It’s October in the Friendly Village and the active pace of summer is starting to wane. Back are the beautiful deep blue skies and the late afternoon shadows that grow longer as the sun makes its annual migration to the south. It is the season when this part of the world sheds its camouflage and reveals its contours and hidden secrets once again. Each year, we experience this transition as something new yet something comfortably familiar. It is a time for slowing down, reflecting, and savoring the joys of friendships and traditions.

It is fitting that Jene was born at this time of the year for her spirit is so much like the season – warm and genuine and constant and . . . reassuring. As we approach the beginning of this her Jubilee year, I have been thinking about the many memories that have accumulated over time, of how we have settled into a deep and abiding friendship over the course of almost 25 years that I would be lost without.

The fact is, with the passage of time, we often forget the origins of our friendships because they begin to feel as if they have always been with us. But in quieter moments I can still catch glimpses of a time when Jene was an unknown neighbor who lived at the end of the alley. Intriguing she was, what with her Z car and love of sunbathing in the back yard with Lynn Lloyd (ooh, don’t touch ‘cause you might get burned!). And then I can recall spotting her walking down the alley with a Pick of the Chick in one hand and some ‘taters in the other and, as if by magic, a couple of hours later the irresistible aroma of a grill and the sounds of gentle laughter would come wafting in my windows.

It was on just one of those days that I was invited to pass through an often unnoticed door into the magical world of Jene Ormond and the Friendly Village. And over the years, our lives and stories have woven together whether in the ‘hood or on Chili Beach or under the gentle rain of the Magic Mushroom or at Nurse and Zeb’s or Buckin’ham Palace. Places known to others by more mundane names but here reinvented with new names, new meanings, and new traditions. Places where Big Butt Magazine and paintin' bras and alley croquet and wild passion fruit and Rock-a-Hula and home grown weddin's and Fourth of July parking lot concerts and magic noodles and women’s legs so strong they could snap a man’s neck and Winks and a monkey named June Bug and Mr. Claude in a heavenly spotlight singing “Chances Are” while ridin’ an escalator have inhabited our imaginations and local yore for decades.

And I would not trade any of those memories for a king’s ransom because I have loved every minute of the journey and can’t wait to see where the ride takes us next.

So Happy Birthday, Miss Jene! It’s time to pull out your red wig and dancing shoes and head on over to Bubba’s Back Room where we’ll spin some Motown 45s, reprise the farewell tour of Fabulous Neons, and celebrate all that we have become and all that still awaits us!

With all the love,

Mr. Pat