What Would You Say

What would you say if you knew it would be the last time you would ever speak to a friend or a loved one? That is something that, yet again, was brought to mind this weekend when a friend of ours died in a car accident.

We were lucky enough to have seen him in June, but we had no idea (how could we?) that it would be the last time we would have a moment; a moment to share with him that we cared, that we appreciated him, his friendship, and all he had done for us over the years.

Harry Fuller was an energizer bunny with enough good intentions to fill the state of Texas. Harry was warm and funny, a gentleman with a pretty pronounced warped sense of humor, and he would give those he cared about the shirt off his back.

In fact, many times the ladies in our group requested the shirt off his back, just to see him half naked! He happily obliged. Fortunately for all of us his wife understood.

For those who knew Harry the hole left behind won't easily be filled. Harry leaves behind lessons in compassion, work ethic, and most especially generosity of spirit.

He leaves behind a full life yet to be lived. He was only 41 years old.

Thank you Harry for your friendship and your help over the years. I hope you knew that you made us laugh. I hope you knew that we appreciated your friendship. I hope you knew that we thought of you as family.

You will be missed. Rest in Peace, friend.

Where's My Place

I've spent a couple of weeks, give or take, wondering about where I fit in different groups and situations. I had a group of friends many, many years ago, that I thought I belonged to. Years have passed and through odd twists and turns though we mostly lost touch there has been occasional check ins with the folks in the group.

Recently there was a gathering where most of that old group got together, several of my friends were invited, the friends I hang out with now. It seems like I was one of the few left off the invitation list.

Is it weird for me to feel cuffuffled about not being invited? Is it weird for me to be looking back and wondering if my feeling of belonging to that group was misplaced all of these years later? To feel as though I was peripheral, am peripheral?


Does this carry forward? Am I where I think I am?

Friendship

Weirded out by a friend's passing and writing to one and all in a flurry of "omigoodness I have to keep in better touch with people." It's sad when a friend passes. It's worse when you don't realize that they're sick, or have any issues, when you've taken for granted that you will see them again, hug them again, enjoy their spirit again.

Friendship is an odd relationship. It comes in as many different shapes and forms as there are different people. Some friendships mean that you talk or email every day, others that you phone once a month, still others that you see them a few times a year.

We build our worlds with each friendship. Each friendship is another layer upon which we lay our souls in trust to carry our life bits. Some bits go to this person, others to that person. Some of the friendships are with family members, spouses, co-workers, acquaintances from school, a neighbor, etc.

Each bit of self that we share is a layer of soul that carries forward with the person with whom we've shared. Lives are created this way, whole worlds are experienced this way.

In the best of worlds there is a synchronicity that happens. We gather a bit from one friend that neatly ties in with another bit from another friend that ties in neatly with something we've just read or heard. Sometimes those little synchronistic bits teach us something, sometimes they comfort us, other times they leave us thinking.

And even when that wonderful synchronicity doesn't happen, you can feel in your soul a growth, a depth, a moment, when a bit is shared. A moment that is so important that without it your soul would curl up and go away.

Friendships need nurture and sustenance in order to carry on with building the layers of our souls, our lives. Not every friendship needs the same nurturing and sustenance, but they all need it some form. A sharing of a bit of self here and there, a sprinkle of laughter and hugs, and "how are your doing" there.

This is the sharing and caring that nurture the self, the soul, the friendships that carry us forward through our dailyness of life.

Mutante Reese

Mutante Reese never wanted to grow up, and did his best to live that dream. He told me, as I'm sure he told others, that I was too grown up to come play in his Never Never Land, but it didn't keep him from coming out to play with me.

That little boy side of Mutie reached out to my little girl hidden deep inside to play with a gentleness that often surprised me coming from such a big man. Except, that is, on the fighting field where he had the ability to be a berserker. Watching him in battle was fun, and though it's been a while, I can still see him waiting on the field, big & blue and ready to go.

Sitting on a hill in Vermont, with Mutie, my husband,and some other close friends, staring at the stars above and saying a prayer to the Goddess, Mutie showed his magickal side, his mystical energy, and his ability to peer through shallow thoughts and see deeper meaning.

I considered Mutie a friend though I didn't know him all that well. He was that kind of person. His soul could reach out to yours and touch you for life.

I'll miss you, Mutante Reese. I'll carry a bit of you with me until we meet again on the other side.

Stay forever young.

Snow

The boys approached the snow with awe and wonder. Their joy lifted my heart in way that it hadn't been lifted in months. The long gray winter had been depressing, with the snow on the city streets turning black as soon as it fell, with little to no sunlight to penetrate the bleak skyline.

My seventeenth year in this cold, dark city. Seventeen years of growing up here and there's no love in my heart for this place. I long to be just about anywhere but here.

The boys laughter cut through my self pitying and I run to catch up with them as they go down the huge hill again. At least they're enjoying themselves, and the sun was shining through for a few hours today.

Derek and Daniel took a flying run and hopped into the sled in a single motion, all their growing awkwardness gone as they worked in tandem to go faster and farther down the hill then before. Their red hats bouncing down, the orange sled flying through the air with every bump, and their screams of joy as they went flying were a sight to behold.

We had a good afternoon and the boys didn't want the fun to end but soon it was time to go home and warm up. I pulled them in their sled when I could on the way home, and we laughed together. As we opened the door, flinging wet clothes towards the radiator, we were welcomed by the sweet scent of hot chocolate.

As we sipped our drinks, the boys retold each and every sledding moment, interrupting each other and jockeying for the best part of the tales they told. Finally it felt as though the true sparkle and crispness that I've always enjoyed during the winter season was able to cut through the darkness.

Children's laughter and rosy cheeks, a bright sunny winter's day and a warm cuppa, they are the miracles that can lift any gloominess.

Dream House

Our dream house isn't so much about the rooms and the architecture, though I do spend time envisioning those, for me it's the feel of having something all our own. Of not having to answer to anyone about paint, walls, floors, anything. It's about having choices and security, and something to mold.

During my childhood we moved 16 times in 17 years. We moved because the rent hadn't been paid, or the landlord wanted someone else to live in the place, or any other number of stories that people on welfare are told.

In most of my memories of these places, the walls were white or that off white that looks dirty and grimy. We could never paint, both due to the lease restrictions, and the cost of paint I suppose. I dreamed of color.

When I grew up I wanted stability, to live in the same place and make a nest, a home, that I didn't have to move from for years. I just wanted to not have to move for more than three years (my childhood record). Though oddly, the thought of buying a house never occurred to me, or least not until a few years ago.

When I moved in with my husband, we stayed in our apartment for 15 years. It was in a wonderful city, and the apartment certainly had charm, being in an attic of an old 1800's inn, but it wasn't kept up, and being renters we were limited in our home repair options. And we dreamt, dreamt of a newer place that didn't need so much work, of one that we could have color on the walls, and we dreamt often, my husband and I, of how we would redo the place if it were ours.

And yet, the idea of being able to own our own home didn't occur to us for years. Once it did, we saved money like crazy people, researched home prices on the internet, and curled up with the real estate section of the newspaper on Sundays.

Of course, the real estate market was booming, my husband was changing career paths, and we were pregnant, all of which changed the house dream quite a bit. So our goal, our dream house, is still a work in progress.

A work in progress that I dream of often. I dream of a fenced in yard, safe for my son to play in, with a puppy by his side. I dream of having an extra room so my husband can have an office. I dream of a home that I can change and mold, paint, and refinish, rearrange, and scrape up by accident, without having to answer to a landlord. I dream of a home of wild colors, and warmth, and coziness, to grow my boy up in.

My dream house, is a home for my family, a safe place, and all our own.