Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I’ve known J for over fifty years. We met as young mothers, each with two boys and little else in common besides the babysitting club we both belonged to in the early seventies. Which tells you how old both she and I and our sons are now.

We babysat each other’s kids, although she did more of that work. We even owned a company together for a short time, and we’ve endured each other’s marital challenges. She is a political conservative, Italian, and vocal. I’m more liberal leaning, Irish, and vocal. Although she’s better at that than I am.

But here’s the thing. In spite of our political differences, she was the first person to help me and my young son when we were in an automobile accident years ago. She was there through my two divorces. She handmade a quilt for me when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. She would come if I called.

We chatted at length last night, and her plans for a birthday celebration extends through most of the week. She deserves it. She told me she had received a variety of cards, ours included, and that she was waiting until today to open them. I am sure they honor her as much as I do.