(*Names have been changed to protect...ummm. me.)
​
The sun warmed my back as I hiked down the mountain, and I was glad for the “borrowed time” of another mild, late autumn day.  I might have started the hike in a sweatshirt, but somewhere along the way, I had left it on a post or a branch to pick up on the way home. 
 
As I passed *Martha’s house, she came out on the porch to chat a bit.  Her husband died some time back-was it a year? Two years? I had lost track, but I knew she hadn’t.  I suspected her life at the foot of the mountain was a little bit lonely.  Recently, I had noticed that her smile didn’t seem to quite reach her eyes.

“Aren’t you cold?” she queried, shaking her head. She was bundled in her heaviest sweatshirt, hood up, and still shivering.  

​“Nope,” I grinned at her. “It’s really mild out here.”  She shook her head again and proceeded to fill her bird feeders.  We exchanged a few comments as she worked, then I continued on my way, past her house and…stopped abruptly as a pair of pigs, not fully grown but bigger than I could have carried, came hustling across the yard.Oh dear. 

I called back to her, “*Samuel and *Rebecca’s pigs are out!!” and she joined me as we surveyed the scene.  I tried to wave the wanderers back toward the general area where they belonged, whereupon they split up and ran east AND west; at that point we noticed the mama pig was also ranging around the neighborhood.

As I rushed up the steps to summon Rebecca, I could hear Martha grumbling, “They’re not home.  I’m pretty sure they’re not home.”  Neighbors keep an eye on each here, and Martha usually noticed when the family beside her headed down the lane in their carriage. She was right, no one answered my knock.  And so, the fun began. 
​
We soon discovered that the gate to the pasture was unlatched. “Probably that little *Sam left it open, Martha lamented. “He’s always in there.”  By now a dozen or so chickens had joined the escapades.  We ignored the chickens and focused our efforts on corralling the pigs…which if you have ever tried, you know is a daunting prospect because pigs are not a herd animal.  

The little pigs dashed around the various and sundry outbuildings, often in opposite directions.  I circled a number of those buildings more than once!  The horse, watching our antics through the open half door of his shed, snorted and fussed.  (Or maybe he was laughing.) 

We developed a system in which I would get the pig headed in the direction of the pasture gate and Martha would open the gate and shoo it through with perhaps some help from the red plastic baseball bat she had picked up along the way.  It took a while, but eventually we had contained the two young ones back in their proper territory.

​By this time, I was puffing, and sweating and laughing pretty hard. Martha was just shaking her head.  And then we looked around for their mama. 

Whatever else they are, pigs are not stupid, and she had obviously surveyed our efforts to round up her youngsters and decided this was her opportunity to make a run for it.  Pigs are faster than you might think. Or at least this one was.

​  She was waaaay out beyond Martha’s garage in a huge open area, beyond the line fence between the properties, and she was not showing any interest in heading back our direction.  

The Breakfast Club has been convening regularly over the past months, fourth Thursday at our (only) local coffee shop which I might have to advertise here because it is just such a lovely little spot.  This week was extra special because Cathy had checked in ahead of time to be sure we were going to be there...she wanted to try to bring Janet whom we hadn't seen in months...

Actually Janet's most recent Breakfast Club visit was the last one I chronicled here, the morning we all, without knowing it, said our last goodbyes to Libby.  It's been a difficult nine months for Janet; she is the third woman around the table to be staring down cancer every single day. I've heard she won't be taking another round of chemo, but she doesn't mention it today.  

Janet is thin and gaunt, but proudly points out that she has in fact eaten all of her breakfast, something that has been difficult lately.  "Maybe it's because I just took my time about it," she comments to her friend Cathy. (Or maybe it's because the fellowship around this table has distracted her mind from the bitterness of life, taken the edge off,  just for a few moments.)  Her recent chemo has devastated much more than her taste buds.  She looks pert and sweet in her black beret and sweater, but she mostly just listens.   Her energy has been completely depleted just getting here.  Without saying a word, I know we all share the question -  will we be facing another empty chair next month?  

Currently Janet is in the process of  cleaning out the cute little Cape Cod house she shares with her daughter,they're heading for a condo her son owns. When someone asks her what's keeping her busy, she talks about getting rid of stuff, a job that seems endless in her ever weakening condition.  "What did I want with all this stuff," she muses. There are murmurs of assent around the table. We all seem to understand the dilemma she feels, but I think she feels it more intensely.  She'll be moving soon, but maybe not to the condo.  

We chat about grandchildren and books we are reading or need to read.  Nora has been quieter than usual today, but she perks up when I tell her a new book has come out in the Mitford series we all read a few years back.  She declares enthusiastically, "We'll have to read that!"…and I make a mental note to call the bookstore and order "us" a copy.  We commiserate with Belle's car trouble, and the laughter rings out as we agree that all manner of leaks develop over time, and not just in our vehicles.  Libby would've loved that moment.  

The conversation returns to stuff management. "If there was one thing I would say to younger women," continues Nora, "it would be: 'Don't collect things.'"  I make a mental note of this wise word, and store it away:



Nora continues, wondering aloud, "Why did I ever start?  Now it's all just a bother to me." Janet nods in agreement.  I think about "The Museum" room at Hickory Lane, (and the attic and the basement and that terrible chaos of stuff above the garage) and I wonder if I should make a big wall motto of this insight so that I can absorb the truth of it into my own life.  Don't collect things.  

Don't. collect. things.  

Just don't. 

The group begins to disperse.  This one has a car appointment at the garage -a  leak, (remember?), and Janet is too weary to stay any longer.  I watch as Cathy gently helps Janet across the room and out the door.  "I'll take you for a drive to see the place where all those dahlias are blooming," she says as they head out the door. They are holding hands, and it almost breaks my heart to see how tenderly Cathy guides her to the waiting car.  They used to work hard together, side by side, but those days are fading memories. Still, Cathy persists. She is a faithful friend even in this darkest stretch of Janet's journey.  

And I know that Nora will call Belle when she has to make another "out-patient procedure" visit in the near future.  Of course, they check in every evening, these two who have crafted a lovely friendship in the decades since Libby first introduced them.  Their shared loss has only deepened the bond.   

I am learning so much from these remarkable, ordinary Women of the (Breakfast) Club. They are quietly modeling the polar opposite of "Collecting Things."  They value people, and invest in friendships in ways that make a facebook "like" seem like a smudge on the screen.   

There are goodbyes all around, and "see-you-next-month" waves…"If I'm still around," Janet murmurs softly.  I swallow, wondering how we will bear another loss "so soon;" but isn't it always too soon to say another goodbye? 

But for today, 
there is still time.  

To invest in relationships.  
To send a card.  
To stop at the bookstore and order "our" book.  
To linger a bit longer over coffee...

It is only Nora and I left, and is it my imagination, or are we both reluctant to leave?  We pause over our table clearing job, and I mention that Youngest Mystery was baptized last weekend.  She smiles gently, and muses over the memory of her own baptism over seventy-five years ago.  "I'm not in a rush to leave," I tell her. We settle in and she begins telling me her story...


"I'm learning," I think to myself, "I'm learning!"   

Don't collect things.  

Invest in friendship.  

When friends gather, gather friends.  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Hummin'B

I was up later than usual on Thursday night because my friend was on the way, and it was no ordinary friend for whom I waited.  I often tease Audrey by saying she is my oldest friend, although she is actually one month (exactly!) younger than I am.  More accurately, the friendship we share is my oldest friendship, since we've never not known each other, except for that first clueless month of my life. Our mothers were sisters, so that makes us cousins.  I've seen cousins defined as "childhood playmates who grow up to be forever friends," and I think that's true in our case. 


So, I was waiting and thinking about our friendship.  We're a lot alike, and we know why.  It's the Mellinger genes.  We understand that tears will come easily for reasons that may not be apparent to others;  we agree that we don't understand what went down between our moms decades ago, in effect permanently stifling their relationship, and we aren't going to perpetuate it. We have a huge backlog of information about each other that is just a given, which cuts out a lot of long explanations when we're sorting through current "stuff" together.  We graduated from high school together.  We both love music, but she's the musician, and we both love flowers, but I am the gardener. We're both married to men in positions of  long term ministry in the evangelical world which has brought us all manner of joy and headache, (not necessarily in that order.)  We both gave birth to two biological sons whom we homeschooled, and we are both currently in the throes of figuring out what it means to be The Mother-In-Law two times over. (We really want to "get it right," but so far we're sort of floundering along the best we can.)  

And, we both have some issues with directions, probably me more than her.  Probably.  Although, as I sat and waited for her on Thursday night, I had to wonder.  She was coming to my extremely rural home from a distant town, relying completely on the accuracy of her phone gps.  I knew  she utterly trusted it, because I've been with her before in similar situations, and as long as she knows where she is in terms of the little green dot, she's good. Similar situations, I say, but nothing as remote as where I live, which I wasn't sure she understood, living as she does on Long Island, New York.  So, when I got a text message at  12:10am that read,

I just couldn't believe she was here, and I couldn't believe how excited I felt about our coming "girls day out." I could hardly get to sleep. 

So, we spent most of the day together Friday, and what did we do?  

We sat and talked over coffee at the kitchen table. For a long time.  

We wandered around the property, and she was graciously delighted to see my garden, which is simultaneously my happy place and the biggest pile of work I've ever undertaken..especially this memorable back-surgery-for-the-hubby summer.  She ooh-ed and ahh-ed and took pictures and blessed me with her enthusiasm.  

We tried to get some pictures of the two of us together, but one of us usually had our eyes closed, hands waving or mouth open, talking; this one was the best, taken in sun and shadow by the water garden, the first picture we took!