To my friend Steph, who I met in the backyard of my soon to be boyfriend’s house, freshman year of high school (Go Wildcats!), who was from Westport, and stunningly pretty with the flattest stomach I had ever seen in my life, who’s handwriting I coveted, because it was like its own font, who had older parents like mine, and a penchant for having a good time. To my friend Steph, who used to lay up on the roof of my house with me for a tan (what did we think the closer to the sun, the better?), who used to come to the Cape with me and eat cantaloupe (remember my cantaloupe phase), who taught me to make that really good tuna and lettuce salad. To my friend Steph, who was one of the bad boy cheerleaders, with highlighted hair that was enviable, and great style, and a bajillion boyfriends, who was smarter than the studying she did, and who had a dad a little like mine, who was difficult, and a mom a little like mine, who was wonderful.
To my friend Steph who I AM SO GRATEFUL TO SAY is still my friend 42 whole years after I met her. STILL. MY. FRIEND. Always my friend. To Steph who has pulled me back when I needed it and pushed me forward when I couldn’t do it myself, who was born four days after me, and has invented and re-invented herself with poise, but who has always remained a true artist (see her latest reinvention at art & kindness) who is good to the core, spiritually sound and absolutely real, who I deeply love and will always adore. Thank you for your trueness all these years. Thank your for your point of view. Don’t ever forget how positively special you are. In general, and to me. Here’s to the double fives. Happy birthday, Stephanie. Love you.
p.s I’ll always be older than you!