Friends


Last weekend I went out to Middleburg, VA with some friends to watch the steeplechase races. It’s a really fun experience if you’ve never done it before. Imagine hanging outside in beautiful weather overlooking a large, green field with mountains dotting the landscape. There you are laughing with friends, eating catered food, and drinking wine and good beer. It’s tailgating but dressed better. Every half hour there’s some action to watch. Betting is done within groups and everyone puts two dollars into pot.

This year I won the first race. My strategy is simple. I look at the statistics of the horse’s previous races, the jockey’s record, and how they look in the paddock. Okay I’m kidding; I pick the horses based on their name and what “speaks” to me. Erin Go Bragh spoke to me because I’m part Irish and it’s always cool to bet on the Irish. So I split that pot with three others and managed to lose all the remaining races. My friend’s eleven year old won the biggest pot that day and walked off with all our hard earned dollars. Maybe I would have done better if I wasn’t relying so much on the advice of her three year old sister.

One thing about betting is that you need to be prepared to lose. I am a huge competitor so it did irk me when in the fourth race my horse came in last place. But it’s really fun to see them sprinting down the stretch. They are beautiful, powerful animals and it’s exciting to see them go.

I don’t really have any funny thoughts or deep insights on this. Just reflections on a nice Saturday afternoon in Virginia. And my fingers are crossed for tonight’s mega-millions drawing. Tootles!

 

Down the stretch

Down the stretch

My advisor

My advisor

middleburg races

I spent the weekend catching up with some good friends from college. I haven’t seen them in about 15 years and was a bit anxious as to how everyone would be—in what ways have we changed and what we’d do during the visit. It took a whole three seconds to see that nothing really changes. It was like stepping back on to the third floor of Bowman Hall. It started with a quick meet with Beth, Kristen, and Karen (who we for some reason used to call Bimbleman) at the breakfast table and then on to a winery. Yup, that’s right. What do you think five forty-year old women are going to do when they meet up again? After the first tasting we met our old bard Shannon at the local mall. It was a bit comical to see a group of women screaming hello and hugging in the middle of the shoe department.

Lunch time was for catch-up where we realized that only one of us was doing anything remotely similar to the degree we earned in college. So if these statistics say anything about the general population then 80% of college students are too young to decide on what they want to be when they grow up. For example, Shannon, the English major who shunned numbers is now an accountant, and Kristen, who now works as a paralegal was an Urban Studies major. I was shocked that our school even offered that degree especially because none of us knew what the hell it was or that Kristen had majored in it.

After talking about careers, babies, husbands, and fun trips, we started talking about other old friends and remembering stories. At first I thought, jeez, I’m old and I’ve lost my memory. But then several of the other women remarked that Kristen just happened to have a recall of details the rest of us didn’t. It had something to do with partying…

The phrase, “Stop me if you heard this one…” started many a laugh. And Shannon topped the one-liner list with the statement, “The title of the book about my life will be, ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’” And it’s also an appropriate reply to all the crazy things we did as young twenty-somethings—but not appropriate for my young nieces and nephews or my friends’ teenagers. We’re not that dumb anymore, kids.

Another wine tasting led to happy hour back at the hotel and then a nice dinner. The wine tastings were great. We learned about how certain grapes grew better here in Virginia, how the glass you drink out of can affect the taste, aerating the wine, and how (ahem, Beth) if you flirt a little with the wine guy you may get a little extra in your glass and a tour of the barrel room. (Not to be confused with the Barrel House, an establishment we frequented during our college years.)

What a great time. I encourage all of you to find some old friends on Facebook and arrange a reunion weekend. Not only will your abdomen hurt with all the laughing, but you’ll realize you haven’t changed that much, and your soul may just get the refreshment it needs. Thanks ladies! Ear!

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