Some things get worse with age.  Onions, potatoes, garlic, computers, grey hair, flab, swimming pools and Wal-Mart’s.  Just to name a few.  Other things get better with age.  Wine, certain cheeses, men, movies (with Hugh Jackman, Robert Redford, Julia Andrews, Charlton Heston and Meryl Streep.  Obviously, not all on the same film), books and true friends.  This Chicken boasts few friends, hates talking on the phone and is perfectly dreadful at returning any form of communication.  I am fairly decent at ‘Thank-You’ cards but just because my Mama taught me right.  I have managed to hang onto one certain friend for close to 20 years though.  While we may only see each other once every year or two these days, while we rarely speak on the phone or text, we are always able to pick right back up, chime in and know we are in the presence of true friendship.  Because I believe, true friendship, like true love, knows no ages, bounds or restrictions.

So I packed up my Addie, myself and we traveled to Hamilton, Texas.  To see my friend.

It is 4 hours, 4 left turns, 3 right turns and we are suddenly there.

My road trips almost always go smoothly based on my super-sophisticated GPS system.  Also known as the single, surviving Rand McNally map sheet I have of central-east Texas.

My friend, Christin, moved away when we were both about 16 years old.  I cried for days.  But since then I’ve made the journey numerous times to Hamilton, Texas.  It is kinda like a second home to me.

My darling friend always wanted to grow up, have a lovely husband, lots of babies and live in the country.  I wanted to be a Park Ranger and a photographer for National Geographic.  She has arrived.  I am still a work in progress.

After living for years with their 5 daughters in a two-bedroom, one-bath house they finally found and purchased the Miller Farm, complete with acreage,  house and barn.  Not only is it a perfect place for them but they were able to save a great old house from neglect and abandonment.  Nothing makes me sadder than to see a beautiful old house go to waste.  As my grandfather would say “Somebody’s dream”.  All houses, at some point, were somebody’s dream.  And dreams, like people, should not be left to waste away.    All-in-all it is a lovely farm for a lovely family.

I mean, who has a stained glass front door?  Love.

I want a windmill by the way.

So I am normally the one cooking for everyone, it was a shockingly pleasant surprise to have someone who managed not only to plan the menu but purchase the ingredients and prepare them for my consumption.

 It was AMAZING.  And we cooked together then ate together which was even more fun!  Cooking with friends and wine and pearl onions cannot be beat in my personal opinion.

BUT.  Then we had dessert.  Oh. My. Gawd.

Tiramisu.  If I didn’t actually hurt myself on this it wasn’t for lack of effort.

The kids all had Mississippi Mud Cake, which is awesome on its own right…….

But, that Tiramisu.  There are no words.

The children’s, all six girls total, watched “The Land Before Time” which I kinda wanted to join in on until I recalled the scene where the Mama Dinosaur gets killed defending her children then I got all emotional and decided I needed more wine.

Great movie, but dang I’m a weanie.

In order to distract myself I looked at the incredible, chocolate-covered marshmallow my friend gifted to my daughter upon our arrival.  I had to practically karate-chop Addie to get a picture before she ate it but it was to pretty not too!

She gave me this mug……

…filled with hand-made chocolate truffles of the same name.  I would show you a picture of the truffles but then you might come to my house and steal them and then we couldn’t be friends anymore.  I don’t mind sharing.  Just not my chocolate.

Then, acting like the mature, 30-somethings we are, we stayed up until 2 a.m.

There may or may not have been additional chocolate involved.

A funny thing about me and my friend.  We are not very much alike.  As teens she liked shopping at Talbots and I wanted to go to Cavenders Boot City.  She wore pretty girly clothes, I wore jeans and spurs.  She had a tiny waist, perfectly portioned rear-end and thick, gorgeous hair.  I was tall with a pancake butt and thin, straight hair.  And freckles.  My dad was a welder, her dad was in the horse business.  She tried to always be good.  I wanted to be naughty, only I wasn’t successful.  Her room was pink with frills and mine was covered in horses and Marlboro men.  I miss the Marlboro man by the way.  Yet, somehow, we became friends.  Along the way we discovered we both adore musicals and can quote “The Sound of Music”  and “Singin’ in the Rain” perfectly.  We once loved Mel Gibson and now love Hugh Jackman.  But only because he can sing……ahem.  When we married, we both picked out the exact same dishes, a fact not discovered until months later.  She still has the same husband and the dishes.  I have the dishes.  We both have a slight problem with cake plates.  As in we must own them.  In every shape, height and color.  We both love having girls and we homeschool.  We love to read fiction.  And though our differences are still somewhat obvious I think we compliment each other well.  And I admire my friend.  She has selflessly taken care of her family, with joy and affection and balance.  I can barely manage to give that to my chickens, and they can’t speak!  She has transformed a house into a home and never forgets to give God the glory.  I wish I were more like my friend.

The next morning, I roused around 7:30 and wandered outside taking pictures like a true creeper.

There was lots to see and I must come back and creep longer some day….

But breakfast was beckoning me back in……

Not pictured is the bacon.  I ate that too.

24 hours after arriving it was time to head back to the cozy nest of pine trees I call home.

Thank you, my darling friend, for a relaxing, fun, delicious and beautiful weekend.

I hope each of you, my dear readers, have a friend like mine.

Thanks for joining us this weekend, love ya’!