Once upon a time there were three friends named Kathleen, Mary & Colleen.  You’d think this was a start of a good Irish joke, but in fact, only Kathleen had any Irish background.

Mary, like me, came from a Mennonite background. In fact, her father’s name was Menno. Doesn’t get much more Mennonite than that.

And although my parents were a random mixture of who knows what (German/Dutch/Russian?) I mostly identify as just Mennonite, while my name, Colleen, has no particular cultural significance. It was picked out of a Name-Your-Baby book.

Kathleen and I had been friends since we were ten-years old. Mary entered our lives when we were all in our early twenties, and suddenly, it was like all three of us had been friends forever. In fact, we often made the mistake of thinking one of us had been in the other’s early childhood stories.

We shared each others secrets, broken hearts and darkest fears; a special connection created through trust, tears and laughter. Tons and tons of laughter. At various points in our lives we shared homes together, Kathleen and me, Mary and Kathleen, Mary with Kevin and me, house-sitting, condo-sharing or anything else we could dream up.

As a little girl, Mary lived in Hamilton, Ontario. Her preacher-parents ran the Welcome Inn, where Mary lived with her four siblings along with five foster children. The Inn welcomed those members of society who previously hadn’t had much welcoming in their lives. And though Mary’s basic needs of shelter, food and clothing were met, it never sounded to me like the people in that inn were living in much higher style than those they welcomed.

In grade two, Mary met Lena Wong. They became each other’s best friends. Soon their favourite game was something they called Smart Ladies. It involved pinkies raised from pretend china tea cups, discussing diamond rings and orders for new fur coats and the summoning of invisible chauffeurs.

They were, of course, playing rich.

Mary told us this story more than once. Soon ‘Smart Ladies’ became our mantra whenever the three of us went shopping or got together for a weekend away. Let’s be Smart Ladies, one of us would say and it would begin.

Meanwhile, Mary’s story spread among our various friends and the game evolved to something that could be played in jewelry stores, private galleries, real estate open-houses or high-end clothing and shoe stores; wherever and whenever something was truly unaffordable, completely unattainable or an indulgent luxury.

In July 2014, Kathleen was diagnosed with stage four brain cancer.  Mary flew out from her home in Nova Scotia and we spent each day of her visit with Kathleen.

In September, Mary came out again. We propped Kathleen in the back seat with pillows and a quilt and we drove up to Whistler for what would be our last Smart Ladies weekend.

When we arrived at our lovely Intrawest suite, we asked Kathleen what she wanted to eat more than anything else. Steak, she said. I want steak.

Whistler has many good restaurants but none as renowned for steak as Hy’s Steakhouse. As Kathleen napped in anticipation of the night out, we made reservations. In a restaurant where steaks can run $45.00, Mary and I made a plan that we would pick up the tab.

It was pouring rain when I dropped Kathleen & Mary at the front door of Hy’s. When I came back from parking the car, I found them seated at a linen-covered table beside the fireplace. The room was dimly lit in that posh kind of way with just the right hum of the not-too-loud murmurs from the other diners. With the glowing wood-panelled walls, it was a perfect Smart Ladies setting.

 

 

We ordered Caesar salad for the table. A wooden trolley was wheeled over. We laughed about the last time we’d seen that kind of salad showmanship. Was it the ridiculousness of the 80s? It had to be.

We ordered a beautiful bottle of red wine and steaks, medium rare all round. Our glasses glowed ruby-red from the fire. Kathleen grew hot and removed her hat, revealing her baldness. I loved her for her complete lack of self-consciousness in that act. We toasted each other with tears in our eyes. Remember this, I told myself, remember all of this. We laughed some more. We ate so well. We cried.

Kathleen was getting tired. We asked our server for the check. She said she’d come right back. Instead, a man came to our table. He held the bill folder toward Mary and said, “You need to read this before you look at the bill.”  Mary read it, but she looked confused. She motioned for him to hand it to me.

 

 

I started to cry.

What? said Kathleen. I read it aloud, “Paying it forward to what looks like an amazing group of ladies. Cheers from my wife & I. Love life!”

I still wonder if those people have any idea of the scale of their kindness?  It wasn’t just the fact that they’d paid our huge bill. It was just such an unexpected moment of compassion and light during such dark and unrelenting days.

That was our last good weekend together. Six months later, Kathleen died.

Tomorrow I am flying to Ottawa to spend a few days with Kathleen’s 18-year old daughter Hanna. She has just started the music program at the University of Ottawa. I emailed her to tell her I was coming for a visit.  I told her too, that as I was writing a travel article, the Fairmont and Ottawa Tourism would be hosting us at the incredible Chateau Laurier hotel.

 

 

Hanna’s response was immediate, “Smart Ladies!”

Kathleen would be so pleased. Smart Ladies 2.0. The art of living well continues…