Saturday and Beyond...

It was a beautiful day here and though I was a bit nervous, the meet and greet memorial lunch for my friend went off well. The company was friendly and warm hearted, the stories many and the food was good. She would have loved sitting outside and having musical accompaniment as we did. In fact, I do not think she could have ordered a better afternoon for herself or any of us.

Since her passing four weeks ago, I've been thinking about how friends fill our lives and what that can mean for those of us not at home in or close to our families of origin. If I died tomorrow, my remaining family would have no clue who my friends are, which of them I spend the most time with or in whom I confide. Truthfully, I doubt they would care.

In meeting the neighbors, friends and a former colleague of my friend, it became readily apparent just how compartmentalized her life had been. Several of us knew a lot about portions of her life that others knew nothing of at all and it was rather an odd sensation for me to realize that of all of those assembled, only two or three of us knew her for slightly more than a decade.

This is partly because she moved a lot before settling into a house in her current neighborhood, a place which sadly, she only enjoyed for a little over two years before her death. An old hippie at heart, she strove to satisfy a wonderfully creative mind beyond the bounds of convention. Despite two advanced degrees, after a short stint in the hallowed halls of academia, she decided to work alone as a translator, researcher and writer, a situation which though it suited her spirit, did little for her bank account. Of the multitude of talents and interests she possessed, befriending diverse people of varied backgrounds came to the fore at this gathering.

She lived a life of the mind, rich in experiences including time abroad, study, music, reading, writing, editing, language immersion and fun with friends drawn from everywhere she ever set foot. While in need of solitude and privacy, my friend also threw parties, cooked and loved to play either guitar or piano, and sing.

She is also responsible for my nascent interest in the music of Stephane Grappelli and Django Rhinehardt. Unlike the late and much-lamented Django, however, though I also play left-handed, my mastery of the small Taylor guitar she helped me select remains minimal.

It was our mutual love of the Spanish language, writing, editing, research, libraries and books as well as the commonality of graduate school and having lived abroad that drew us together initially. What cemented our friendship despite distance, great changes and the passage of time? A bit of adoration and a lot of respect. I adored her brain and the places it took us in conversation. We could talk about almost anything and did. I will miss her voice in my ear, her laughter and the sometimes cryptic text messages I would find on my phone. The last of these, dated October 25, says simply,"Much love to you."

Her last request was to be scattered over the bay of her childhood home. It seems no matter how far afield some of us roam, the bonds and memories of our most formative time on the planet pull us back, sometimes literally, to the start, at the end.

Until Next Time...