To My Friends, In Low Places

I cried at the gym today.

Don't worry--I didn't hurt myself. I wasn't crying from the pain of an overzealous workout or a stressed Achilles tendon.

It was Garth Brooks's fault.

I hit the treadmill just as CMT was airing Garth's concert from Ireland from years back. It was both a celebration of St. Patrick's Day and a shameless (ha!) plug for GB's new set of concert DVDs now on sale at (where else?) Wal-Mart. I was rapt. I spent the next 40 minutes reliving some of the best years of my life.

The first years Jason and I were married marked a big country music phase for me. The soundtrack of my life was Garth Brooks. I know I'm going to catch hell for this from some of my country-hater friends, but I think Garth is one of the best entertainers EVER. Watching that concert reminded me of the admiration (bordering on obsession) I had for him. Seriously, who else puts on a show like that man? You can absolutely see the joy he feels for getting up on that stage. He loves performing as much as his fans love watching him, and I found myself smiling and even laughing out loud while running on that good ol' hamster wheel. At least, until "Friend in Low Places" came on.

One of the favorite memories of my entire life centers around "Friends in Low Places." Just as my wedding reception was winding down, and some of my friends were starting to gather their things and wish Jason and me well, our DJ finally remembered the one big musical request that I had--that all Centre graduates gather on the dance floor for one group dance with the bride and groom. As we heard Garth play that opening chord, we all cheered and ran up to the front of the room. My college buddies aren't big on dancing as a general rule, so we all stood together in a circle with our arms around each other, swaying to the rhythm and singing along as loudly as we could. In a day that becomes more and more a blur with each passing year, that's one memory that stays clear and true--a group of friends who came together on the foundation of simply being at the same place at the same fleeting moment in our lives.

I can still see all the faces in that circle. But my own circle of friends has changed in the decade since we gathered round each other. Some faces have faded some as those old friends have started families and as people have moved on. New faces have joined us. But one thing has not changed--anytime I think about my friends, about those of you who have laughed with me and cried with me over the breadth of my life, I hear that opening chord that reminds me of my friends in low places.

So in honor of Garth's concert, and in belated honor of St. Patrick's Day, I raise a glass to you, my circle. No matter how I met you, or whether the last time I talked to you was Friday night or two years ago, you are special to me.

A toast:
To the one who grew up across the street from me and, even though our lives took us separate ways, still remembered our childhood promise to be maids-of-honor at each other's weddings.

To the one who arrived in the world just one day before me and met me almost daily in the alley that separated our houses, and who cried with me at my dad's funeral as though the loss were her own.

To the ones I've been hanging out with since high school and who get together with me almost every weekend to discuss the deepest questions of life, such as whether or not hamburgers have crumbs.

To the ones I partied with in college, and who were among the first to come visit or send cards when I found out I had cancer.

To the ones I roomed with in college, who put up with my moodiness and drama, and still love me enough to drive long distances to see me through some of the darkest chapters of my life.

To the people I met through my husband's work, those people who filled our house with flowers when I lost my dad and who made sure we were well-fed when I was sick.

To the people I've become friends with through my own job, those people who I laugh with and gripe with and admire so much for their (almost) tireless dedication to our little family of students and teachers.

To the one I eat lunch with every day, my fellow cancer survivor who understands the worry and fear that grips my heart every time I feel ill.

To the couple who inspired Jason and me to take the huge step of quitting our teaching jobs to move to Lexington to get our second degrees, and who by living just across an apartment complex parking lot from us, made those years the two most fun years of my life.

To all of you, I wish you long life and many blessings.

And to you, Mr. Garth Brooks--thanks for the memories.