Hello Thursday! Meet my blog group, comprised of a fantastic group of ladies who will dazzle you with insight on various topics. After reading my post, check out their blogs as well. Just click on:
Froggie (Tracey): One frog’s distinct voice on the world around her.
Merry Land Girl (Melissa): Tales of a suburban mom who likes to talk about pop culture, books, Judaism, family, friendship and anything else that comes to mind.
Darwin Shrugged (Denise): Civilized Observations in an Uncivilized World
For this week’s topic, Denise asked that we write about two people with whom we’d love to sit down and have a meal. One must be living, and one must not. To make it easier, do not write about any family members.
Bill Murray appears to be the type of guy I could spend an afternoon with, breaking bread, having a few drinks. Shooting the shit. Maybe it’s just some celebrity-inspired persona set forth by the media or by Murray himself, but I don’t think so. He seems as though he has an awesome energy surrounding him.
I’ve read the stories. Like the time he was invited to someone’s birthday party and he showed up, bringing along a friend of his who just so happened to be a chef, happy to cater the affair. Or the occasional karaoke hang out, singing with complete strangers, Or crashing a bachelor party. I could go on, but you can read more about it here.
He seems really down to earth, as though being a celebrity hasn’t completely affected his humanity. As though he doesn’t see a divide between the world he lives in, and the one we’re in. Because really, there isn’t one. We’re all human beings who pretty much live life in similar fashions. Yet some of us live under the microscope, and what I appreciate most about Murray is his need to remove it.
I’ve also heard the rumors on how horrifically difficult it is for anyone to reach him. He has no manager. You want to talk with him, you call a 1-800 number. You leave a message? You might hear from him. You might not. This applies to everyone, celebrity or not. I don’t think he has twitter accounts or a Facebook, either. No Instagram. No voice mail. Just an old fashioned answering machine, at his service.
He’s quirky and unique, and I think it would be a real treat to have a conversation with the guy. And sing a little karaoke. I’d totally be down for that.
I might be skewing the lines a little, where our topic is concerned, since I consider my friend Jill to be part of my family in a sense. But since we aren’t genetically tied to one another, I figure my fellow bloggers will allow me this one.
I really, really, REALLY miss my friend Jill. She was the sort of person you could never forget, once you got to know her. She presented herself as this super tough bad ass, and not that she wasn’t. I mean, I would never want to get into a fight with her. I’m sure she would have won, by a lot.
Even though she had a super teflon exterior, Jill was all sorts of mushy on the inside. She got teary-eyed when I’d asked for her to be my pseudo-mom at my wedding. Or, when she saw me in my wedding dress for the very first time. She was choosy with her affections, careful to pick only the best people to surround herself with, and those who were in her circle knew just how much they were loved by her.
I’d love to have a meal with her again. If this were her choice, I imagine we’d go and eat something totally not good for us, because she believed in enjoying yourself from time to time. Not to sweat the petty, because it’s no fun if you can’t have a milkshake every once in a while, as she so eloquently told me once, when I was questioning a strawberry shake from the drive-thru. “Sara Lea. It’s no big deal. You don’t have a milkshake every day. Every once in a while is fine!”
Or maybe we’d have her favorite pizza from Pizza King, in Council Bluffs, IA. I have to admit, it’s pretty good pizza. She’d most likely invite me over, since she felt most comfortable in her own surroundings, and enjoyed having people over for good food and card games.
I miss talking about the mundane with her. She always had this uncanny ability to help me really see a situation, versus working myself up over it, like I’m prone to do. And she never minded when I’d bring my boys along. In fact, she loved seeing them. The one year I forgot to make a pit stop to see her on Halloween with my boys, dressed up in their cute costumes, I heard about it for months.
I can honestly say that I think about her at least once a day. I can still hear her voice, remembering the inflections. She’s been gone almost four years this December, but time hasn’t erased her. I don’t think it ever could.