I Want to Write a Book About Her

One of my favorite friends, Courtney, got a haircut a couple of weeks ago. When she was describing the haircut to me (and Juliana and MacKenzie), she said, “I look like a 45-year old congresswomen with 2 kids. It is that kind of haircut.”

The thing about Courtney is that every detail–including 2 kids–is very exciting.

Yesterday was her birthday, her day. Which I was very happy about because all day yesterday I was thinking about all these things I love about her and, well, they are really really exciting.

Like how a few weeks ago she danced crazily to beating drums in Meridian Hill Park all by herself because she wanted to.

Like how she hates the phrase “tender mercies,” but uses it occasionally because she knows tender mercies exist.

Like how she can eat more Cadbury Mini Eggs than anyone I know. Then laugh and barf about it.

Like how she wears bold colors and purple coats, even in D.C. where apparently everyone wears  black. (You’ve got to read what she wrote about this here).

Like how she is the darlingest thing when she is upset. (Sometimes she gets so stressed about all her friend commitments that she starts crying. It makes me want to pick her up and rock her in a rocking chair. But, alas, she is too tall….)

Like how she is really tall.  And flirts with short boys while sitting, then stands up to trick them. (Ah! Her humor is wild!)

Like how she helped start our women’s club, Lux et Veritas, and for years sipped tea and listened to stories and rejoiced in the exclusivity and secrecy and enlightenment of our sometimes successful, sometimes pathetic meetings.

Like how she loves all adventures–walking adventures, biking adventures, romantic adventures. She really is an alchemist–she can transform any small travel into an odyssey.

Like how this one time, years ago, she and I threw this Italian dinner together for some of our friends.  We made seafood fettuccine alfredo with fresh green beans on the side. We bought an “Italian” ball of bread and dipped it in oil and vinegar. We made Italian sodas and served them in wine glasses, which was very elegant, like anything Italian, right?  We even rented Italian music from the library–some 50-year old Italian tenors sang all night for us. WE CHEERED!

Like how last week she came and visited for graduation and we made dinner again–which also happened to be fettuccine alfredo. Weird. We lit candles and drank crappy lemonade out of wine glasses, again. She told stories about D.C. and all her travel adventures. (She’s been or lived all over Europe, and Egypt and Jerusalem and India and Jordan and . . . she makes friends wherever she goes.)

Like how she wears a bracelet on her right wrist that says “Fortune is good to the bold.” She never takes it off.

She wrote this:

“I value and respect honesty, openness, personality, and appropriate fearlessness. To me that is the definition of being bold. I say all of this because I feel I have neglected to live with this sort of gumption lately.  [. . .] Why didn’t I just tell that person how I actually felt? Why didn’t I just go to that event even though I didn’t know anyone? Why am I letting myself miss out on experiences? Why am I not being bold? Bold with people I know, bold with people I don’t know, bold with my goals, bold with my life in this new city. It is easier and less scary to be safe, but I am telling you now safe is not what I am after. Listen cosmos, I heard this wake up call. Fortune is good to the bold and fortune will be good to me.”

I believe it will be.


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