The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of visits; family and friends, roadtrips and bike rides. The last friend-guests left this afternoon, Andy left this morning on the road for a week leaving me and the cat to a quiet evening. It has been fun, the old friends again, tea in New Orleans, New Year's in Gainesville, lunch in Pensacola. But also there is this:
Two weeks ago a friend of mine was killed in New Orleans, in his home. The news reached me a few days later, already en route to my mother's. I missed the second line but saw a clip of it on the news, my friends so sad and strong, playing songs and marching in his memory. Memory. The last time I saw him was the day before he was killed. I haven't talked about it too much. I don't even know what to say here. It brings up everything about my friend Helen's death (four years ago yesterday), all the things without easy answers.
The only answer for now is to be glad for friends close by, for cozy kitchen toasts and all day drives between visits, for family and sun and good things.
