BUCKING THE SYSTEM: LUNCH WITH THE GIRLS ENLIGHTENING, ENTERTAINING

Being involved in the media in a town the size of Cape Girardeau means I've become very recognizable to people. Even though my mug's not scaring babies first thing in the morning and my voice isn't causing freak motor vehicle accidents on major thoroughfares, people seem to recognize me when they see me.

For about the last year or so this recognition has resulted in my being placed on the Cape Girardeau speakers' circuit. For some reason, people find me interesting enough they think they can actually bear to listen to me speak during a class or after indulging in a large meal. They invite me to come and share my thoughts and beliefs -- or sometimes just my witty self -- with them during business meetings, award ceremonies and other occasions.

I must admit, I like the attention. Sure, I gripe constantly about my NEEEEXXXXTTTT speaking engagement and how I'm giving ALL my free time away freely, and how I'm going to start saying no when people call with a speaking engagement, but the truth is I enjoy meeting new people and sharing how I feel on a subject. It's one of few ego boosts I allow myself.

Recently, I was invited to speak during a business luncheon on "any subject I wanted." The lady on the phone was pretty adamant that she wanted me in attendance, so I put aside vague notions of just saying no and graciously agreed to make my appearance.

I didn't make the greatest first impression: I walked into the luncheon 20 minutes late with sweat pouring off my face and neck from a long walk up a short flight of stairs. My hair and work clothes were frazzled from the heavy humidity in the air, and I looked to be exactly what I was -- a pregnant woman trying to get too much accomplished on her lunch hour.

In contrast, the 15-plus women at the meeting were "fried, dyed and laid to the side" for their monthly meeting. Although the average age for these ladies had to be in the mid-70s, their "foundations" were firmly pushing body parts in place, snazzy suits were buttoned up or snapped on, and makeup was immaculate, as if they had arrived in an air-conditioned bubble and weren't affected by the 90 percent humidity.

Although their voices and hands had noticeable shakes and some were forced to carry medical equipment as they moved, these were sharp, classy old girls who knew how to enjoy a luncheon.

As I looked around the group of gray- and used-to-be-gray-haired old ladies munching on gourmet salad, I wondered how quickly I could say my speech and be gone. Those thoughts increased as I heard the first softly chiding voice say "There you are!" even as they welcomed me to a table. They're setting me up for the kill, I thought to myself as a slid into the offered seat.

That impression very quickly changed. In the time it took me to unfold my napkin and place it across my lap these women had drawn me into their circle.

You see, most of them have known each other all their lives. They'd attended cooking schools together, raised each others' children and helped shape public policy in this town. They'd also shared pictures of grandchildren and comforted each other after the deaths of spouses.

They were family, and I was the visitor they had invited to dinner for the day.

Before I knew it, I too was munching on salad and sharing tales of my precocious toddler and sad attempts at Sunday dinner. They'd laugh together and share knowing looks as they gave me, the youngster, excellent advice on how to survive motherhood.

I'm glad I took the time to meet these ladies because they gave me a glimpse of something we don't see too often anymore: The expanded family. The way they ribbed each other and giggled over shared memories is almost nonexistent today, a time when neighbors rarely speak unless something bad has brought them together.

They made me long for the day when I, though long-since retired, bent over with age and hard-of-hearing, could put on my good suit and go have lunch with the girls. Hopefully we, too, will laugh about the good times we've shared over a good meal and check the progress of an ailing child or grandchild.

I'm smiling just thinking about it.

~Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.