Sunday, January 18, 2009


Today we went to a memorial service for a friend's husband who recently died of cancer.  After, I find myself face to face with--or more aptly catching a glimpse as it turns a corner--the flatness of the things you can say, compare to what you wish to say.  I am remembering this man, whom I did not know well--his lovely smile, his way in the kitchen, his voice--and thinking about how many things there are to miss in life, how often I avoid what is awkward or difficult, which means not being surprised by what may be beyond the awkwardness, the difficulty.    

Tonight I feel grieved by this, by what feels to me like a failure.

When we got home, I made dinner for us and two of running son's friends.  I took special pleasure in the preparations--omelets and toast; roasted potatoes, carrots, parsnips; sliced oranges and black grapes; a lemon cake.  My friend and her husband together were geniuses of hospitality, conviviality.  I want to nurture that in myself and in our home, the simple human gestures by which we help each other live, connect, thrive. 


  1. My thoughts are with that friend. She's an incredible tower of strength: every time I see her, I am in awe. She's a pretty amazing person.

  2. I'm so glad you were there. I too am speechless, wordless. What to do are say? Just remember, I suppose.



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