Groundchucks

My friends visited from the Bay Area over the weekend. They'd never been to Missouri and we had a blast simply driving around, cooking and talking. I've known Judith and Tom for almost two decades. Judith and I met when we were both working for Fireman's Fund Insurance Company in downtown San Francisco. We sat two cubicles apart, and knew each other just well enough to say "hello" when she passed by me on her way to her seat.

Adjusters are generally overworked and a bit irritable about doing anything corporate but their jobs. They simply don't feel (and they're probably right), that they are viewed as a valuable part of an insurance company because they don't generate income like the underwriters and marketing people do; they spend money. Judith and I were no exception. But we also shared more in common--we were both artists, she a painter and me a writer, although she's writing now, too--mysteries.

One morning, without warning, we were pulled away from our desks to watch a film on corporate responsibility. One thing adjusters hate is corporate indoctrination; we feel like it's a complete waste of time. This film was no exception.

We came back from the film groaning inwardly, if not grumbling outright to each other about the colossal waste of our valuable time. I went in to use the bathroom, and as usual, found that whoever was using the toilet ahead of me had once again missed. (I thought until I worked in the Bay Area that only men missed. Boy, was I wrong.)

I wiped the seat, washed my hands and returned to my desk. But I had a brilliant idea. I wrote a note and taped it to the bathroom mirror. It said "Gals, let's practice some corporate responsibility and practice peeing in, not on, the toilet. Sign me, Wet Butt."

I returned to my desk and forgot about it. About an hour later, Jude, who is about 5 feet tall and weighs about 95 pounds, came chugging up to my desk, obviously trying to hold in her laughter. "Did you see the sign in the bathroom?" she asked.

"Yup," I said, "I wrote it." We both burst out laughing, loudly, until we were hushed by a supervisor. But our friendship was sealed.

Over the years and despite all my moves, I've always kept in touch with her and when she heard about my transplant, she made plans to visit. The words were unspoken, but we both realized that life is too fleeting to fail to take time for friendship.

I showed them the new house and since they are both design people, she a painter and Tom a professional photographer, they had a lot of suggestions about small design fixes that will make the house more livable. We even went to the paint store to find a color to paint the trim, something I would never have thought to do. "Just slap on the same color," I told my boyfriend. They pointed out that all the beautiful woodwork and molding should be accented, not hidden in the wall color.

We saw a red fox behind my house Saturday morning then in the afternoon saw another one trotting across the field at Riverside Park. I've only seen about three fox in my entire life and in one day seeing two was a wonder. Last night, we stopped near the highway and watched the groundhogs play. It's kind of embarrassing. In the south, they call them whistlepigs, although I don't know if they whistle or not. They call them woodchucks here, and I keep getting mixed up, calling them groundchucks.

We drove down around the Lake of the Ozarks, watching the beautiful red-winged blackbirds, red-tails and other stunning birds as we drove. When I drove in last night, a racoon was stuffing his face with seeds from the bird feeder. He barely looked up until I opened the car door. A black snake was curled above my door and fell down behind me when I opened the door, slithering away under the porch.

It was a quiet weekend, one best enjoyed with good friends who know your history and love you despite your pecadillos. Adding Missouri's beautiful flora and fauna on top of it, well, I can't think right now of anywhere I'd rather be. Except maybe Arizona.