WALK the WALK

Don't judge a book by its cover. 

Judge not lest ye be judged.  

I am quite skilled at talking the talk. 

Walking the walk?  A challenge. 

 

I arrive at my friend's home. Five striking women are chatting beside an SUV. Stylish and perfectly coifed, they have dressed up their jeans by accenting them with scarves, jackets, heels, and, in one case, by choosing not to wear jeans. I am introduced. In our two-minute exchange, I recall a poll I have recently read: the silent majority of women admit to reaching an opinion on another woman in just 20 seconds- purely based on appearance. Nine in ten women are fully aware that other women are judging them, too. "It's obvious from the research that women put a lot of pressure on each other," the polling organization reported. 

Climbing into the car, I consider my wild hair and low-heeled boots. "Should have stayed home," I think. "I put enough pressure on myself."

An hour of car conversation confirms that my dinner dates have been friends for years. I listen, and reflect on my close friends; women I've known since childhood whose faces still reveal teenage beauty; colleagues-turned-family who celebrated promotions, weddings and childbirth; friends-turned-sisters who met on the Pre-K patio and supported each other through child-raising, 911, and a myriad of highs and heartbreaks; women-turned comrades who invited me into their homes for wine and girl-talk after I relocated to their town. 

An outsider, I cannot help but miss my friends, and the comfort and ease I feel in their presence.

I follow this clan of women I have just met into a country store that is overflowing with bushels of fruit, baskets, hanging herbs, and shelves lined with preserves. It dawns on me that I felt this very same trepidation in the early stages of most of my friendships. 

Someone touches my elbow. "Come see these linens. They're gorgeous!" Another shows me an antique platter she must buy. We cross a well-traveled path into the barn, and our table of six talks and gawks at the arrangements of fresh flowers, fruit, gourds and cornstalks that fill the room.

Someone whispers in my ear, "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" I follow her gaze to a pine-bough wreath suspended from a wooden ceiling beam by thick velvet ribbons. Adorned with apples and hydrangeas, it looks like it's waiting to impress King Henry the 8th as he arrives for a feast. 

We pour wine and toast the friend who is absent. The proprietor of the farm- a doppelganger of Barbara Stanwyck in The Thorn Birds-stands before us in a brilliant red suit, sharing the tale of three generations of women embroidering "heritage and literature, flavor, agriculture and celebration," to make beautiful creations of food and flower for their guests. 

 

Freshly harvested and prepared food samplings are waiting to be tasted throughout the barn and store. A tablemate hands me a fork and a plate."We'll get to the good stuff much faster if we stick together," she says, and off the six of us rush like shoppers stalking a HD TV sale on Black Friday. 

For an hour, six women (and seventy others) travel and taste, occasionally returning to the table to sip wine and discuss our favorite foods. Beef stew wins by a landslide, and it is decided that we will-someday soon-use our new recipes to recreate a feast of our favorites. I glance around the table and imagine what fun it would be to share this place with my close friends. I glance around the table and think how blessed I am to share this evening with women I hardly know. 

The harvest moon is our nightlight. We head back to the car, carrying bags of apples and talking about the week ahead. 

"I think you should write about women and food, wine and friendship, " someone says.

Instead, I am writing about women. We may judge each other, put too much pressure on each other, and believe that as we get older our established friendships will sustain us.  We may think that investing the work, time and energy necessary to nurture a new friendship is simply too much effort.  But the truth is, in extending -or accepting- an invitation to other women, we continue to embroider the vibrant tapestry of each others' lives, making beautiful creations.  

We'll get to the good stuff much faster if we stick together.

QUING HEREBY DECREES:  Henceforth, walk the walk.