AUTHOR: Marty, a.k.a. canape
TITLE: Smash and Bird
DATE: 11/29/2008 09:00:00 PM
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BODY:
On my self imposed shutdown, I stayed busy. Little Bird alone is enough to fill my entire day. Somewhere between books, music, naps, walks, meals, and baths, I had projects.
I made a purse for my friend, Constance; a quilt for my niece, Elisa; pirate costumes for Bird and Kevin; and a pirate wench dress for myself. The sewing machine was humming.
Something else I did was join Facebook. Took the time sucking plunge. I found some friends from high school and junior high school. I found my dear friend Lisa and found solace in similar stories. I found lots of my blogger friends I had been missing. I found girls from our psuedo- sorority at my very strange college.
And I found my Ashley again.
There is once in a lifetime, I think, a friend who slips through the cracks and you can't remember how it happened. Moves. Marriages. What have you. Whatever. We lost touch.
Then on the Facebook page of a high school friend, I saw my old roommate.
And we haven't missed a step.
Kevin is a little baffled over it, I think. I mean, I have friends - wonderful friends - but there is only one Ashley. I drop her name in conversations like she was never missing. Like we never unconnected and reconnected.
Tonight we were texting back and forth when dinner was ready. My phone kept going off between bites. It makes this horrible little shrill sound, and Kevin began wincing every time it went off. Because I am the sweet Shamoopie, I silenced it.
I was in the kitchen getting Kevin another Diet Mountain Dew when my phone began vibrating across the table. It was hardly a less annoying sound. I braced myself for the impatience headed my way, but instead he just laughed.
"Ashley?" he said.
"Yep," I said grinning over my shoulder at him.
All was forgiven. After all, it was Ashley.
One more thing. I had forgotten that she had a nickname for me.
BirdLabels: Blogging Innards, Friends, My Life
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COMMENT:
AUTHOR: Nita
DATE:Saturday, November 29, 2008 at 10:41:00 PM EST
Yes - Facebook, the time waster.
I hope I can find a long lost friend someday. I am so happy that you were able to reconnect with your "Ashley". Kevin will get over it....eventually.
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COMMENT:
AUTHOR: Stella
DATE:Sunday, November 30, 2008 at 11:57:00 AM EST
Facebook is the great timewaster! It's also an incredible tool, as you've come to see!!
I love that you're back.
I also got a little chill with those last few lines and your nickname!
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COMMENT:
AUTHOR: Susie
DATE:Sunday, November 30, 2008 at 5:25:00 PM EST
That's a great story. I've made a few great re-connections myself - but none as deep as your Ashley.
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COMMENT:
AUTHOR: Magpie
DATE:Monday, December 1, 2008 at 2:44:00 PM EST
I am happy to see you. And it's all because I saw that someone had joined your "blog network" on facebook....weird small world, no?
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COMMENT:
AUTHOR:
DATE:Monday, December 1, 2008 at 7:12:00 PM EST
welcome back. pictures of Bird are absolutely adorable!! lh from MS
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COMMENT:
AUTHOR: No Minimom
DATE:Monday, December 1, 2008 at 9:13:00 PM EST
I found my best friend from when I went to church umpteen years ago. We haven't reconnected like you and your Ashley, but it's nice to see that she's doing well and living a good life.
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COMMENT:
AUTHOR: K
DATE:Tuesday, December 2, 2008 at 1:37:00 AM EST
Oh yeah Facebook sucks up my time too. I recently found an old college friend who I had lost touch with too! We are SOO lucky to live in this time where we can find someone that we've 'lost.' I am glad you found your friend! :)
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COMMENT:
AUTHOR: Ashley
DATE:Thursday, December 4, 2008 at 11:09:00 PM EST
Smash just found this. My husband, obviously just as clueless about you as yours is about me, is confused by my tears that won't stop. (Your readers should know it takes a good bit to make me cry) I'm so glad I took the Facebook plunge, because even tho a decade, a DECADE, went by, you were never far from my mind. I don't know how the rest of my life will play out. But I'm glad to know that you'll be there with me, Martybird, and I with you. Love you much, Smash.
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