Gatlinburg TN
Today was the first day I’ve felt homeless. The reason seems silly, but I haven’t been able to shake the feelings. Today, I saw the latest Wednesday Night Supper List and my name wasn’t on it. With that, I’ve lost my home.
The “Wednesdays” is a group of women that has been meeting for supper every Wednesday night for over 30 years. A few of the originals are still around; some have died; some have moved on. The group used to meet at Wild Sisters, a women’s cultural collective, then at Bloomers, a women’s bar/restaurant. When Bloomers closed, we started going to a different restaurant every week. A few years ago, we chose to meet at a particular restaurant the first Wednesday of the month so that anyone who had lost track of the group could find us again.
I joined the group in 1987. I had been working at Gertie’s, a collectively owned and operated bookshop. Anne, another collective member, started dragging me to the dinners at Bloomers prior to our bookshop meetings. I remember Carol didn’t want me in the group because I was too young – she thought you had to be over 40 to be in the group. Carol liked her rules. Gray thought that any woman who could hold her own within the group was clearly a member and that I did pretty well in that regard. Anne never let me sit next to Flo. Flo could be a bit cranky now and then and Anne was trying to protect me. One night, the only open chair was next to Flo, so I sat down. When Anne tried to get me to switch chairs with her, I said that I’d never seen Flo actually bite anybody. Flo chuckled and there was no more talk of whether I could be a member. Flo and I have been friends ever since. I don’t hug her and she doesn’t bite me.
Carol was always the keeper of The List. It was a very private list, with contents known only to the “regulars” of the group. Everyone who was welcome in the group was listed, with address, phone number, and birthday. Every now and then, she’d try to pare it down, but we usually stopped her. When someone would move to another town, state, or even country, they’d stay on the list. Partly because we still felt connected, and partly so that all of us would have the contact information. Carol thought someone should be dropped from the list after a certain number of months or years of not coming to dinner. For example, the year I helped Kelly rehab a house, I had to ask Carol to keep me on the list. We loved Carol, but sometimes she got a bit carried away with rules. When Carol died, Kelly took over The List. Now that Kelly and I have left town, someone else has become the Keeper of the List.
The Wednesdays are my family. They’ve held me up when I could barely stand. They’ve put a roof over my head when I was in such bad shape I hadn’t even known I needed a roof. They’ve laughed at my jokes, eaten my food, worked in my garden, and let me into their hearts. Family loves you no matter what. And, I love all of them, too. I have, and will continue to, move heaven and earth to be there for each of them.
It’s only a list, right? Only a piece of paper with a surprisingly small number of names on it. It shouldn’t matter. These women are my family and I still know they are there for me as I am for them. Removing me from that list when I no longer live in Pittsburgh is just reducing clutter – making the list easier to manage. Makes perfect sense. Right.
One of the reasons I started this journey was to do hard things. I wanted to live outside my own box and make friends with the uncomfortable feelings which come with that. Well, I sure hit it today. Being off the list does not mean being out of the family.
Other important stuff that happened today:
Kelly has been driving the campground van. This weekend, she started driving the campground bus, too. Think “short bus” and you’ve got the idea. So far, she hasn’t run anyone over and she hasn’t hit anything. Today, she backed it up into its spot between trees without any problem.
Kelly and I moved the manager’s wide (very wide) flat screen TV into Cabin #10 today. She, Fran, the manager, and I watched “Mama Mia” in air-conditioned comfort. It was yummy.
