you make it back to the US and you're relieved because there's running water and you DON'T have to wipe your ass with your hand. So Dad was in heaven, he did his time on earth -- learned a lot, loved a lot -- and now he's back in heaven. And he's just so lucky because he doesn't have to wipe his ass with his hand.

Kaya's gift with words, love of adventure, & varied professions all came together at some point with her first manuscript. She sent it to me printed on paper and via the US mail. *gasp* That's how we got it done in the olden days. I devoured that thing and made my notes. I boast to anyone who will listen that I'm in the acknowledgements of Kaya's books. I recently came across that first edition Church of the Dog, and in the inscription she wrote me it said, "Dearest Tess, Thanks for helping this not be a pile of crap. Love, Kaya" One of my proudest moments helping her in this process was finally ovary-ing up and telling her that I disliked one of the characters in one of her manuscripts. I was so worried that I couldn't muster enough tact to tell her about it gently, especially since I've struggled with being tactless all of my life. She accepted what I said with so much grace. And even acknowledged how tricky a position I was in to tell her that.

Kaya's always been the person I call when I truly need centering.  I know that she'll always listen and not judge me too harshly. She's also one of my biggest cheer leaders. To have someone like her be one of my cheer leaders makes me feel beyond worthy, even when I sometimes don't believe her. This woman has seen me figuratively and literally naked and still calls me beautiful. That she still calls me for counsel and support makes me want to be the best version of myself.

Today is her birthday. I suppose the right thing to do is thank her parents for making her and thank the UW for making me her neighbor. Heck, I'll even thank her roommate for being such a jerk. My life is richer and better because I have her in it.

I love you, my soul sister.

Bewbs

Yesterday was a beach day at a quiet closed gate community beach of which we are members. Really, that sounds snootier than it really is. When we first bought into the community, there used to be a logging gate at the front. Now the community sports a fancy automatic gate with a lighted keypad. Much cooler but still, not a pretentious gilded gate.

All it really means is that when we are there, usually there isn't anybody else there. Increasingly agoraphobic in my old age, I can't stand fourth of July's crowds and noise. Give me a sunny beach with nobody else for miles. Perfect.

Last fourth of July, we were the only humans we saw all day. It was heaven. Yesterday towards the end of our stay, we shared the beach with a bunch of 20 somethings who only came as sunset approached. The family in the neighboring house came by with two young boys around 8 or 9 years old and settled in to watch the 20 somethings burn their enormous pile of fireworks.

My girls were playing in the remnants of sunshine while Hubby and I sat in our beach chairs reading our books.

The 20 somethings were all having a bunch of fun -- whiskey and beer were being bandied about. The neighboring family was preparing a pitcher of mojitos to share. It was getting pretty festive.

I'm only telling you all of this so you can imagine the scene.

I turned around to see a 20 something girl wearing a string bikini chatting with one of the 20 something boys. One of the neighbor boys was turned in his chair away from the fireworks being shot over the water so he could stare right at her. That's when I realized that she was having a wardrobe malfunction ala Janet Jackson... well, more of a peeking nipple. In my surprise I turned to tell my husband that there was a wardrobe malfunction only to find that he'd already located the offending nipple himself.

He said, "I wasn't sure if I was seeing it right but then that boy seemed to be looking in the same place so I figured I was right."

Dirty old man.

I actually was going to walk over there and tell her if her boyfriend didn't manage to notice himself. Good on him, he did. I think the huge clue would have been the 9 year old boy sitting not 5 feet in front of her staring at her chest. Or the 44 year old dude sitting 20 feet away trying not to look like he's staring at her chest but still staring at her chest.

How early does that whole horndog thing start? And does it really ever end? Early and apparently not.