I have a group of high school friends that have sort of found our way into a group chat discussion on my private page. We aren’t discussing anything we don’t want anyone else to see. We just want to be able to reach each other faster with the same information. Much like we did when several of us hung out together when we were in the same high school. We “get” each other. We KNOW where we’ve all been…at least in our formative years. We share tears over lost loved ones as freely as we share recipes for hot dog sauce and pics of our grandkids. We are a tribe…a zany crew of grand and glorious women from the class of ’71.

I’m a rabble rouser. I rouse rabbles. I will help these women become girls again because I have seen firsthand how that can transform us. When I get settled at the farm, before the frost is on the pumpkin, I am having a glamping party for my gal pals. We will dance in the moonlight! We will eat decadent foods. We will bond and swear oaths to always be there for one another and that none of us will die alone. We will laugh and cry and sing old songs with memories of driving with the windows open, hair flying, cherry lips laughing with abandon.

Yes, I am going home to my tribe…wild, wacky, wise, wonderful women whose love I cherish deep within my soul. I’m a step closer. I got an offer on the house yesterday. (I am almost afraid to say anything for fear of jinxing it!) It was low, as first offers usually are. I countered. They expressed interest in buying my furniture. That would solve a big problem. Everything is happening as it should. One block at a time. One step after another. Very spiritual. Very Zen. Then I took my St. Joseph statue out of the ground, looked at his little dirty face and yelled…”Come on…we’re burning daylight here! Sell this house, will ya?!?!” Mother Theresa I am not. <3