Our Gals

This photo seemed to suddenly appear on the counter of my barbeque this week. Magically, the day after my neighbor removed years of jungle growth from his backyard. It may be someone who lived in our neighborhood. Though for me it has a Midwest sensibility. Or is that Hollywood? There is the possibility It is one of those nameless photos placed in a frame as it's readied for display and sale. 

Whoever they are, whomever they belong to, I like them. I love the collusive head touch. The color of their dress. The expectancy of secrets, plans, joys, meals and tears shared. All that comes with being a gal with our wonderful, deeply meaningful friendships.  

As I gaze at the girls on the yard I get to feel the pleasure of my mom and her 60's Club that met every Tuesday night at one of the neighborhood homes just to be the girls in the neighborhood. I live filled with the days on end language of my own sweet sister and I turning over every conversational stone possible. And then I feel the giddiness of high school conversations, every day, especially the phone chats with Gail. The hours of gabbing with Val in college at the donut shop when we should have been elsewhere. The deep working and praying it through with Krissy. The wonderful discoveries of Momhood with Michelle. The trading fours of a conversation with MP. The knowing love of MT. The company of Mary. The way Lori really listens. And the delight of "reasoning it through" with Jemma.
I love the sitting on the bed and talking face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart with my own girlie. The list is long. I live with the joy of the women on the journey and the gals who walk in the neighborhood. What would I do without those girlfriend words, "You're singing my song, sister!"

For me this is what abundance and blessing looks like. 
Rich and with a touch of a giggle.