Smile-breaks
The OBC
She called me in the afternoon, all excited. Wanted to run something by me. Could we meet for lunch? Of course! I'm always up for a lunch. "Dessert, too?" The answer was yes, so I agreed to meet, day after next.
Two days later we had lunch and chatted about all kinds of stuff until I was about ready to burst—the curiosity was killing me. I asked Betsy what this was all about. She told me her idea and asked what I thought of it.
"Sounds great! Who wouldn't want to join an Old Biddies Club?" You know the saying, "If you organize it, old biddies will come." Or something like that. I told her I was a hundred percent in.
She wanted to see what her sister thought before launching our exclusive OBC. Betsy's really close with her sister. Since Trudy was out of town, we had to wait a few days but when she got back she approved her sister's idea one hundred percent! Old biddies tend to think alike. . .
We agreed with Betsy's guiding principle that the OBC wasn't a club to commiserate being old biddies. What's to commiserate? And it wasn't a support group. The OBC was a club to go out and wreak havoc on the world! Or, you might say, a club to have as much fun as you can with a bunch of old biddies.
We met with a bunch of old biddy friends at Betsy's house to set up the club. The meeting was a sweet success, as we sat around eating lemon bars and cookies and drinking potent coffee and ladylike tea. We plotted dangerous escapades like going to the movies in Rancho San Diego, having brunch at Sycuan Resort and going for walks on the beach. Everyone showed up—except Lucy, who forgot where we were meeting, but she showed up later, just as we were getting up to leave. Of course we sat back down and helped ourselves to more lemon bars and tea while we told her what she'd missed.
We meet regularly now, once a month on Mondays, except when we meet on Thursdays—if it isn't raining or snowing. We meet at Starbucks. No one likes Starbucks coffee but it's a good place to meet. Everyone knows where it is.
When we arrive for our first Monday meeting, we commandeer a table and wait for Alice and Liz and Sharon. They said they'd be here—but they aren't.
We call Alice. "Oh! I forgot we were meeting today. I thought it was Thursday. Can you wait for me?"
We call Liz. Liz has been driving around the parking lot for the last ten minutes, trying to find a spot. Since there are plenty of empty places we're a bit puzzled. it turns out she's at the wrong Starbucks, clear across town. We tell her where we are and she says she'll be here in five. Whaat??? She'll never make it in five. Fifteen. Maybe…
Sharon? Sharon forgot to tell us her daughter was coming from L.A. this week and she wouldn't be able to make it.
We don't have an agenda. We just sip or don't sip our Starbucks drinks and talk about memory meds and digestive pills and tuna fish and grandkids and travels. We talk about old boyfriends and new boyfriends—well, those are in short supply, so that conversation goes bust. We swap ideas for an adventure for this month. "But no sky-diving!" Lucy says.
I have to admit—I never in this world thought I would one day belong to an exclusive OBC. Life is full of wondrous surprises, if you wait long enough.
