Home Girls

“So do you want to be in my play? I’m putting on a Greek tragedy.” I won’t pretend to remember the exact wording my 11 year old self used to ask fellow 11 year old Lyn Jacobs to be in my play.

I wanted to be her friend. I liked the way she wore her blue jean overalls with confidence, how her long blond braids hung over her shoulders, how her face was open and kind.

I, on the other hand, was on the wrong side of another bad home perm, in my third year of braces(replete with nighttime head gear) and a training bra that was getting zero training.

Lyn and me. High school graduation

Lyn and me. High school graduation

“Sure,” she answered. She would be in my play. She liked me too.

Thirty two years later, Lyn is still one of my best friends.

As for that greek play, we memorized the complicated lines, I wore a sheet, she wore a pillow case, and the fire alarm went off as we were performing in front of the entire sixth grade.

We were forced to evacuate, outside, in our sheets, and that is where the tragedy became real. The eighth graders saw us. Nothing happened.  But they saw us. And when you’re 11 and still a child, and they’re 14, with their sprouting body parts and hair and deep voices and wild make out sessions next to your locker, your goal in life is to not be noticed by them. Wearing white sheets with only underwear beneath them is the opposite of not being noticed. The embarrassment for Lyn and me served as a sort of friendship cement.

In college, Lyn and I (because of course we went to the same college) met Heather and Danielle. Two became four. It was double the fun, double the fights (often over men), double the shoulders to cry on. Twenty one years beyond college, we are still a foursome.

Farm Day 2013

Farm Day

For one magical day every year, our families reunite on Lyn’s farm. We are a gaggle of husbands and kids and cows and horses and ostriches and crayfish and honeybees. And  in the few moments of quiet between the chaos, we catch up and debrief and counsel and encourage one another, scrambling to make up for lost time and years that fly too quickly by.

Together we have mourned the loss of parents, of marriages, of perfectly firm unlined skin.

We worry and wonder who our kids will grow up to be. We worry and wonder who we have grown up to be.

Our children are best buddies for one day every year

Our children are best buddies for one day every year

And we laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And no one can get in. The poor husbands are on the outside of this world — a place and a history that belongs solely to the four of us.

Back then we spent a lot of time figuring out who we were going to be, how it would all turn out. I guess I’m glad no one told me the truth, that  twenty five years later I’m still figuring out who I’m going to be and I still don’t know how it will all turn out. I just do it in a different shell — one in which the sleep wrinkles in my cheeks take hours to fade, in which I pay a mortgage and raise children and work a job and come home to waiting bills and magazines with my name on them. I have a list of accomplishments. I am pedigreed.



There are so many moving parts to my life that it is easy to forget that I once had none of it. I was a kid, and all I had to offer was myself. That and my rollerball lip gloss. And it was enough.

Three decades ago I wanted to be friends with the girl with the kind face and the blond braids. I knew it would make my life better to know her. I knew it would make me better. And it did. And it has. And it still is.

Posted in Off the Air Tagged with: , , ,
9 comments on “Home Girls
  1. Trudy Kremer says:

    A lovely post from a lovely lady. XOXOXO

  2. Erin says:

    As always great story! I can attest to the power of the friendship you all share. It is certainly a special bond!

  3. elizabeth godard says:

    ahhh it’s so wonderful to have such close friendships. I wanted to be friends with the really cool blond reporter that was just an amazing story teller.. and weirdly did..
    another great blog Jaye.. don’t worry so much about the wrinkles, it’s when the body you grew up in starts failing you that you really realize how long you’ve been around.. and how old you really are. I hope to god you don’t have to experience that for a very long time.
    I hope you have a farm day soon! it sounds like a blast.. well except for the husbands! lol

  4. Jill Becker says:

    True friends are a treasure…beautiful tribute ..well done as always…

  5. Erin M says:

    Wonderful story. You all look beautiful, healthy and happy.

  6. Dani D says:

    So blessed to be one of the 4. It was great seeing you but it makes me miss you more.


  7. Dan says:

    Great piece Jaye (?) …one more year and you would both be buying Bubble Yum at slightly marked up prices. Hope all is well – beautiful family. Dan

  8. Alice Whitehead says:

    Love your posts!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *