Back in the year 2000, I started hanging out with a group of people who were all focused on one thing: to lose weight.

We supported each other, cheered each other on, offered advice and recipes, and struck up lasting friendships, even though, in many cases, we never met in person.

We’ve stayed in touch over the years, and yesterday I discovered that a) these guys have terribly long memories or b) I make a helluva impression (kinda like getting hit in the head with a brick).

Out of nowhere, Anne (whom I actually met for lunch once at least ten years ago and doesn’t even live in my time zone) let me know that the other day she smelled pine and instead of thinking about Christmas trees, or skiing, or pine cones, she thought, “Bess can’t tolerate the smell of pine!” (long story)

As it turns out, she also thinks of me whenever she sees a UPS man (longer story).

And when she sees someone drinking chocolate milk, she thinks of my brother Patrick, a man she never knew. It’s a longer story still, and one I share about twice a year.

She’s not the first person to tell me that, either. After almost thirty meetings of the Chocolate Milk Club, now there are friends who, without prompting, let me know each year that they’re hoisting a glass of Quik in his honor.

To say that I am amazed at that is to severely understate it. To say that I am touched doesn’t even come close to covering it.

To be able to say that I’m grateful to have such friends is quite simply, The Besst.

© E. Stocking Evans 2014