This little memory is dedicated to my two girls Julie and Melissa, and I maintain…..I DID NOT!

……………………………………………………….  (untouched by AI)………………………………………………………….

There are 52 Saturdays every year. This story is about one of them from many years ago. I’ve never forgotten it and hope I never will.

We met one evening in 1972. Her name was Lynne and she and her (then) husband were standing in front of our new home talking with my (then) husband.  We were the first two families to move into homes on the last street of a new subdivision.  That evening the four of us stood  talking long enough for me to be excited about meeting our new neighbors.

What neither Lynne nor I realized or remembered at the time was, that evening wasn’t our first meeting. We’d met before, ten years earlier when we were both 18. But that would take us some time to unravel and remember and it was a very different kind of meeting. This time it was the beginning of a friendship that would last through all the days of our lives.

For 15 years, while living with one house between us, we held tight and counted on each other to understand, sympathize and often laugh about whatever it was that was making us feel crazy.  Through all of our highs and lows, the stress and drama of raising eight kids between us, the financial woes and emotional times, the tears, divorces, and finally new lives taking us much too far from each other, still we held tight.

Through it all, what we knew how to do best was to laugh. We counted on each other for that.

Much of our lives were the same. We were the same age, had the same amount of kids and they were all the same age. The kids went to the same schools and we went to the same church. And every Saturday was the same for Lynne and me.

Saturday’s were scrub days; Windex, Pledge, vacuum, mop and laundry days.

I complained to Lynne about it often. What was the sense? We’d spend the entire day scrubbing just to do it all over again 7 days later. It was over and over and over. I wondered what would happen if we skipped a scrub day?  An that’s when the thought hit the mischievous part of my mind.

What I did next,  in today’s world would have had CPS banging on my door and coming through the window. My girls would have been taken into “protective” custody and I would have been thrown into the slammer, horrible mother that I was. BUT it was 1972 and a much different world.

I had a plan and just this one  Saturday, my girls were gonna take a back seat.

In the kitchen, I opened the cupboard that held the fun things to eat; cookies, candies, pretzels and chips. I put everything in a basket along with a pitcher of Kool Aid and paper cups.

It was gonna be a lovely, warm summer day. A perfect day for kids to be outside until dinner time.

I called my girls together from their bedrooms and gave them a choice. They could either stay inside and help me clean the house which was going to take all day, or they could go outside and play for the entire day. Each chose outside. (I could’da won a bet on that one.)

There was one thing. I was locking all the doors. There would be no admittance until close to dinner time.

There was of course immediate objections to the doors being locked.  What if they got thirsty they wanted to know? Drink from the hose, I suggested.  What if they got hungry? They’d find a basket of their favorite junk food on the front porch, I told them. Well, what if they had to use the bathroom? Pee in the backyard or figure it out. I would NOT be unlocking the doors, was my reply to that one. There was a chorus of sounds of disgust from all four. I reminded them of their choices, they COULD stay in and help me clean house…..all day.

The countdown began, they had 30 minutes to vacate. The doors would then be locked and there would be no entrance for many hours.

I was kicking them out……for the entire day. There would be no entrance.

They were appalled. They were being kicked out of their own home.

Yep!

I loaded my favorite albums (remember albums?) on to the stereo, (remember stereos?) The music on high volume drownded out the sound of 8 stomping, pissed off feet.

Next I pulled out  2 large wine glasses from the cabinet and called Lynne. I knew she was already into the Saturday scrub routine. I told her that she had to stop whatever she was doing, walk out of her house and come over quickly.

Lynne was a great sport. Over all of our years, we’ve done some pretty crazy stuff together and always laughed about it later. She never said no.

She was at my door in a heartbeat looking strangely at the junk food and Kool Aid on the porch and listening to my girls tell her that they’ve been locked out of THEIR OWN HOUSE!

I opened the door and stuck my arm out handing her a glass of wine and she hurried in.

We went down to the family room where Fleetwood Mac was was belting out our favorite music and we sat down.

“What the heck?” she wanted to know.

“Today we are NOT gonna work,” I told her. “This will be a Saturday to remember. We’re gonna drink wine, listen to music, talk and laugh all day. We are NOT gonna work.” And those kids are NOT coming in!!!!”

And the great sport that she’s always been, laughed and said, “OK.”

We talked, laughed, poured lots of wine and clinked our glasses to the most wonderful Saturday of all Saturdays.

My girls now and then banged on the door yelling but we heard nothing other than the sound of our voices and our laughter. .

From that Saturday forward through all of these years, I’ve thought of the two of us, clinking our glasses in a slightly dusty, unPledged, unWindexed, unvacuumed, laundry piling house and what fun we had.

…………………..

As I’d mentioned earlier, Lynne and I had met each other one summer evening when we were both 18.

It dawned on the two of us and our then husbands one evening when we were visiting and getting to know each other. As we were sitting around just becoming fun neighbors and friends, Lynne wondered  about something. Because I went to Riverview High School, would I know her cousin?  Of course I’d know her cousin. Riverview was a very small community, everybody knew everybody.    I asked her cousin’s name hoping it was a girl maybe from my class.

Of every name possible in the entire world, I was not expecting her to say,  “Bob Fone.” But that’s what she said, Bob Fone. Yep, Bob Fone, my high school heart throb. He was Lynne’s cousin!  I was caught without words but I assume the look on my face said all that needed to be said. There was a moment of silence while it  clicked in all four heads.  That name meant something to each of us.

Bob Fone to me meant my high school heart throb.

To my then husband it meant old boyfriend.

To Lynne, he was her cousin.

And to her then husband, his brother was married to Bob Fone’s sister.

“You’re THAT Sue?” Lynne wanted to know.

“Yep.  I’m her. The one who with your cousin, caused so much family gossip once upon a time.”

That comment came with a story and that’s when we both remembered a Saturday night ten years earlier when we were both 18.

But,  THAT’S another story.

And oh, by the way, Bob Fone my old boyfriend eventually became my husband but THAT’S REALLY ANOTHER STORY!

ONE MORE THING…..

Before I was ready to blog this story, I asked Lynne and two of my girls about it to make sure that my facts were accurate. I wasn’t even sure they’d remember that Saturday from a good 50 years earlier, but they did. Lynne and I laughed remembering. Some of her memories of that afternoon were a bit different from mine. However the heart of the story was the same.

My girls? They were together when I asked them about it and they chimed in together accusing me of locking them out OFTEN on Saturday cleaning days.

HA!    I DID NOT!