The Gathering of the Girls

Yep. It's that time of year again. What used to be called Girlfriends Weekend has now been expanded to Girlfriends Week, as we head down to a fun/sun-filled week in Orlando. I don't really remember how it got started, but sometime in the mid-90's, five friends decided we didn't see each other enough - all those child-rearing, career-slogging years seemed to get in the way - and vowed to get together once a year.

Four of us have been together since we were in first grade at Barger Elementary School in Chattanooga, Tennessee. We survived six years there and three at Brainerd Jr. High before heading across the river to Chattanooga "City" High, where we met girlfriend #5.

Years of slumber parties, Twist contests, transistor radios and 45's, pimples, bad hair days-weeks-years, Bobbie Brooks sweaters, Weejuns, pep rallies, and English compositions mean that not a one of us can bullshit the others. We all know too much. We knew each other when.

Do you know how freeing that is? And more comfortable than sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt.

One thing's for sure. We can't lie about our ages. We're all 1951 babies, so we have a lot of decades to celebrate this year. The members of this little quintet are stereotypically named (according to the Most Popular Girl Names of 1951): Linda (#1), Mary (#2), Susan (#6), and two - count 'em, two! - Sharons (#13). No mistaking which era we're from, no siree.

We will catch up with each other - grandchildren, childrens' milestones, one new marriage, vacations, mission trips, work, aches and ailments - and, of course, we'll talk about other folks (good Christian gossip, of course). We'll eat and drink well, sun ourselves, swim, laugh, and do a lot of remembering-when. And after five full days, we won't have scratched the surface of stuff to talk about. That's just what happens when friends get together.

I'll try to report live from Orlando, but I may be too busy talking. Or eating. Or drinking. But probably talking.