We called ourselves The Crazy Cronies, old friends from the Admiral King Class of ’68, seven women, sometimes more, sometimes less.
We had kids who were adults or we had no kids. We were well enough with time enough. A sweet spot four decades after graduation.
We rented houses for a week East or West, shared bedrooms, shared king-sized beds.
We were eager to gather, easy to please, willing to compromise, theatre one year, cowboy barbecue the next
We walked miles on beaches in the Outer Banks and Hilton Head, cruised Lake Tahoe and Lake Chautauqua, bought turquoise and silver jewelry in Santa Fe, joined a flash mob dancing at Niagara Falls, white-water rafted in West Virginia with a guide who looked like Tom Cruise. We bought a souvenir t-shirt: “Paddle faster, I hear banjo music.”
We posed for pictures in matching pajamas, sky blue with floating clouds.
We gifted each other necklaces made from seashells and bracelets that dangled charms.
We screamed when a Gulf Shores rat raced across the kitchen of our waterfront Gulf Shores retreat. An endangered species, the exterminator told us.
In purple and orange Sedona we booked a bouncy, bumpy pink jeep ride. “That’s the first orgasm I’ve had in a year!” we said.
On a Savannah bus tour, a man’s tobacco spit cup spilled all over our white cotton capris. Gross, but still a story to tell
We talked and talked and laughed and laughed, a medley of musical giggles, witchy shrieks, high pitched tee hee hees.
We got older. We got picky. We got Covid.
We bickered about destinations and dollars and rooms with a view. We demanded separate beds, then bedrooms, then an elevator.
We dealt with arthritis, diabetes, psoriasis, knee replacements, and a partner with Parkinsons.
Some of us struggled to walk.
Some of us prioritized grandchildren’s soccer games or family vacations or spiritual pursuits.
Some of us wouldn’t commit or committed then backed out.
Some of us distanced from others.
Some of us gathered at class reunions.
Some of us met up separately in twos or threes.
Some of us ghosted some of us.
Some of us died.
No one officially declared that the Crazy Cronies had disbanded.
One of us still has a framed photo on her desk: seven women wearing matching pajamas, sky blue with floating clouds.