I seriously had to look up how to spell Vicki’s name correctly, because one of our longest running jokes was on a TERRIBLE misspelling of her name on our Rebelette uniforms. Instead of Vicki Ogburn, they monogrammed Vick-Y OSBOURNE. They got about 6 letters right, and we turned it into a song: Vick-Y, Osbour-Nee, Vick-Y, Osbour-Nee. Maybe you had to be there?

Me in full officer Rebelette regalia …

I think that’s the point of so much of my friendship with Vicki: You had to be there. We met our freshman year of high school, in Rebelettes. This was … a very Texas institution, wherein young women marched on the field of football games in various formations, like a marching band, except we did also have a band at Westbury. Rebelettes played either a trumpet, a drum, or … yes, a xylophone, reserved for the least musically talented members. I was a proud xylophone player, as was Vicki. Our junior and senior years, we were officers in the … squad? … and bonded  deeply.

But before that, before we were officers, before we schemed how to sell more candy so we could buy more candy so we could eat more candy to support the Rebelettes (it was kind of a vicious cycle), we were friends. And our friendship was easiest to explain in helpless, ridiculous, uncontrollable laughter.

I specifically remember one day when Jeff (high school boyfriend), Long, Vicki and I were at my house. I was trying to show off my culinary skills, and decided to make homemade macaroni and cheese. It was … not successful. It was homemade macaroni and soup. It was a liquid disaster. There are many people that would be bummed about this, and I include myself in that number: If Vicki weren’t around. But she was, and it quickly went from a debacle to one of the funniest things that had happened in my life.

I always looked goofy around Vicki because I was laughing so hard .. here we are doing important Rebelette work …

I don’t remember the specific thing she said, but I do recall —that I actually laughed so hard that macaroni came out of … my nose. It was … uncomfortable. It burned. But the laughter around it — the idea that a failed ‘fancy’ dish was not a disaster but an opportunity to bring us together in laughter and failure — was a warm and wonderful feeling.

Another example: At an ‘officers retreat’ to town of San Antonio, we stayed in a Motel 6. As young girls out in the world with little supervision are wont to do, we turned our 4-person room into a pretty wild slumber party, with jumping on the bed and general hysterics. Our teacher stormed into the room — not the short one, Ms. Burnette?, but the tall skinny one, Ms. ? I’m blanking — and dressed us down sharply. She ended her rebuke with, “This is NOT how you behave in a hotel,” and then turned on her heel and left the room.

Vicki, without missing a single beat, turned to us and said, “I may not know everything, but this is a MOTEL, not a HOTEL, and I think the standards of behavior are different.” Again, you may have had to be there, but instead of feeling small and chagrined, I remember laughing harder than I’ve ever laughed. I also still clarify the difference for hotels vs. motels with my children … it’s just too funny not to keep the joke going.

Vicki was also being raised in high school by a single mom, a strong, independent nurse. She had a beloved kid sister, and I had an older sister. We had a lot in common — and what I am most grateful to her for across all these years are the lessons she taught me in perspective. The hard parts of life are a lot easier if you can find something to laugh about in them. I lift a spoonful of macaroni to toast you, Vicki. Thanks.