I note this morning that a pretty woman in a fluffy pink sweater is a perfect accompaniment to Liza Minelli singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Just one a them thangs.
I was pleasantly surprised upon awakening this morning to have received an email from a very old friend--a particular friend of my brother's, in fact. Kevin Walsh. He and Gary met in Kindergarten, I believe, and became best friends during our childhood years. Kevin also lived across the street from my own childhood best buddy, Marc Trueb; and we all lived on Salmon Street in Southeast Portland. I remember Kevin's mother as a very kind woman, rather like my mother, and I remember Cub Scout meetings at his house, and an attempt to make homemade taffy, which ended up producing something rather more like thick shards of glass, which we sucked on like lollipops. I had not heard from nor seen Kevin in many, many years--not, in fact, since I was a child. That he would have remembered me and taken the time to contact me was a boost to my spirits, which had imagined themselves completely forgotten by the past.
The older we get, the farther away we travel in time and space, the more we look back to beginnings.
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