Reflections on my night out with really old friends

OK, let me rephrase that. It's not that the friends are really old. They've just been two of my favorite people for a really long time. So long that they could probably write a book about every low-down, dirty rotten thing I've ever done in my life. And for so long that they were right there with me during many a created adventure.

Saturday night we were fortunate enough to be invited guests at a sold-out Bonnie Bishop/Robert Earl Keen show at Gruene Hall. Robert Earl is my absolute favorite singer-songwriter in the world. Gruene Hall is my all-time favorite place to see a band, and to be able to get together beforehand with two really old friends (I mean, longtime friends who remain fresh and supple hotties in the prime of their life), along with my husband for such a huge event: Well it was just a really great night.

Anyway, we were talking about blogs: Lavenderchick and "the ubiquitous Lisa P." It was Lisa's turn to talk and she first said she had a message for me from her father, Daddy Frank.

"Oh God," I lamented. "I can hardly wait to hear." Apparently Daddy Frank wanted to remind me what a lazy, no good whiner I had been all those years ago when all he wanted to do was instill a little work ethic into us by forcing us to work as child labor picking black-eyed peas and zucchini in his oh-so fertile West Texas garden. Flash-forward to Saturday night and I cringed remembering I had had the nerve to whine when I'd probably been camping out at his house eating his food for days.

Then Lisa got to the point: "Out of all of us, after all these years, you're the one that has changed the most."

"Me?" I asked. "Yes," she continued. "Reading your blog, with all your artistic talents and the spiritual things you write about, listening to the television preacher..."

I have been thinking about Lisa's comments for the past few days: the person I was, things I thought, stupid stuff I did. I know everyone thinks their life was the wildest and their painful past is the worst, but I just have so much to be thankful for that I am not that person anymore. Somehow, I still have those amazingly talented friends. Lavenderchick has rocked the corporate world for the past 20 years and now she's the most creative creator of the world's most luxurious lavender lotion and body wash. Lisa is like a household name in Austin and though we knew she could pound out a glorious "Send in the Clowns" on the piano in her parents' courtin' room, who knew she'd become a fundraiser extraordinaire before setting sail on her current photographic endeavor that will only add to her fame and glory. I really am blessed. And these are only two of my incredibly talented friends.

So when I thankfully think that the person I was is no longer with us, I like to think that I retained whatever was good, buried once and for all a lot of the bad, and I'm continuing to work on shucking other stuff because there is still room for improvement. I don't think Lisa thought she was being profound when she told me "you're the one that has changed the most." But I've thought about it six thousand different ways and the main thing I come up with is, "well thank God for that."

Seriously.