Sharon Randall: Mom's Glee Club might have to take its show on the road

The Glee Club gave me a surprise party, but I shouldn't be surprised. They always make the best of things — even me.

Fifteen years ago, when I was hip-deep in life with a job, a husband, three teenagers and barely enough "free" time to brush my own teeth, I made a decision that would change my lot profoundly, and in ways I could never have imagined.

It was simple. I agreed to meet once a week with four women (three others would join later, two would move away) who all wore similar running shoes: Our families, jobs and over-flowing lives left precious little time for friendship.

We had friends, yes, women with whom we worked or volunteered or counted on if we needed them. But we seldom had time for uninterrupted conversation, for talking about "real" things — hopes and fears and dreams and other such important matters of the heart.

We were hungry for that. So we made a commitment to meet once a week over breakfast (in the hour between getting our kids off to school and ourselves into work) to talk about what was going on in our heads, our lives, our hearts, our souls.

Like Las Vegas, we promised that what happened in the group would stay in the group, unless we got permission to share it or write about it in a column.

Beyond that, we agreed to pray for each other and then leave the rest to God.

We had no idea what lay ahead, but we agreed to try our best to face it together, to bear each other's burdens, to lighten each other's loads.

My daughter jokingly referred to us as "Mom's Glee Club," and the name somehow stuck.

Fifteen years is a long time in the collective lives of women. Together we weathered changes that we never saw coming; suffered heartaches we didn't think we could bear; welcomed joys that left us thankful and humbled; and ate our combined weight in birthday cake.

We watched our children grow up, leave our nests and, in some cases, finish college, get married and have babies.

Those women stood beside me in body and in soul through the deaths of my father, my mother and my first husband.

There is never a day that I don't need friends. But I need them more some days than on others, and every time I have needed them, they have been there, my faithful Sisters in Glee.

A year ago when I remarried, they gave me a bridal shower and a set of towels that cost more than my first car. It was a great party, but nothing like the one they threw last week — a "going-away shower" because I'm moving to Las Vegas of All Places, where my husband is starting a new job.

I thought we were just meeting for dinner until I showed up late, as usual, and there they all were, grinning like a bunch of handpicked flowers with a table full of presents. I should tell you now that I hate "going away" parties ... but I love presents.

These were special: beach towels and plastic tumblers for lounging by the pool; a small cactus for my new garden; a personal mini-fan to ward off heatstroke; sunscreen, and more sunscreen; and a pair of sparkly flip-flops and a rhinestone toe ring for, well, I have no clue.

One of us who couldn't be there sent a cake inscribed "Viva Las Vegas!"

In our 15 years together, we have learned to hold loosely the things we love; to say goodbye as need be, with laughter and goofy presents and lots of cake, and leave the rest to God.

I don't know what lies ahead, but I know this: If I need them, they'll be there. We'll call it a Glee Club field trip to Vegas.

Sharon Randall is the author of "Birdbaths and Paper Cranes." She can be reached at P.O. Box 931, Pacific Grove, CA 93950, or at randallbay@earthlink.net.