A Flagship Friendship

       I want to tell you about my friend Georgia. Georgia Mae Smith to be exact. Georgia and I met in a small church with a purple door and a rickety steeple. I lived across the street and I needed a church that was walking distance. I loved the music, and the casual way a group of six singers danced their way onto the platform. I enjoyed myself, and I enjoyed being there and making friends with Georgia – a woman who like me, was a grandma. We bonded. We shared survival strategies, both of us confused by today’s youth centered culture. When I met Georgia, she was a single woman with grown children, grandchildren and even a ‘great-grand.’ Georgia’s home provided an anchor of stability for the family. Well-kept and clean she lived in what may have been called a racially ‘mixed’ neighborhood. Mixed?

       Georgia had been born and raised in Florida. She was what my mother’s generation called a real go-getter. Many years before we met, she purchased a spacious home on a corner lot that was now paid off. Her first husband had a job as a prison guard and Georgia ran a day care out of their house. Money came in and the house was now mortgage free. I traveled out west for two years and when I returned, I stayed with Georgia for close to a year. What stands out from those days? We liked to sit on the sofa and watch British soaps. If Georgia settled in with a bowl of chicken feet, I would bury my head in a pillow and say “No, no don’t.”

       Together we went to restaurants, parks, and community events. We did silly things that teenagers do, like tip toeing around the yard of an abandoned house at night. We visited all the restaurants that some would call ‘multicultural’ and I sat in amazement while Georgia ate goat. Georgia’s first husband had been from the islands and goat was not unusual. I was from Long Island and no one ate goat.

       Unfortunately, Georgia’s quiet, restful, and spacious home was a gem with a problem. The neighborhood was on well and septic. On rainy days her bathrooms were CLOSED. Georgia would drive us to her daughter’s house to shower. Her daughter had children who were now young adults and the house was always very busy with girls fixing hair and boys coming and going and what’s the warm pungent smell coming from the garage?

        Georgia’s daughter was a single mom who had her hands full. When Georgia arrived with me, both of us clutching towels and soap, there were looks of surprise but we didn’t care. We were having fun. Soon their attitude became, “That’s grandma.”

      I accompanied Georgia to a family funeral, and was shocked to see that the neighborhood where she grew up was still so racially divided.  I was impressed with the military funeral service but the reception was awkward. The vibe, “Why is she here?” was so real it was like walking through a thick cloud. After the reception, we drove by the house where Georgia, seven siblings, and one mom had lived without electricity or indoor plumbing. Georgia told me that they often shot and ate deer and needed to always be on the alert for the sound of rattlesnakes.

       I am going to close this with a sad turn of events. George Floyd. At the height of the George Floyd incident, Georgia celebrated her 60th birthday. For starters her grandchildren led her from her home blind folded and to a spa. While she was resting, they transformed her home into a party palace. All the furniture was cleared from the living room, and then it was so transformed with party decorations that when Georgia was brought back, and the blind fold removed, she didn’t know where she was. I am told that the party was amazing. Food. Music. Laughter. But I didn’t go. Why? Too awkward. Everyone would be talking about George Floyd and could they do that comfortably with me there? I didn’t think so. I didn’t want to be a problem at what may have been the birthday party of the decade.

       So, I missed my friend’s birthday party, but life goes on. My life has taken me out of Florida and to a different state. I have never been someone who likes to talk on the phone and the calls to Florida have stopped. Why am I sharing all of this? I want the world to know that friendship is special. If left alone people will find each other and connect. Outside, organized help is not only not needed, it can have the opposite effect.

When I was a teenager, I listened to a lot of Ray Charles, and today - I have ‘Georgia On My Mind.’