the pleasure of your company

        A lot of life is dry and dusty, and it makes you thirsty. Sometimes you get so used to being thirsty that it starts to feel normal. That's why, when you come to an oasis, all that cool water and shade is a surprise and a relief. It happened to me last night. I'd forgotten how thirsty I was, and then I had the cool drink of dinner with a friend. I told her things I've been thinking in the middle of the night and things I love and things I hope for and things I'm scared of and things that make me laugh, and she told me some, too. Last night helps me remember that sometimes the very best thing you can do is offer a friend the pleasure of your company.

“Here we are, you and I, and, I hope, a third, Christ, is in our midst. . . . Come now, beloved, open your heart, and pour into these friendly ears whatsoever you will, and let us accept gracefully the boon of this place, time and leisure.” Aelred of Rievaulx (1110-1167)

a song

"A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words." Author unknown

rumors of war

       I was outside Marshalls, heading lightly down the sidewalk, bag swinging, when I saw him.  He was thin and he wore a blue coat.  I couldn’t see his whole face because he was busy wiping his eyes on first one sleeve and then the other.  I put my arm around him and promised not to leave him until we found his mom.  The sleeves came down, and he walked bravely back into the store with me.  He told me his first name and hers, but they were Middle Eastern mysteries, and I couldn’t understand.  I told the customer service man about our emergency, but he kept taking returns as if there were no rush to right this small, shattered world.  As we waited, I wondered what I would do if she had left him on purpose.  Then, finally, the PA system broadcast among the dress racks our plight.  I saw her before he did.  Draped in her black headdress, she walked from the back of the store slowly and calmly, as if she agreed with the customer service man that there was no hurry.  Her little boy left my side and buried his face under her shrouded arm.  Over his bowed head, her dark eyes met mine, mother to mother, and rumors of war for a moment ceased.

a time to talk

When a friend calls to me from the road

And slows his horse to a meaning walk,

I don’t stand still and look around

On all the hills I haven’t hoed,

And shout from where I am, “What is it?”

No, not as there is a time to talk.

I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,

Blade-end up and five feet tall,

And plod: I go up to the stone wall

For a friendly visit.

Robert Frost