November moves me in mysterious ways. It is the briefest of seasons before The Season, and it trips us up as a reminder that the year is drawing to a close.
There is the familiar, hormonal rush of frantic rabbiting to get things done. I always, without exception, look back at months past during this portentous period.
There’s the political history to unpack, career highs and lows, personal dips and peaks; it’s a “moment of silence” month for many, lest we forget world war remembrances.
Devolving from global concerns to intimate ones, I frequently check my internal phone book during this time, cognisant of the fact that lost contacts are a fast fact in a frenetic life.
The ones I check in with first, in this, my nostalgic November, are the Remember Whens. We all have one or mostly a few.
We need them more than we realise and, frankly, Remember Whens are an intrinsic part of a well-balanced woman’s life.
Remember Whens are like super-glue at a children’s craft session. They stick to you long after everyone’s gone home and you’re trying to put on face cream with the only two clean fingers you have left.
I possess a tiny handful of Remember Whens and I love them. They’re the ones who’ve given you a life sentence in the most positive way.
Take Sandra. Last saw her a couple of months ago, by accident, at The Spur; and before that, perhaps three years had passed since we’d had a hug and a coffee.
I’ve known her for more than two decades and we’ve been friends for at least 10.
The beauty of Remember Whens is that they knew you BK (before kids) and BS (before “stuff”). They thought you were fab then and they still think you’re swell now.
Life has happened, but the core “you and me” is solid as concrete, no matter how much time passes or weight creeps.
This type of “mateship” – it’s more intimate and chilled than a basic friendship – doesn’t depend on WhatsApp conversations or weekly supper clubs.
In fact, months might go by before I remember that I need to tell a Remember When something salacious or grossly unimportant.
Then I’ll make contact and we may or may not decide to meet or gossip on the phone, glass of wine in hand. It doesn’t matter that I don’t see Sandra often or my other Remember Whens.
When I do, it’s as she says: “I haven’t seen you forever. Then, when I do, we just click right back into it.”
And that doesn’t mean that your current friendships are any less solid.
See, the beauty is that a few of the people you hang with now are quietly, beautifully, settling into a Remember When relationship with you.
Like a slow-cooked stew, you’re laying foundations with them that’ll give you things to remember and chuckle about later on.
By that time, neither of you may have any teeth left, let alone pert derrieres – but you’ll still have one helluva laugh.