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From my chair to yours…

“Your friends will know you better in the first minute you meet than your acquaintances will know you in a thousand years.”
-Richard Bach

I was inspired by reading an article last week. It was about friendships, both near and far, and those that are physically gone. I say physically because I feel nothing is gone while we are thinking about it. It is the ache of not being able to hear a voice or hug a person, a pet, that my grieving kicks in. Grieving is another discussion for another time but will be touched upon in this post.

The author that inspired me wrote about so many aspects of a friendship I hadn’t really considered all at once. It set me off on a wonderful journey down different paths with many living and some deceased friends. Lovers of old as well.

One person, I remembered thinking about, took place many years ago. I was living in San Diego at the time and involved in a huge community of like-minded people; Science of Mind. I met this man, “D” there and he would make several trips to Mexico by the back roads to help with used mobile homes he fixed up to make livable then sell. I went with “D” on many excursions, driving on these bumpy, dusty roads. Talk about pot holes! and we would take a break before driving back home to a small family restaurant that made the best homemade Mexican food, and coffee, also Mexican. We would sit and talk with the owner and his young daughter before getting back into my friend’s well-used old truck to head off.
Writing this, I am once again wondering if my friends soul senses a sort of communication with me as I think about our memories together? There is most probably loads of research about this, but I prefer to simply believe the “yes. ” D” passed away years after I had moved. I never thought we wouldn’t talk again. I had never said goodbye.
Walks can also be times of wonderful conversation with memories. Smiles and tears accompanying my steps.

Some people vanish from our lives because we grow out of each other and away. What brought us together in the beginning no longer is the glue that once held us together. We have moved on and not together.

I had a very good friend once and something happened that was personal for both of us. Not so nice. I tried my best at different times during the years to work through this with her. “E” wasn’t interested. That hurt me incredibly, as I feel true friendship can work anything out and allow each other the time to heal back to an even deeper friendship. I have sadly found that this is not often the case. Maybe my view is the eternal child in me.

I feel lucky and blessed to count my good friends on my fingers. Having lived in many places, and moving around is tough on friendships to maintain.
Back in the day when actual telephones were used, which would cradle in that space between your jawbone and neck, there would be some long, rich conversations. My neck was stiff at the end while my heart was happy.Christmas, Thanksgiving phone calls with far-away family and friends was a delightful norm “back in the days,” which I looked foreward to all year. Those were special and made the holidays even more of a blessing. Interesting phrase “back in the day.” Will the next generation use it when they are older?

Back to friendships……The article spoke of how distance is hard on keeping one going.

Here I am with some friends in Maine. I am the nearsighted one in the back.

Some friendships drift away as peoples live’s and interests change as mentioned above. I thought about that and how it’s true for me. Currently politics are a good example. Friends I was close with through the years have a very different opinion now about politics and how the country should be governed, or not governed at all.
The tendency to become hot tempered quickly seems drastically different now than it did years ago when the political world seemed softer, easier to discuss.
Or was that just me?

I think about my friends, and loves that are no longer living with a touching sadness.
One time I had been thinking about phoning someone I had moved away from (I was always moving for my job years ago), and something always came up. Yes, you probably know where this is going, and it did. That person had passed on and that phone call never took place.
If I still have a person’s phone number, I now call when it enters my mind. Text also works, but for me, the voice is more personal. I can be very spontaneous!
That unquestionably is again the child in me!

I want to share something I’d written about friendships and memory. The one I chose has been mildly edited, copied, and portions pasted for you.
This is an unpublished work I plan to be part of my memoirs one day.
It evokes memory and friendship for me.

Cooking with Life

Cooler weather arrives
feeling more alive,
ideas begin to stir.
I breathe more easily.
The mingled scents of cooking in the air
bringing pleasure.
Early Sunday dinners before darkness arrives.
Snuggling with a good book. No other choices to snuggle with in my current life.
That’s ok.
The winds grow chillier.
The urge to create a meat sauce enters, and the book disappears as a recipe takes over.
Loads of garlic, dashes of Vietnamese hot sauce and adobo seasoning.
Pours of red wine adding a subtle tang.
My hands know the amounts, dashes.
Choices instinctual.
A big historic red iron pot surrounded by colorful small jars, sits on the stove,
a low flame keeping flavors blending.
The pot is a friend, part of my family history.
Stories waiting to be told.
My yardstick is my sense of smell.
Aromas directing me,
communicating nuances of complex underlying flavors,
perfumed air lush with rich fragrances.
I am eager to taste what my sense of smell is experiencing.
The sauce simmers throughout the day. A feeling of well-being envelopes me as I clean up, making the kitchen sparkle.
During the time of waiting, I rip crusty French bread and dip chunks into the simmering meat sauce. This satisfies my taste buds that yearn for a sample.
Rip, dip, blow, and savor. Part of the ritual. The flavors burst forth in my mouth.
I love these Sunday dinners, especially when sharing,
When I break bread with friends, both old and new. The world seems friendlier.

I swirl the spaghetti. Feeling playful, I nibble a meatball with shameless delight.
Ripping, dipping, blowing, and savoring.
Pure pleasure eating with friends.
We talked between bites and sips.
This is one of the happiest times in my life.
None like a feast with friends. Easy talk.  Passionate discussions.
The solidarity strong.


Happy trails to you!

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