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February 20, 2004
I want to honor my girlfriend Melissa today, on her birthday.
I want to honor…
that you are one of two women to whom I talk almost every single day. The other is my mother. If that doesn’t make you one of my very best friends, I don’t know what would.
that we grew to know each other in the cerebral and creative atmosphere of upper-level university creative writing classes; that we knew each other first through our writing and editing and literary critiquing; that our friendship then flourished from mutual respect of each others unique intelligence and wit.
that you, a girl in my writing classes that I hardly knew, bolstered my giddiness over my graduation-gift-car with your own enthusiasm and genuine happiness for me.
that you had the guts to accept a spontaneous invitation (from Bob’s Burgers & Brew) to move to Seattle and into my parents’ basement (with Solo the nocturnal jumping dog) after only knowing each other a few weeks.
that said invitation evolved into 3 fun & crazy years as roommates and what I presume will be a lifetime of friendship.
that we’ve overindulged in Concha, Ultra-Lights & lollipop cups on decks and porches and stoops all over Seattle.
that you still frequently apologize for lapses in organization (shall we say) while we lived together and that I still only remember those times endearingly, as I witnessed you metamorphosing into your new adult life and falling passionately, head-over-heels in love with your future husband.
that when I conjure up an image of you, I always picture you as you were on the night of your engagement party, rosy cheeked and glowing, looking utterly smitten, blissful, ecstatic and drunk with love, surrounded my friends in your cozy new home.
that you were there in your serene & tender way -- to walk with me, talk with me, drink lattes with me, and offer a shoulder to cry on when Mike & I were going through tough times.
that you cheered me on when I dated new people and revisited old flames, and that you drove with me late at night to West Seattle to close a chapter with a jerk I had fallen for.
that we share memories threaded together by one common denominator (you know)—the Christmas Light tour & mistakenly taking 520 eastward late at night, the wild evening post-Bellingham that found us dancing at the Scarlett Tree, long Sunday walks to Ravenna Park…
that you arranged (complete with excel spreadsheets) a bachelorette weekend more fun and delightful than I could have ever dreamed up myself; that every detail was perfect and so perfectly in sync—the condo, the hot tub, the games & the lingerie, the crazy night in the village (the pictures of you pole dancing-such fabulous …), the laughter and stories and especially the perfectly idiosyncratic way that we all just weaved together that weekend; that you did this all for me while suffering your own painful loss.
that you traveled to Kauai to be there for our wedding; that you share in memories from that trip that I hold so dear—of walking the beach with my family on my wedding morning; of jumping in the colossal waves at Haena Beach; of the crazy priest; of the rainbow shave ice stand; of swimming in the moonlight in Hanalei Bay on our wedding night-- that you patiently helped me (poor, panicked me) rinse red wine out of my wedding dress and that you laughed with me, not at me; that you rushed to the florist just before my wedding and found the perfect flowers that you arranged in my hair just-so.
that we conceived our girls within days of each other and as a result were blessed to share the joys and mysteries of pregnancy together; that we walked together almost every single day of our pregnancies; that the baristas at the Greenlake SBC knew our faces and our orders by heart and were kind enough to give us free food in our time of need; that the two men whose paths we crossed each day must have missed when we were gone; that we fell in love with our midwives together and could swap gory details with ease.
that Hana & Ella were born only two weeks apart, caught by the same woman’s capable hands; that Ella & Hana have known each other’s faces and cries and names and homes since the beginning.
that we get to watch them grow up together; that we’ve shared so closely the trials of infancy and that we’re in the throes of toddler aggression and possessiveness together; that we’ll face siblings, kindergarten, teenagers and empty nests together; that even if someday we don’t live in such close proximity, I know we’ll still share all of these milestones together.
that I know I can call you anytime and get good advice or a sympathetic ear (and you always seem to know which one I need); that we can complain about spouses, parents, siblings, children without judgment; that in one afternoon our conversation can range from books to sex to diapers to politics.
that you are passionate about a good steak (well, before you read that book anyway), fresh seafood, crisp salad, smelly cheese, light & buttery waffles, dark chocolate, rich desserts, plump omelettes, full-bodied beer, and all manner of fresh, healthy food in Ella’s belly.
that you have graciously made room in your life in Seattle for your brother; that in a million small and large ways you are helping him grow and mature and shape his life.
that you have sacrificed, and displayed incredible compassion & dedication to helping your husband live with a debilitating medical condition and a difficult diet; that you are constantly able to see this from an optimists view—as an opportunity to live a healthy and natural lifestyle that is in sync with your beliefs and convictions.
that you have such strong beliefs and convictions, and that you live by them and raise your daughter by them; that you are such a patient, warm, thoughtful mother; that every choice you make related to Ella has mountains of thought and passion and love behind it.
that you are intelligent, passionate, elegant, graceful, devoted, open, clever, trusting, tender, compassionate, well-read, soothing, cultured, genuine; that you are a fantastic literary & film critic; that you get giddy and loopy and giggly after a couple of glasses of wine; that you can knit a mean hat and bake a delicious sugar-free cake.
And most of all, that you are, plain and simple, an incredible friend.
Happy Birthday, Melis.
Love, Jess
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