My friend and neighbor from the Island called me this morning. We mostly communicate by email, so I was surprised to see her name on my phone. I answered with endearments, and asked how she was. She said she was in a bad way, that her heart was hurting, that her dear friend died on Sunday. Her friend was an incredible artist, a pillar of the Island’s Buddhist community, a very good friend of my parents, and someone I spent some precious time with about 2.5-years ago.
My friend was beating herself up over communication stumbles during the last month, how she found out about her friend’s passing, and how she tends to withdraw from the outer world during the winter. We talked for most of half an hour. She was in a better place for our time together, even though it was remote. I felt almost helpless to comfort her. Listening, reassuring, and telling her I loved her was what I had. It was something.
My friend asked me to call Tim, who is still at his mainland residence, to make sure he knew about the loss. He did. Interestingly enough, Cindy, my father, and the friend who just passed where all ceramic artists. Tim and I paused to imagine them reunited, making art together. Very different styles, all incredible.
I found myself in the garden today pulling together a treadle sewing machine base, bought a couple of years ago, as a memorial project for my father. I got my sewing machine bug from him! The beautiful iron work is cleaned and has a finish on it now. The top is finished too. Where the sewing machine would be now has a hardware cloth basket. Tomorrow I will move it to a sunny spot in the garden and plant it up with sedums. My friend’s grief, and her friend’s connection to my parents, kinda got my creativity flowing. Fly well Thrin.