CURBSIDE CHATS

The other day, I told someone my age. In the middle of the conversation, it hit me. Holy cat fur, I told the wrong age!😱 My real age…well, let’s just say birthdays are escaping me faster than money in my wallet. It seems only yesterday I was sitting curbside in my hometown, Memphis, Tennessee, with teenager girlfriends, gabbing about the only subject consuming our brains—boys!  

 Before internet, texting and chat rooms, the curb on Kenosha Street was the place for social networking with my close friends. I remember one get-together when we spotted a creepy, brown spider, 🕷 its back, hairy like sprouts on a Chia Pet. One of my friends got the bright idea to bump the creature with her shoe. A gazillion babies spiders scrambled off the momma's back and scattered away in a naked frenzy. 

 

Maybe that’s what happened to all my birthdays. 🎂Life bumped into me, and like those baby spiders, the years took off. Gone. Skedaddled. 

Many times I have gone back to the old neighborhood and met with my longtime friends. But due to a few minor issues—creaks in our knees, stiffness in our backs—we sometimes avoid the curb and meet in coffee shops,☕ restaurants, or someone’s cozy kitchen. But no matter where we unite, we talk like chatty teenagers, our souls jelling together like jam in a jelly jar. 

The only difference between forty years ago and now---the topic that consumes our mind. Boy talk…um…not so much. Instead, we discuss creaky knees, stiff backs and who has the most grey. 😏 But more important, we talk about the blessings God gave us in good friendships and the style of social networking from the old days of curbside chats.

Anna J. Wise

Mercy Me 

One of the houses where we'd meet.

 

 

Ann J. Wise

Mercy Me