Julie, one of my new blogging buddies, has suggested we all write a post in which we reveal the identities of our best friends. OK, I’ll play…

I am truly blessed to have several people I would call a “best friend.” Among them are my two sisters and two brothers, my soulmate BJ, and of course, my very bestest neighbor ever, Marisa, all of whom know me better than I know myself and still love me anyway. They’re all my family, and I absolutely trust my life to them all.

So I asked myself, “How do I define that term? What does ‘Best Friend’ really mean to me?” And I came up with a list of criteria.

First, who can (and in fact HAS!) call(ed) my house at four in the morning without worrying about catching a rabid bear on the other end of the phone line, and whom can I call at that hour with the same expectations? Second, who always refrains from pulling any punches when I really need to hear what I would just as soon leave buried? Who always knows what’s going on with me, even before I say anything at all?

To answer these questions, I flashed back to last July, when a very dear 83-year-old man looked me square in the eye, then pulled his car out right in front of mine, causing me to plow into him broadside. My car was totalled, and so, it seemed, were BJ and I.

After the airbags exploded and before the gas overcame me, I picked up my cell phone, called 911, then dialed the person who is my best friend. The conversation went something like this:

Mary Kathryn: “Hello?”

Me: “Hi. We were just in a wreck.”

MK: “Are you OK?”

Me: No. I think BJ’s leg is cut off.” (It wasn’t — just lacerated to the bone.)

MK: “Which hospital are they taking you to?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

MK: “Call me back when you know, OK?”

Me: “OK.”

I don’t remember much after that, but as I was generally wreaking havok in the trauma center, I heard a familiar voice telling me to settle down so the ER personnel could take better care of me. It was my best friend, Mary Kathryn.

It’s easy to be friends with almost anyone when times are good, but remaining friends through the bad, even exasperating times tells you that you have something very special. For more than 25 years, Mary Kathryn has been there for me.

Here’s a picture of “Power Surge,” our Christian quartet. I’m the tall, skinny, pencil-necked one in the back; MK, who is our director, is the short one in the middle.

The name Power Surge came about because we’re a bunch of menopausal women having synchronized hot flashes. But when it comes to singing, we’re really good. Just ask us!

I love all of my friends, and maybe since I’m such a compartmentalized freak, I have different “best friends” for different occasions. But there’s still that small core who are ALWAYS there, no matter what.