different kinds of friends

My friends are all kind, compassionate, and smart. But there are more differences than similarities among them.

Some are married. Some are single.

Some have children, some don't. And several are, like me, single mothers.

Some I can call and they will be there, regardless of time or problem. And they will always give me wise, honest, advice.

Some live here, while many live outside New York

Some are creative and astound me with their abilities to see the world through unusual eyes.

Some write in a way that puts me to shame. I rely on them to catch and correct any grammatical errors in my blog.

Most I've known for many many years, but several have entered my life more recently.

Some astound me with their ability to fix and build things — a talent I am envious of. One friend (a female no less) just built out her closets.

Some I speak to more than see, regardless of geography.

Most love theater and film.

But one has not been in a commercial movie theater for as long as I've known her, and another loathes theater but will go if the play has been thoroughly vetted and doesn't last more than two hours max. (Hamilton was the exception).

One is a compulsive shopper and always finds the very best bargains. A few never ever shop. 

All are self-deprecating.

Most wear some makeup. A couple wear none. And one friend only owns one lipstick.

Most of my friends read novels, but one admits to not having the attention span.

Some are athletic; some workout; and a few are in amazing shape. Two swim up to five times a week.

One retired just today as CFO of a large company and then enrolled in a course on welding. 

Most are liberal-minded democrats, but not all.

And a few are always up for doing anything, as long as they are available.

Robin is one of these friends.

At noon Susan tells me that unfortunately she can't come with me tonight to see The End of Longing; we've had tickets for awhile. But she's found a substitute: our mutual friend Jill.

A couple of hours later Jill finds out that she can no longer go.

I call Robin. She checks her calendar; finds herself free; and agrees to come. We meet three hours later.

And the play? Just okay; engaging enough if you want to see Matthew Perry play act drunk for 105 minutes with no break.