March 26, 2015
I think about calling you every day…the thought occurs to me that I would like to talk with you about how much I miss talking to you.
And, if you were here–in this silly world–I am sure we would be sharing things on Facebook. Just stupid stuff — art and birds and other things that make life worth living.
I could have told you about our women’s retreat and the blue yarn and the gorgeous canoe trip on the Alafia River. The river of fire. You would love the river of fire. My friend Mary and I saw a mama gator and her babies, and in four miles of canoeing on this winding river, we saw only one beer bottle. No other trash. Isn’t that wonderful, you and I would say, marveling and assuring ourselves that life is good.
And then I would tell you about my money raising efforts for our church. About how uncomfortable I have always felt about asking people for money, and how I decided that someone had to step up, and the thing I like about being a Unitarian Universalist is that you get to explore new ways of thinking. My comfort zone is pretty wide, but it doesn’t include asking for money. We would agree about the money, but I would know that you don’t see much use in belonging to any church, and I would change the subject. All the same, I hope your memorial service will be at May Memorial Unitarian Universalist Church in Syracuse. The Art Fair they sponsored was one of your favorite shows.
And there was always the weather. I’d ask you how things are going in upstate New York and you could bitch about the snow and cold. I loved your asteriks –you called it not snow but S***. We really agreed on the stupidity of snow.
You’d share what was happening in your own studio, and preparations for Art Walk, which were always a pain, even though you had it well organized, with meetings and people and new artists on board. Every June, you and your garden made Art Walk rock. Even when it rained and someone took the street signs down.
And we would talk about Gallery 54 in Skaneatles and how things were going there–what was selling and how many sponge holders and lanterns went out the door. There must be a lot of your sponge holders by sinks in upstate New York. And I know the really lucky people have one of your lanterns. They are magic.
Next to birds, we loved to talk about gardens and plants. What about your gorgeous Japanese maple that snapped off this winter–any hope? I have bird houses in my front garden now, and the pottery head you gave me and my ruined pillar, My abandoned folly.
I hope someone will care for your garden this spring. And leave some of your ashes there. And put water in the birdbath.
I probably would have told you what I was reading, and then you’d have shared what you were reading, and we would compare notes on Antiques Roadshow finds, and Home and Garden TV. I know we would agree that Fixer Upper was the best show, even though it’s set in Waco. Both of us always liked old houses, especially fixed up old houses, and Chip and Joanna have done some good work, even if it is in Texas. We definitely would have liked Chip and Joanna.
Of course, we would talk birds. First a feeder report from you. Is the red-breasted nuthatch still there? I saw a brown-headed nuthatch here in Florida! Nuthatches rule! Only you would cheer. What else is coming in–any red-wing blackbirds yet? One is sitting outside my window now. I would tell you about Caloosa Bird Club trips and how fantastic Wakodahatchee is and that we must go there next time you come to Florida.
And then I would ask about a dessert for eight, and you’d suggest champagne sherbert and I would put it in the little blue glass bowls I inherited when we owned the house next door to you in Syracuse. I would use the recipe you wrote out by hand.
Then I would just cry a bit, because you are gone and I miss you. And all the silly trivial things in life that we shared. And all the big stuff too. I know this letter will never be finished. I will close it the way I always have–