It’s Galentine’s Day, and Mom was right

My mom is on the right. The lady who is second from left was probably the leader of the friend squad that set up the lunch the day of my grandfather’s funeral, eight years before this photo was taken.

One of my formative lessons in the value of female friendship came about because of a buffet lunch after a funeral.

The fare was predictable, given that it was the mid-1960s and this was a largely Irish-Catholic group of middle-class Americans in New Jersey: ham and cheese, hard rolls, butter, pickles, chips and maybe some potato salad. 

And mustard in a short, delicate cocktail glass. 

I was not yet 10 years old, but I knew those little etched glasses were used only on rare weekends for drinks I couldn’t have. Who puts mustard in a cocktail glass?

It turns out that if you’re lucky, your friends do.

It was my maternal grandfather’s funeral. The post-burial gathering was at our house. My mother was tending to my fragile grandmother, making the house presentable for guests and ensuring that the necessary somber clothes were clean and ironed. She couldn’t do the funeral home-church-cemetery circuit and set out lunch for a house full of people. So she called in her friends. While my family was sitting in the front row of chairs at the cemetery, three of Mom’s besties swept into our house with the no-fuss efficiency of middle-aged women who know they’ll get it right. They filled the ice bucket, and loaded the dining room table with sandwich makings, snacks, drinks and desserts. They set up the folding chairs in the living room and put the breakfast dishes away. Then they vanished, leaving the extended family to share lunch and memories together.

I waited until I was alone in the kitchen with Mom to point out that the mustard had been in a pretty cocktail glass. Her response has been with me ever since. “I guess the ladies couldn’t find anything else, so they used that.” Then she turned and looked right into my eyes. “Those are the kind of friends you want. You don’t have to tell them what to do. They just figure it out.”

Decades later, I recognize that as one of the best pieces of advice my mother ever gave me. And I’m happy to report that I did as she said. 

So, on Galentine’s Day 2023, this is for the ones who did it all with me: laughed or cried, partied or panicked, wrote or ran, scrambled up a trail or screamed in the street. It’s for the ones who shopped for a dress with me or brought me a meal, taught me to cook or to drive a standard transmission, danced at my wedding or my daughter’s; for the ones who watched me take on daunting challenges and cheered me through every step.

Happy Galentine’s Day, my friends. And thank you.