The Chase Girls

The Chase Girls came to see me a couple weeks ago.

Dawn.

Andrea.

Jess.

And me.

The Chase Girls, a nickname that somewhere along the way, became ours. It stems back to our first and epic girls’ weekend at Chase on the Lake years ago in Walker, Minn.

And since then, we have gotten together every year; that is, until COVID hit. Then I moved across the country. Then Dawn was diagnosed with breast cancer. And life, it seemed, took a different turn, and our girls’ weekend became more of a faraway destination into the not-so-near future.

But, after three years, it finally happened. And, it was as epic as ever.

But the girls’ weekends – while shiny, bright, bursts of fun, laughter and togetherness – aren’t the stars of the show here.

It’s the day in and day out.

Call it the secret sauce, but I will tell you this: The Chase Girls have the friendship thing figured out.

I was recently at a women’s retreat for work. Many of my fellow coworkers were reflecting that between the day-to-day struggles of work, family and all the hard things life throws at us, they didn’t have much time left for friendships.

This hit me in the same way as if someone told me they didn’t have time to breathe.

You see, the Chase Girls are intertwined around every limb of my life. They are the air I breathe and the actions I take. They are my rain and my soil all at once. The stars and the telescope. The roots and the fruit. The vessel and the flowers.

It didn’t happen by mistake, nor without intention. And here is where the secret sauce comes in: We show up for each other. In the most magnificent and tragic of ways. We show up.

We’ve been with each other through a lot of life. Divorces. Marriages. The death of a brother. The death of a mother. The death of a husband. A breast cancer diagnosis. A child’s crisis. Children going to college. Becoming stepmothers. A move across the country. A husband’s cancer diagnosis. And through Rogue.

Rogue. Rhianna’s (I’m sorry, Rhianna, for what I’m about to say) hideous-smelling perfume. Rogue landed on me years ago as part of a subscription box. The smell knocked my trousers off, and not in a good way, and stayed with me forever or at least through five showers. Rogue was shared at a girlfriend’s weekend and quickly gained notoriety, and somehow became its own version of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, bouncing between each of us in the sneakiest of ways. Slipping it under a pillowcase, in a glove box, inside a shoe, the list goes on. Rogue follows us and ultimately catches us all.

But I digress.

Milestones and tragedies may be where we shine, but our magic is in the nothingness and everything of every day. Through the Voxer app, we leave each other daily voice messages of varying lengths – anything from a minute or two to the max of 15 minutes. (We hit the 15-minute max easily, which only means we keep talking in a new message.)

Sometimes we have little to say. Sometimes a lot. It’s a place where we “safe share,” lay down our hearts, get real, vent, cry, laugh and carry on. On our own time, we respond to one another with empathy, compassion, advice or simply acknowledgement. Four friends, three states, and with intention and technology, we never miss a beat.

So, that’s the how. It’s not very sizzling, but it’s an important part of this story. The WHAT is far more interesting.

I’ve wanted to write our story for a long time, but have struggled to find the words to fully describe our friendship. I decided I’m not going to try, because like the smell of Rogue, some things defy words.

So, I’ll leave you with a few tidbits of the Chase Girls – the good and the hard, the sad and the compelling:

When Andrea married Wayne, we decided to gift them their wedding night at their favorite hotel in Stillwater before they went on to Duluth the next day. We reserved the suite, collaborated on a snack basket for their road trip, ordered special cupcakes and all the trappings. But, we didn’t stop there. Jess and Dawn (the two who live in Minneapolis) checked into their hotel room to decorate and leave the basket. They did this all while Facetiming me and planning their escape under the bed in the event that Andrea and Wayne showed up before they could leave. (Something that surely would have scarred them far more than the mall Easter bunny when we were kids.) Before they left, they generously sprayed their bathroom with Rogue, set it on the toilet and left with minutes to spare. Mission accomplished. From there, we each poured a cocktail from wherever we were, raised a virtual toast to them and texted our photos to Andrea at the appointed time.
When Dawn’s beloved dog Barett died, we knew Dawn was going to be in for a hell of a mourning period. So, we devised a plan that for every Monday for a month (because she hates Mondays), we would gift her a surprise – a burst of joy to break up the sadness. One of those gifts were solar wind chimes. The solar piece broke long ago, but to this day, Barett still shows up for Dawn from time to time as the wind chimes flicker unexpectedly.
When Jess’ husband, Aaron, unexpectedly and tragically died, Dawn, Andrea and I secretly developed a shared Google calendar, where we covered every weekend for the course of two months so Jess wouldn’t have a weekend alone. Trips were planned. Flights made. Christmas trees were put up. Aaron’s office was cleaned out. Dawn was Jess’ wedding date to a long-previously planned wedding of one of Aaron’s family members. Grab-and-go protein snacks were bought to ensure Jess had easy food during a time when she couldn’t eat.
When my mom died, the Chase Girls showed up for the funeral. But really, they showed up as my armed forces. During the reception, they watched me like a hawk. They saw me greet, comfort and make small talk with every guest. They watched my face. And when I was DONE, they knew it. They gathered me up, whisked me to the bathroom, put us all in a handicapped stall and handed me a glass of wine, where I finally cried and let the wall hold me up.
When Dawn was diagnosed with breast cancer – something that knocked the wind out of all of us, we each took on roles for how we could tangibly support Dawn – through the anxiety of the unknown, the treatment and the surgery. We co-oped on a care basket. We scheduled virtual check-ins. Jess and Andrea showed up at her house. Head scarves were delivered. Flowers sent. And hearts poured out. On Dawn’s last day of treatment, Jess took her out for lunch. She brought flowers from the Chase Girls and shared video messages we each recorded for Dawn.
Lastly, when Brady was diagnosed with rectal cancer, we were new to South Carolina and had no family nor friends within a day's drive. Jess, Dawn and Andrea rallied around me and coordinated well-timed visits to help. Like a series of Mary Poppins, they showed up, did laundry, cooked, put up my Christmas tree, organized my pantry, cleaned my microwave (gross), and infused joy and laughter into our lives. It was hard to accept this sort of help, but wow, did it lift all of us. The culmination came in December. Brady was recovering from surgery and I was prepping for a houseful at Christmas. During one of our conversations, I mentioned that I’d be giving up my Peloton room to company. Two days later, I came home one evening to find my neighbors standing outside of my house. I got out of my car and quickly realized they put up some Christmas decorations AND moved my Peloton down to my room. “Andrea called us,” they said. “Something about the Chase Girls.”

I have so many more examples. Some are too close to our hearts to share.

But I’ll leave it at this: When Brady was diagnosed, my life as I knew it shattered. They helped me put it back together. Cracked and beat up, but today she is whole and strong. And through all these cracks, their light shines.

And, I know I can say the same for all of them. We’ve all been broken by life. And we’ve all helped each other put our lives back together.

Our friendship isn’t glamorous. Our selfies aren’t Instagram worthy. We used to be young and now we’re middle aged and feel every bit the part. Our girls’ weekends are not filled with exotic trips or glammed’ up visits to chic clubs. They’re PJs, pizza rolls, cake (because, hello) and cocktails. They’re Food Network and coffee on a Saturday morning. They’re night swimming on full bellies with promises of NOT posting any pictures. They’re occasional dinners out with surprise champagne and desserts for the Chase Girl of honor. They’re bonfires and “celebration coffees” and discussions over whether Baileys and coffee should, in fact, have cream in it (Ireland says it does). They’re a trip to Walgreens for a pregnancy test only to find out it was menopause. They’re the rage and the glory. The dazzling night sky and the cold splash of a pool’s night water.

And they’re Rogue.

As it stands, one of us knows where it is. And she won’t give it up for anything.

Truth be told, when I think of that tiny bottle of foulness, I can’t help but compare it to US. It’s enduring. Lasting. Unrelenting. Strong. A force. And much like Rogue gets passed from person to person, so does our attention and intentions, depending on our circumstances.

Still doesn’t mean I want that bottle of stench in my house.

Where it all began. Chase on the Lake.

Another year. Another Chase memory. This was before Jess scored us Cinnamon Toast Crunch martinis. .... because, back then we *thought* we had game.

Day swimming at Saluda River Club's Village Pool. "We're refined during the day." - Jess.

The War Mouth. Best hot sauce and cocktails. And people too.

West Colatown's Cafe Strudel.

Chase on the Lake during the year of big scarfs and chunky jewelry.

Detroit Lakes and mimosa-cocktails (rum was in them too) that were filled wayyyyy too full. This may have led to an attempt at paddle boarding and paddle boating and a harrowing tale of being stuck at sea ... or 15 feet from the dock.