Drinking Life to the Lees -- Happy Birthday, My Friend

"Yes’m, old friends is always best, ‘less you can catch you a new one that’s fit to make an old one out of."- Sarah Orne Jewett

I met the Poet a little over seven years ago in the most unusual of places -- Law School. I still remember the day. A hot DC August afternoon. The Poet and I were both at Law School orientation and were about to embark, for better or worse, on a three year journey through cannons of construction, case law, and a host of Latin terms of which we may never know the true meaning. I didn't know a soul at orientation and five minutes into the thing I realized that I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had on jeans, high heels, and a cute blazer. That is what one should wear to orientation, right? Wrong, apparently. I had not gotten the memo. I was not in Texas anymore, Toto. Here, in Law School, people take themselves seriously. I should have worn my tunic from Ten Thousand Villages, a bracelet from the Peace Corps, and some cargos that made me look like I did not care that much. That I had decided to break out the YSL Muse bag for the occasion just added insult to injury. Two minutes in and I quickly concluded that it was going to be a long three years. Just as I was giving myself a pep talk about how I had worked since mock trial at age 12 to get to this place and I was not going to let a rough start get me down, I saw the Poet out of the corner of my eye. I didn't know she was a Poet at the time, but I knew instantly we'd be friends.

The Poet entered orientation fashionably late, carrying several shopping bags that she had apparently amassed on her way to Law School orientation and wearing a lovely embroidered skirt. What's more? She was smiling. (She too apparently had not received the memo that Law School is a place where smiles are out of fashion.). We made eye contact. She came and sat down by me. We introduced ourselves, learned that we both hailed from the Great State of Texas, that we both lamented the poor choice of hot tea available in the Law School cafeteria, were disturbed that the handwritten note was a dying art, and firmly believed that our Law School (and the World generally) would be a much more hospitable place if someone had asked our opinion of how to organize it. And, don't get us started on the Oxford comma; some things just should not optional. What a breath of fresh air. That was the first day we met and, now, seven years later, I'm proud to say that every day of friendship has been like the first.

That isn't to say that a lot has not happened in seven years. It has. The Poet, after graduating from law school and taking a position at a top law firm, decided that writing -- not the law -- was her calling. Upon this realization, she promptly and elegantly exited our profession to undertake graduate studies in Creative Writing and Literature. She also married a neurosurgeon (in none other but the Rosecliff mansion), moved to Baltimore, acquired a Great Dane, and learned to make macaroons. But, I digress.

Over the last seven years, I've come to appreciate that the Poet is one of the bravest people that I know. She embodies the spirit of the Good Life. The Poet was not afraid to face the truth that her calling did not lie in the profession that her family wanted her to follow -- a profession that she studied for three years, passed a bar in, and practiced in for a time. She knew that she had to pack up her potential and go elsewhere. And, she did. The Poet also savors life with all of its ups and downs: she makes macaroons at one in the morning, finds new uses for old things, dreams of regency romance, and is not afraid to laugh at herself. The Poet is one of the best friends that I will ever have -- I rest easier knowing that she is making her corner of the world a bit more grand and that Life is always Good wherever she is. Happy Birthday.