I have some friends

I've been part of a group of women for, gosh over six years now. There are eight of us, and I've met not quite half of them face to face. Nevertheless, we are friends.

One of them has given me such good advice and counsel as I've gone through the whole broken pelvis situation. She's the one who told me when I'm getting irritable, I should probably stop and take a Tylenol because I'm probably in pain and it's coming out as cranky. She was (is) right.

Another knew, somehow and I truly don't know how but she knew, that I was struggling in the aftermath of the entire Kavanaugh mess. Even before then, she knew (again, I don't know how, this isn't one of the ones I've met face to face) that something wasn't entirely right in my world. And postcards started showing up. Postcards of dogs, kitties, one particularly amusing postcard of various bad posture, all with an encouraging but never saccharine note. This is the same woman who told me after we flooded in 2009 that it was OK to be angry or upset, that I was allowed a Job moment. 

With friends like this, I am rich. Truly rich. 

Just a few of the postcards