I wrote about my friend Vivienne Reis. Well, she is not actually a close friend, more of an acquaintance. We see each other in church and that is about the extent of our friendship. Vivienne is a glamorous and graceful looking woman in her sixties, always beautifully dressed. She is a passionate advocate for a local Thai charity that helps mothers with HIV, and she sets up a stall selling beautiful cloth books, handmade cards, old-fashioned dolls in church on Sundays. You can read about it here.
But this post is not about Vivienne. It is about the sisterhood of women.
My daughter G is only sixteen and she would have absolutely nothing in common with Vivienne. They are of different generations and different backgrounds. Jane has three sons, all much older than G. I racked my brain for a social connection between these two women, but couldn’t find any.
Thus I think it is remarkable that a few days ago, I found G standing in the Vivienne’s little corner in the church hall, chatting as Vivienne manned her colourful stall. They were chatting away animatedly as if they were old friends, comfortable with each other. I couldn’t resist sneaking over to eavesdrop. What on earth could they be chatting about?
I heard Vivienne saying to G, “Your school is going to help this charity, you know.”
“Really?” G asked, interested.
“They’re going to send some students over, to help clean our new school.”
I crept away, leaving them to their sweet little chat, pleased that my daughter chose to socialise with this lovely lady instead of hanging out with her boyfriend, his sisters and their school friends.
And that’s she and I. Yes, we chat together a lot. She says she chats a lot to her friends’ mothers too.