Belly laughing with the dogs

My dear old (she actually uses this word instead of grandma) friend who lives in Ocean Springs and I were trading emails this morning, happening to be on the computer at the same time. We got into dog feeding and camellias and I started giggling as if we were both sitting on her porch with the bayou stretching out eastward. We know each other so well that I can see her. And I know she can see me. Her voice is in every word she types. My voice, no doubt, in every misspelling I send. And strangest of all, I can see myself. I can almost smell her cigarette and see the dust bunnies under her furniture. She's way too thin and lives on coffee with milk and tiny portions of anything else. I miss sitting on her porch terribly. She was the only reason I went to visit my father; that's maybe a small exaggeration - but if she hadn't also lived in Ocean Springs, I sure as hell wouldn't have stayed longer than three days. She's my first child's godmother and we drive to visit him in Houston. I have to find a photo.