Over the course of the weekend, I’ve probably covered six or seven miles just wandering aimlessly, with no destination in mind. That’s very therapeutic in times of distress, walking is. You don’t need to think, or talk, or put on an act, just move your feet. It focuses your mind on the basics, things like balance and gravity. You can then walk away from the crap overwhelming you.
On Friday, a dear, sweet friend of mine passed away. Margie and I knew each other less than a year, but it didn’t take long to become attached. We met doing laundry late one wintry night. Somewhere during the spin cycle we lapsed into a conversation about ice skating. She loved it; I loathed it. She spoke of twirling and gliding, I talked of falling and knocking myself unconscious.
From such an unlikely beginning a strong, lasting bond was forged. Who knows why, maybe it was fate or karma or maybe it was the curiously intimate atmosphere a laundry room creates. I’m not joking. Once you’ve watched a person folding their underpants, the mystery is gone. There’s no reason for modesty or pride or anything else, you’re an open book.
A friend such as Margie comes along and life magically gets better, easier, a little less scary. She didn’t judge or complain, she just cared. Oh, and pestered me about nutrition. But the truly remarkable thing was, she got my jokes. She didn’t always think they were funny, but she got them. She was a wonder and a joy to be around. I’ll miss her like a kidney.
Think where man’s glory
most begins and ends,
and say my glory was
I had such friends.
— William Butler Yeats
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