Happy Father's Day

Today we celebrate Beloved Husband, for his role as patriarch of our little nuclear family and father to the Offspring. Happy Father's Day, Beloved. I know how much you love the Offspring and how you want the best for them, always. They are like you in many ways -- work ethic, kindness toward others, joie de vivre. Eyelashes. Interested in extended family lore. They are Good People, brought to this world with your help. Thank you. 

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I also reminisce about my lovely Daddy. Father's Day becomes harder, not easier, as time goes by. Perhaps it is a bell curve, and we have not yet hit the nadir. 

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 I keep four photos on my desk at work: one of Beloved Husband and I, from the week before we were married (ah, so beautiful, the promise of a lifetime together to come); one of the three Offspring, taken at Offspring the Third's high school graduations (my beautiful Offspring, all fledged adults -- what pride I have in them, and what hope for their futures); one small one of Cherished Friend and I together, from my last visit to Oceanside (a small photo, because we both hate having our picture taken, but nevertheless present, because friendship is a sheltering tree, and it is nice to have that reminder when workdays are hard); and front and center, my Daddy and I, smiling together, looking alike, a moment captured in time, never to happen again. 

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The other night, I had a dream: I picked up a phone, and there was a voicemail message. It was from my Daddy, and it was his voice, clear as it ever was, speaking the first four words with which he began every message: Hi (nickname), it's Daddy. I woke up, knowing that the voice was a ghost, and haunted by the clarity with which it was his voice, that I can no longer hear except while sleeping. 

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Some days, I do not know what to do with myself. So much love, and nowhere to put it. Especially for Daddy. I don't think I told him enough how much I appreciated everything he did for me. 

I hope he knew. 

Happy Father's Day, Daddy, wherever you are. 

January: Oceanside

 In case you have not been able to guess yet: last weekend, I was able to escape my corner of the desert for a few days and go visit Cherished Friend in Oceanside. 

It was lovely.

He is himself, as always. It is a pleasure and a comfort to spend time with him, to listen to him talk, to sit in the quiet of his house, to contemplate the Scrabble board, to take a walk in the Oceanside trees, to look out over the actual ocean. 

Every now and then, the temptation to be self-conscious creeps into the back of my head; but he (a little frighteningly, actually) knows me so well -- oftentimes predicting what I am going to say -- and forgives me my awkwardness, flaws and foibles, that I choose instead to just let go and acknowledge that for whatever (very mysterious) reason, he accepts me just as I am. And a rare sense of serenity results. 

I have worried on occasion that the Many Terrible Things of the past several years have made me cold and hard and unfeeling; there, I am better able to tap into my well-hidden core of warmth and be myself. 

The only hard part of visiting him, is the knowledge that the time in Oceanside is very short. It is so important not to anticipatorily grieve leaving again; and yet, it is so difficult. I do my very best to stay in the moment. 

I know he has a well-established personal space sphere, and I respect that, keeping distance to ensure his comfort. He was kind enough, though, to tolerate sufficient proximity to take a selfie of the two of us together before I left. (Actually, several, until I could manage one in which I did not look like a demented chipmunk.) I'm grateful. 

When I think of Cherished Friend, I often think of the saying: Friendship is a sheltering tree. It is rare that I am able to be in the shelter of this particular tree, but the peace and safety there are immeasurable.

January: Boat Show

 I went to a boat show. (Can you guess where I was yet?)  So many boats.  It was in many ways much like attending an RV show, except water instead of wheels, and more often wood instead of composite. 

My takeaway from the boat show: I finally understood Cherished Friend's Boat Dream. 

I have supported his Boat Dream for a long time -- it is his dream and important to him, and so it is important to me. But I finally UNDERSTAND why it is his Dream, what the Dream is all about, and what steps are needed to truly bring it to fruition. 

It makes sense. 

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In many ways, Cherished Friend is much like my college physics class: I feel like I am on the cusp of understanding him, and that if I ask just enough questions, or just the right questions, I will finally -- finally! -- be enlightened. 

I may never truly know anything. But at least as far as the Boat Dream goes, it's clear why it exists. 

Catch-up

Herself speaks.

Let's play catch-up, shall we?  

The house refurbishing continues apace. Today I boxed up the last of the rooms that needs boxing -- that was quite the accomplishment.  This one was the study, and so it was quite the archeological dig:  old school pictures of the Offspring, tax forms, Important Papers, ancient defunct laptops, obsolete mobile phones, CD-ROMs of computer games from over a decade ago. I took down my diplomas, and carefully peeled off the pencil drawings made by the Offspring that I'd taped there, along with three photos: Beloved Husband holding an infant Offspring the Third; my Lovely Daddy and I during my college graduation weekend; a rare willingly-taken (toleratingly-taken) photo of Cherished Friend from a camping trip a thousand years ago.  I cleaned off all of my favorite schoolbooks from the shelf -- my Latin and Greek books from high school; organic chemistry; plant biology -- and put them in a box with the classics: The Phantom Tollbooth (Norton Juster), I Am A Bunny (Ole Risom), Anam Cara (John O'Donohue), The Prophet (Kahlil Gibran), When The Tripods Came (John Christopher), and other favorites. I added the books on lichens and mosses, and medicinal plants. A wealth of knowledge, in a single box. 

I finally threw out my review materials for The Task, though. 

I also cleaned out my closet upstairs. I finally gathered all my formal dresses that I will never wear again and donated them.  They were all beautiful in their individual ways -- velvets, sparkles, fringe or shimmer. They felt so lovely under my fingertips as I packed them up. I felt pretty when I wore them (a hundred years ago, now), and I was sad to see them go.  I hope they will each find a good home elsewhere. 

I moved the bunnies to their new room.  It's out of the regular flow of traffic of the household, but is quiet.  It's smaller, but I will get them a little rug so they can hop out and about in the rest of the house more after the refurbishment is done. 

I was concerned that they would find the move upsetting.  They did seem a bit cranky at first.  But they are adjusting. 

We parted ways with our dining room furniture.  It was old, in need of repair and polishing and tender loving care, and someone was willing to give it a good home. I feel sad and a little guilty, but I know that someone will enjoy it more. I did save the hand-embroidered seat cushion covers, though. It was a rhythmic, soothing process, to remove the hundreds of little furniture tacks. I will restore the embroidery and save the works for posterity. 

I rewarded myself for all the hard work, by speaking with Cherished Friend via Zoom this evening.  It's lovely to see him, to talk about ordinary things. I am annoyed he does not live closer -- how delightful that would be. 

When we said goodbye, the tiny grief of knowing I cannot really be a part of his everyday life and he cannot be a part of mine, flared white-hot for a moment. 

There is no point in crying, though. It won't change anything. I'll just put on my brave face and keep going.  

And that, lovely readers, is all the catch-up for now.

Front Row Seat

 Herself speaks.

I am a very slow learner. 

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It took me a long time to become a fully developed human being. People were always difficult to understand, and neither college nor professional school really taught me what I needed to know to navigate Life in a sea of people of assorted motivations, attitudes, temperaments, needs and goals. (This is why I always loved school, though -- academics were my strong suit. People? Notsomuch.) 

I was engaged very young (at 21), and married young (just a few days after my 24th birthday), and had my Offspring young as well (at 25 and a half, 27 and a half, and just a bit after 31 - getting old there!). I was able to hide my social insufficiencies behind the roles of "Fiancée" and then "Wife," plus "Mother". And overlapping with that time, I spent many, many years telecommuting, so my interactions with other people were often very limited. I did not need to learn more than I already knew. 

Then, there came a time when the needs of the Offspring necessitated particular activities, and I ended up having to out of my comfort zone of my usual roles. It began at the taekwondo gym, since Offspring the Third (who was being bullied in grade school) needed both the means to protect himself, and a group of peers with whom he had a sport in common. And (somewhat begrudgingly, and rather terrified-ly), I interacted with the other adults at the gym, and became Friends with some of them. And it was delightful.

As time went by, I discovered that there were cliques and whispers and problematic interactions amongst the people at the gym (and the teenagers, too), and that was my first lesson in adult heartbreak: not all people were to be trusted, and not all people were honest or forthright, nor said what they meant. Not everyone is kind. Not everyone is nice. It was a shocking and bitter lesson.

Nevertheless, the greatest good came out of that experience: I made, and have kept, my most Cherished Friend. 

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In the time since then, I have continued to work on my people skills and my people experiences. Time has shown me that my original roles of Wife and Mother were too limited: one cannot be a full person, if one exists only in relation to others. 

Children grow up and become their own fully-fledged human beings (and lovely ones at that, I might say, my beloved Offspring), who no longer need their Mother (as much). And as entwined as my life is with Beloved Husband's, and even though there exists in movies and literature this romantic notion that one's spouse is one's Everything, the truth is that it is both unrealistic and an unfair burden to ask one human being to fulfill the entirety of another's needs. It takes a village to raise a marriage. A spouse must have -- beyond their husband or wife -- siblings, parents, family members, and friends, to support and to spend time with, to enjoy and to enhance the human experience. Sometimes a spouse cannot (for a multitude of reasons) Be There. Other people are a necessity. 

Beyond family, there are acquaintances, colleagues, friends, professionals, and even public figures, as well as all sorts of People who impact one's life, whether directly or indirectly, either momentarily or more long-term. A world of People-ing.

I have also learned, though, not to expect much. Because People... disappoint. 

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One of the characteristics I appreciate about Cherished Friend, is the depth of his understanding of People. When I have been mystified or dismayed, I have been able to ask him Questions about People, or have been able to talk through what is perplexing me. And to his credit, he has never made me feel Stupid for my incomprehension. He has listened. And explained when necessary. 

It occurred to me today, that Cherished Friend has had what is essentially a Front Row Seat to my gradual disillusionment with People. He has seen it all: my annoyance with generic human misbehavior. My anger at Pandemic misconduct and at political shenanigans. My rage at injustice (both large, and very personal). My despair at words and happenings that have broken my heart. Rumination and loss. Everything. 

Has it been hard to witness my gradual loss of faith in Humanity? 

He is such a patient soul. 

Never did I imagine when I walked into the taekwondo gym all those years ago, that the Universe would bestow upon me there, a gift of a tiny seed of Friendship; and that over the years, that seed would be watered by innumerable tiny moments to become the sheltering tree it is now. 

He has made the sting of Life Lessons more bearable. I am so grateful.

Oceanside tree, March 2022.

Holidays Past

 For the first time, none of the Offspring will be home for Thanksgiving. It's like the end of an era. 

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I so miss having company in the kitchen.  Offspring the Third particularly enjoyed cooking; Offspring the First and Offspring the Second also joined in on occasion, though it was more their presence than their participation that was there (and presence was just as welcome).  There were a few years when Cherished Friend would be facilitate cooking, too. It was lovely. 

Now, we do not even hold Thanksgiving at our house - although I suppose that is just as well this year, because we have not yet recovered and repaired from The Flood. At any rate, this year all the Offspring (and Cherished Friend, too, for that matter) are hundreds and hundreds of miles away. I miss all their faces more than I can say. 

I don't know where to put up a Christmas tree: there is nowhere to do so, given the Flood-related Disarray. My house, my brain, and my heart are all disheveled. 

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I miss simple pleasures. A little Christmas music, the tree, the festive linens on the dining room table. Finding just the right gift for someone. The undivided attention of a kitchen compatriot. A chihuahua, looking for crumbs. One of the offspring, feet up on the couch, providing commentary. The Peanuts Christmas special. 

What do I want? 

I want to wedge myself on the couch right next to someone, just to sit, maybe even to read, to watch a movie. Casual physical proximity, with love. But alas, I am out of chihuahuas and the bunnies are not inclined. The cats, when they are here, want either to stuff themselves up my nose, or to perch on the windowsill and stare longingly at birds outside the window. Beloved Husband is busy, and everyone else is too far away. 

Alas. 

Someone hold me. My heart aches for what has been and will never be again.

Let Us Try

Every time I have one of those infrequent opportunities to spend concentrated leisure time with one of my Important People, I am very conscious of the rarity both of the moment, and of the feeling of peace that accompanies the occasion. It is not at all often that my brain, so constantly full of Work and Volunteer Commitments and Ordinary Obligations, is able to relax and unwind enough to feel unhurried and at peace. I am so grateful to have had one such opportunity this past weekend, and it was Lovely.

Now, as I sit in limbo in an airport in the pre-dawn hours, I am trying to adjust to the inevitability of re-entering the hustle and bustle of my Ordinary Life, while simultaneously holding on to  the Intangible Joy of the time of the past weekend. I am trying, too, not to let Grief creep in - although I know that is inevitable.  As Kahlil Gibran reminds us in The Prophet, Joy and Sorrow are inseparable:

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

They are, in fact, opposite sides of the same coin:

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

The hardest part, is knowing that Sorrow is necessary, in order to have Joy.

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I'll do my best to focus on the mundane for now. I'll go get an overpriced airport snack, continue my DuoLingo streak, and then I'll be boarding the plane back to my desert homeland soon. I will be glad to be back there. Even though I leave a piece of myself behind here. 

We will do our best to move forward, day by day. 

As the French say: Essayons. 

You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place. ― Miriam Adeney

Thirty-fifth

Item one: I recently attended my thirty-fifth college reunion.

It seems absolutely impossible that so much time has passed since I graduated from college. So much water under the bridge. 

I saw my roommates from that time. Such lovely women, so kind and warm and witty and thoughtful. I feel that I am undeserving of them -- why should they be so very kind and warm to me? Who am I? I am nobody. I am History. 

To experience affection from someone, due to shared history and experiences from thirty-five years ago with little contact in the intervening decades, is an odd thing. Yet on the other hand, it felt so natural to me, to want to hug them and spend time with them and be near them. I am extremely fond of them. They are genuinely marvelous people. I appreciate them so much more now, than I did in my youth. 

And to love them is, in a weird little way, to also love the me that I once was, thirty-five years ago. That me does deserve a little love, after all. She was underloved by me back then. 

I do need to see these lovely women more often. I should make it a mission, to let them know how much they mean to me now. Because life is short, and people should know that they are important. 

The world needs a little more love in it. 

Zoom a Zoom Zoom

 Herself speaks.    

I had a Zoom call with Cherished Friend last night. It had been a while since we'd last spoken -- since January, perhaps? -- which seems like a long, long time. It's somehow simultaneously easy, and extra hard, to allow time to slip by in between conversations, when Life is busy and there are houseguests on his end and social obligations on my end and time zone differences and when I am taking a bit of a trip on the Struggle Bus. I am hesitant to ask for a call, because I do not want to intrude on his Life; and yet, I want very much to have that call, so that for a couple of hours, he is more clearly a part of my Life, through the magic of the internet and Zoom. 

It was lovely, as it always is. 

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I have been thinking a lot lately about how I need to make some local friends: people with whom I can do small things like attend the little farmer's market nearby, take an occasional walk, go out to dinner with when Beloved Husband is out-of-town as he has been for much of the past two weeks. It would be really helpful if I could have someone serve as a body double to get onerous tasks done on occasion. And to talk with about things large and small, or about nothing at all.  It is not fair, or realistic, to rely on Beloved Husband for all of these things, because he is very busy, and has so many of his own activities. I need my own village of People to keep me company. I need Friends.

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Cherished Friend -- as I was reminded during our Zoom call last night -- is exactly the kind of Friend I enjoy most: intelligent, interesting, witty; the kind of person who makes you think about Stuff, who is sufficiently politically different to be challenging, but always willing to listen; and ultimately, kind. He does not make me feel stupid or inadequate for my point of view. And he listens. I am comfortable with him. I could talk with him for ages, except he lives sixteen hundred miles and two time zones away. 

I cannot imagine feeling as comfortable with anyone else.  And I'm stymied in my thoughts about making additional friends locally, because I don't actually want new friends locally: what I really want, is my Cherished Friend locally.

That's not to be. 

I do not want what I cannot have.

So I need to pull myself up by my bootstraps, be a grownup, and work with what I can have. Identify and make surface-level local friends, and keep my Cherished Friend where he belongs, in Oceanside. 

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Sometimes, when I am having a Hard Time, I worry that one day he will wake up and realize that he's not interested in maintaining the friendship any longer. That I am simultaneously Too Much and Not Enough, to be worth the effort over the time and the miles. Pathetic. Needy. No Thank You. 

And I could not fault him, really. His life is full enough, without his having to tend to a long distance friendship. I don't want to be an obligation or a burden. I'll go. 

Until that day, though, I'll be ever-so-glad to schedule the occasional video chat, and enjoy his company, through the magnificent tool that is Zoom. 

Visit

 Herself speaks.

I was finally able to make my pilgrimage to Oceanside and spend a few days with Cherished Friend. 

It was delightful.  In this world of ever-increasing uncertainty, it is so comforting to find him to be Himself, as he always is. My most Cherished Friend. 

I struggled a bit to stay in the Moment during the visit. I am more aware than ever of the ephemeral nature of everything, and I had to reign in my mind and keep it from wandering into the not-too-distant-future when I would be leaving again. I also had a hard time with keeping at bay, what can be described as Fear Fleas: tiny little biting worries that would pop up into the conscious, attempting to distract me from the joy of being in Oceanside.  You are boring. You are needy. He will grow tired of your presence and will be relieved when you go. You rely on him too much. You are all take and no give. 

What do you have to offer a person like him? Why does he even put up with you? 

Only he really has answers to those questions. I hope, though, that despite all of the Very Hard Things I have been struggling with this year, he has nevertheless been able to see that he is, as always, one of my most favorite people on the planet. That listening to him talk about what is on his mind, is one of my favorite things to do. That I value his opinions, his thoughts, and his company. I don't have a lot to give right now, but I happily give what I can to him. 

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I already miss his soothing presence. I try not to think bitterly of how I would just do so much better on a daily basis if I saw him more often, because that is not To Be. I'll just have to carry little pieces of the moments in Oceanside with me, and hope they will buoy me through. I'll think about my Cherished Friend sitting in his chair, and I'll look forward to the next visit. And I hope that he will look forward to it, too. 

Friend

Island

Although I had hoped to be making a pilgrimage to Oceanside, the Universe has conspired against me, and I am in fact going nowhere except for Disappointment Island.

I knew I was taking a risk in making Plans. But the odds were in my favor, based in past experience, so I rolled the dice. And alas. I lost. 

I am so very tired of my hamster wheel of Grief and Responsibility. I wanted a few days of respite, in the company of one of my favorite people, someone who does not add to the Grief and Responsibility. Apparently, though, that was Too Much To Ask.

I have rescheduled my aspirations. (They are no longer "Plans.") I am bitterly certain that the Universe will conspire to thwart me again in the future, however, because I have allowed Despair to sit at my table and Hope has left to go and sulk elsewhere. 

I cannot have nice things, and tonight, there is no consolation to be found. 

We will just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings. 

Hard Desert

There's a possibility that, if the stars align and certain things do (or do not) come to pass, that I might be able to make a trip to visit Cherished Friend soon. 

I am trying not to anticipate. Because we all know that the Universe frowns upon Making Plans. 

And I am trying, too, not to think about the fact that if I do go, I will once more arrive on his doorstep fairly exhausted, self-conscious, and feeling... Not My Best Self. Old. Fat and Tired and still Grieving my Father, worn out from work and Responsibility and Nebulous Daily Worry. A Burden.

It makes me sad. I hope that some day, I can visit him with enthusiasm and cheerfulness. As a Better Me. 

The good part, though, is that he is Rain in the Desert. And perhaps, if I can let go, I can be a Better Me for the time I spend in Oceanside. 

Find That Word

Kitchen

 Herself speaks.

During a Zoom call yesterday evening, Cherished Friend was making a cup of tea and brought the tablet with the Zoom window open on it with him -- so I momentarily had a view around his kitchen, which I haven't seen in person for nearly a year now. And it was so distractingly delightful to have that glimpse of this ordinary space of his life, that it took an extraordinary amount of energy to refocus and remain in the conversation and not allow the unexpected pang generated by the view to inflate and pop right then. 

One of the small blessings of being so extraordinarily busy lately, is that it is easier not to think about how much I miss having my Friend nearby, about the small joys of being able to make a meal, go for a walk, play Scrabble in person. The flip side, though, is the weight when it makes itself known, like a clap of thunder and a cloudburst in the desert -- a deluge of sorrow, of the knowledge of what I am missing. 

This is the price we pay for having a Friend. 

It's always worth the Price, though. 

Just One

Sometimes, we have a simple wish: 

To be able to have one drink with a far-away friend.

Wouldn't that be outstanding? 

Yes. Yes, it would. 

Better

 The temptation to self-isolate when feeling out-of-sorts is Very Strong Indeed.  To want to turn away from the People who would otherwise bring comfort, to somehow reject in advance the solace that might be found -- why? Is it some kind of preemptive strike, to abandon oneself first before someone else abandons one in a time of need? Is it a self-preservation mechanism, like a wild animal who hides its wounds lest it appear vulnerable? Or is it just simply people-fatigue: the knowledge that interacting with others may be too exhausting at the moment? 

Against my feelings of better judgement, I chose to follow through with a Zoom call this evening, even though I was very much out-of-sorts for Reasons both varied and mostly mundane. Mercifully, however, it was the right thing to do -- because my Zoom companion was one of my favorite People; someone whose company is always soothing, whose conversation is thought-provoking and interesting, whose presence I miss if it has been too long since we have spoken. And I enjoyed the Zoom call, and felt better afterward. I'm so grateful for that Zoom time, and for my Friend. 

Sometimes, we have to put faith in one of our People, and leave the door open to the possibility that they will be there for us and will be good for us, even when we are struggling. I would do well to remember that. 

In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit. ― Albert Schweitzer

Weekend Activities

Herself speaks.

Everyone else in the house was away for the past few days, and so I had to figure out what to do with myself for this past weekend. It was a bit tricky -- it was an absolutely roasting 100+ degrees outside, even past 7 PM, so outside activities were limited. There were some potentially-interesting around-town events that I considered, but honestly, they were "with company"-type events, and I couldn't think of a single person I would like to ask to go with me. And once more, I reminded myself: SELF, you should see about finding some local people with whom to pass some time on occasions such as these. 

Honestly, though, I still just don't have the wherewithal right now. 

So instead, I chose once more to Clean And Organize Things At Home.  This is also a tricky activity, because so many of the things that require cleaning and/or organization are not actually my things. I tried to look at it as a kind of Suburban Household Forest situation: if I were camping in the forest, I would have limited control over the environment, and would have to tolerate a fair amount of clutter and things-that-aren't-mine in the vicinity, because that's just the way it is when one is in the forest.  I am living in a Suburban Household Forest. I will do what I can, and will just have to tolerate the rest as best possible.

I was quite productive, at least: the garage is better, the Room of Requirement is better, behind the bar is now clear, nine bags of donations were donated, cabinets are tidied. There are a few more tasks to complete this evening, but I have regained some control over the environment, as best I can, and I feel good about that. 

Next step: get better control over my social life by cultivating a few local relationships, so that I can spend more time doing casual fun things, instead of cleaning. 

Unexpected Echo

 One funny little detail that both Beloved Husband and I noticed during reunions: after we'd spent some time chatting with one of our old classmates (with whom I was quite close back in the day), Beloved Husband and I turned to one another and simultaneously concluded that the classmate (let's call him College Friend) reminded us both of Cherished Friend. It is hard to explain how, exactly -- but there is a definitive resemblance, a kind of deep-within similarity. It's more than their common characteristics of significant intelligence and an ability to express themselves well in words. Was it mannerisms? Sense of humor? Whatever it was, there is no doubt that there was a strange little echo across space-time between College Friend and Cherished Friend.

The end result of this odd little recognition was twofold: one, it made me miss Cherished Friend even more than usual; and two, it made me think that someday, if it is at all possible, I would like very much to find a way to introduce College Friend and Cherished Friend. I do think that they would enjoy one another's company. I try to imagine a conversation among College Friend, Cherished Friend, and Beloved Husband, and the very idea is beyond delightful. I would just watch, and listen, and be happy. 

Patterns everywhere.

Migraine Flashback Feelings

One of the few unpleasant parts about this corner of the desert, is the Windy Season. So much wind. Trash cans tipped over, dust in your eyes, a haze throughout the city. And the worst part -- the migraine that precedes the wind: a "what did I DO to cause this!?" sort of headache, a low-grade nausea and dizziness, a deep rooted bodily unease that indicates, something is wrong. It waxes and wanes, for days. It's beastly, honestly. 

One of the perils of the ongoing migraine state, is the fact that Feelings are so much closer to the surface.  (So much harder to rationalize and to self-contain and to move Vulcan-like through the world with migraine.)  It's important for me to be aware that I might be accosted somewhat unexpectedly by Large Feelings at any given moment. It's been happening. And it's been difficult. 

Yesterday, while distracting myself by scrolling through my phone in order to power through a migraine surge, the Google timeline reminded me that six years ago, I'd made a trip to a northern part of the desert. The timeline showed the hotel I'd stayed at, the nature park where I'd taken a walk, the restaurants I'd visited, even the rest areas where I'd momentarily stopped along the way between here and there. It was immediately clear what I was doing that weekend: I had been visiting Cherished Friend. 

It was hard, in that moment, to stifle the Feelings.

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I so miss proximity to my Cherished Friend.

I would give my eye teeth right now to be closer: to be able to go for a walk, to run errands, to play Scrabble; to do the small things; to find relief in just being in his presence, which is always a comfort to me. And the fact that I cannot do so is a miniature grief which piggybacks on the larger griefs that walk with me every day, and its little voice joins the chorus of sadness that fills my ears when the headache fills my brain.

I hope every day, that Oceanside is treating him well, and that he has people there with whom he can spend time enjoyably. I am just sad for myself, that I cannot be one of those people on a regular basis.  

Most of all, I hope that he is finding contentment and the path to his own peace. I wish for that, always. 

Every now and then, the thought crosses through my brain that I should worry he will one day forget about me or he will no longer be interested in maintaining a friendship over the miles and the years. Why imagine such terrible things, though? If a day comes when he no longer has time or brain space for me, I would hope it is because he has found his happiness -- and how delighted would I be for him, to have that?