can you go back?

Tomorrow I am going to have lunch with two friends from an old job. A job at which I worked for nearly ten years, and from which I was summarily fired in an unfair way in 2006. While the situation of the job was often treacherous due to an over-zealous Pharissee of a supervisor, the people with whom I worked were, for the most part, warm and generous. I've missed them.

I re-connected with Adrienne on Facebook ~ which is, I suppose, the best reason to participate in Facebook. Wendy will be working tomorrow until noon-thirty-ish, so the three of us will meet near the old stomping grounds. I hope it is more enjoyable than surreal, and I am looking forward to it.

T. is in the midst of going back, but his is a longer journey, coming in and going out. Gone from church work for over a decade, he has returned to Bethany with full force, into what seems ~ at least, sometimes ~ to be a tempest of relationships and philosophies. He was met with open arms and loving hearts, and we really do believe that he is the best person for the task. I pray that his is a safe journey back.

Sometimes I entertain the fantasy of returning to an old job. No, not the ten year one, though that was a good job. The very first eyeball job, though, was the best I ever had. I wonder at the wisdom of even considering such things. It's kind of a "if I knew then what I know now..." situation. I could be, would be, oh-so-much wiser.

On the other hand, I really don't think I could ever bring myself to it.

It is not for the faint of heart, this returning from whence you came.

proud

God bless us, every one

(photo from the internets-not by KQ)

History awaits.

I am unbelievably thrilled and excited.

May God protect President Barak Obama!

we knew each other's secrets

Carolyn Ann Wait
April 20, 1953 - December 30, 2008
Rest in Peace.

(photo courtesy of Lynda Lacono)

Dear Carolyn,

I've been reading the guestbook on your memorial page, and I'm struck – though not surprised - by the diversity of people who loved you. People from India to Ireland to right here where you started, in San Bruno. You adopted each and every one of us into your heart and life. We all love you, and over and over again people mention your smile and love and support. Those were genuine, yet I know that you sometimes gave, literally, until it hurt. Those of us who have less grace in our hearts can only look up to your example, but how I wish it had brought more joy into your life. You were not without heartache, and I know that on many days you dearly wanted that smile you were so famous for to reach all the way into your eyes and heart. I believe with all my heart that you are finally experiencing the joy you so richly deserve now.

I am sitting wrapped up in a stole you bought for me in Ireland (in a "Kathy color"). It is keeping me warm against the chill of the day, but it is warming my heart even more. I miss you. For a time in our lives, we knew each other's secrets. We talked of our hopes for love, and of lost loves. (You folded my laundry when I was overwhelmed!) You knew me better than I knew myself, and I you.

My memories of our time together are rich and diverse. I can't recall one favorite place we loved to go, or one favorite thing we loved to do - we just did everything, and had a ball. It is barely possible to put them into a concise and tidy essay, but I will take a stab at it.

How did we meet? It was in Skyline Choir ~ you were with the sopranos of course; I was across the room in the alto section. Someone must have crossed that room, but I don’t remember who or when. After Europe, the Schleptet was formed and we sang everywhere: Ghirardelli Square, the Rennaisance Faire, the bar at El Torito, Christmas caroling in Menlo Park. Later, with the Bay Belles (what a lame name, but we couldn’t think of anything else!) we sang from Lisa’s basement to Disneyland. And there were shows: Pinafore and Gondoliers and Music Man (you SHOULD have been a leading lady!)

You were a great friend to my children - they were your babies after all, especially Jenny, and you loved them well. You brought good sister/good brother presents on the other sibling’s birthday. We took day trips to the redwoods and had mosquito bite contests. You came to every birthday party when you were in town.

We did stuff together, all the time. We went to every figure skating show that came to town – your favorite was Paul Wylie, mine was Brian Boitano. We loved going to Candlestick for Giants games (I read that your favorite sports team was the Niners, but I remember the time when you were a baseball girl!) and we’d sing The Star Spangled Banner at the top of our lungs in two-part harmony, embarrassing the pants off my kids. It was so much fun enjoying the ordinary and extraordinary things like board games (Uno!), tootsie roll pops dunked in water, Sunday BBQs at Bill's house and Christmas volcano & caroling parties. I teased you because you bought things like "gee, your hair smells terriffic", and "I can't believe it's not butter" just for their names – you always protested, insisting they were great products!

We traveled together: family camping trips to the redwoods and Yosemite, Seattle and Victoria BC. We had such a memorable trip to the UK and Ireland – running into Steven and spending half our trip “hurtling through the hedgerows” with him! After you moved, Jerie and the kids and I went out to spend our vacation in New Jersey (of all places) and got to visit Philadelphia, NYC and DC with you.

You were as likely to burst out singing as burst out laughing, and "burst" is the only word for it. It was like you could not keep it in, the music and laughter had to come out. And how we laughed. “Bassus interruptus”, O-B-O-E, “one cherry tomato seed, flying through the air, glinting in the sunlight”, "over the legal limits for testosterone". (These are all, I apologize to those who might read this, location jokes. Sorry, but you had to be there.) I can still hear you laugh.

A few weeks ago, before Eithne called, I signed up with Facebook. One of the first people I searched for (but didn't find) was you. I knew why we weren't in communication any longer, understood and accepted it - that is the way life is sometimes, even with the best of friends (for that is what we were.) We lost touch, and our different lives changed so much over the years. But I have to say that my tears, at least many of them since your passing, are of regret. Pride, shame, stubbornness, and hidden and hurt feelings made it impossible to nurture our relationship. Though our bond was never broken, I wish we hadn't lost track of each other. I wish things had been different, Carolyn, I really do.

You were one in a million, and I will always miss you.

love, Kathy

still here...

No, I've not given up the blog (already? heck no!)

Yes, I am in mourning.

I need to write about the latter before I feel I can do anything else. It's still cooking. I'll be back soon.

Christmastide: day eight

There is a new angel in the heavenly chorus in 2009. Memories... later.

(I sincerely doubt that they will be singing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" in that particular chorus, but if they DO, I bet they do a fabulous job.)

May 2009 bring more joy, more integrity, more beauty, more peace, more health, more music (!), more sanity and more love to our world - yours, mine and the planet - than we can possibly imagine. Blessings to you and your house in the new year.