When someone dies, you find yourself going over and over memories you didn't realize you had. At least I do. Of course, that's after you get over being so stunned that it seems your mind just isn't working any more. That was me a few mornings ago, when I got a text telling me that a long time family friend had been shot and killed. It wasn't just the loss of my friend, although "just" is not a word that can really fit into that sentence. It was the intrusion of violence into my life. I've lost loved ones to accidents and to sudden health disasters, but violence, a violent death caused by someone's malice, had never reached me before. I love my murder mysteries, read them all the time, but I never expected one to find me or one of my friends. There is a very real comprehension problem here.
The part I can comprehend is my friend's life and the memories I have of him. Ross was my son David's trainer when he competed in horse shows. One of my favorite memories goes back to the early days of showing. It's horse show day and David and I are still new to the game. We've made sure he has all the right equipment and David's looking spiffy in riding gear and trying to look confident. I've loaded the car and am just doing the driving. We arrive at the show, somewhere out on Long Island, and start to get ready when we realize we've got a problem. We (okay I) forgot to put the saddle in the car. Pretty basic, right? I have no idea how to solve this problem. You can't just run to the corner drugstore or even the nearest shopping mall and pick up a saddle. So, in fear and trembling, we go to Ross to explain how much trouble we're in.
"Ross", I say, "we have a big problem." Ross looks at me, expecting the worst, and I tell him we forgot the saddle. "Oh," he says, " I thought you meant a real problem." Then, without moving from where he was standing, he calls out to someone else at the show and asks to borrow a saddle. The next thing I know someone walks up and hands him a saddle. Ross looks down at it to see what we've got. He hands it to David and says: "Carry it carefully. It's the best saddle you'll ever ride in." It was Hermes.
That was my friend, Ross. Always with impeccable good taste. Always there for his kids, for his friends. Don't rest in peace, Ross. Ride in peace. Ride well, my friend.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Friday, September 13, 2013
Like Old Times
Just when I thought all my immediate neighbors had left for the season. As I finished my coffee this morning, I heard something, something that turned out to be voices. Looking our my window, I saw a strangely familiar sight at my next door neighbor's place. A number of miscellaneous vehicles, including a huge camper trailer. A small tent with open sides. A few people, soon joined by a few more. It was when I realized that everyone I could see was on a cell phone that I had it. Of course, a photo shoot. Possibly a film or a tv show. All I know is that if I see Kevin Bacon, I'm keeping an eye out for serial killers. After I say hi to Kevin, of course.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Treasure Hunt
It's all in how you look at it. That's a piece of possibly good advice that I have never liked hearing. Recently, though, my daughter, Eleanor, found a way of expressing it that got to me. If you can't change it, change the way you look at it.
That fit in very well with an issue that had arisen for me. Most of my worldly goods, other than the things I had in my car as I traveled, are now in a storage room. Getting all of my things into storage with a closing deadline coming up when I sold the farm wasn't easy. I attempted to organize it by numbering the boxes and keeping a list of the box numbers and contents on my iPhone. Let's just say that the first few boxes list almost every individual item, but at the end the descriptions got more and more general. Sometimes I listed the closet or room, sometimes a general category like pots and pans or towels and such. That's the first part of the issue.
The second part is that I envisioned neat rows of cardboard boxes in more or less numerical order. Wrong. Since I spent most of my time packing, I did not get to see the storage room much until after we had fitted in the two rugs I sent out for cleaning at the last minute. I say "fitted in" because by the time the rugs got there, there was just about enough room to shoehorn them in. When I opened the storage room door, there was almost no room to stand inside the room. So much for making a nice list of the boxes I wanted to get to first because they contained things I could use as I settled into Amagansett.
I was so frustrated. Then the advice finally got through. I could continue to be frustrated because I couldn't locate or get to what I wanted or I could regard the whole thing as a treasure hunt. I would simply take out boxes as I could reach them and see what I found inside. A treasure hunt. And that's what it has turned out to be. I'm finding things I almost forgot I had, let alone that I had packed them.
My favorite item surfaced when a friend delivered a chest of drawers that was somehow accessible for removal and would help out a lot at the Amagansett house (I hate the idea of buying something when I know I have it somewhere already). As it was moved out of the bed of the pickup truck that had transported it, he looked down and asked if I had dropped my watch. No, it was still on my wrist. Wonder what this is. I looked. It was a watch I had bought a few years ago. Not very expensive but it was a shape and design I liked and seldom saw. Also it was purchased on a girls weekend trip with my daughters and a dear friend. I was so sure that I had packed it in things I took with me on my road trip, that I had turned all my bags and boxes upside down more than once in a search for it, but to no avail. Now suddenly here it was again. I have no idea how it failed to get taken out of the drawer or how it stayed in there despite all the moving around, but here it is now. Now that's what I call a treasure hunt.
That fit in very well with an issue that had arisen for me. Most of my worldly goods, other than the things I had in my car as I traveled, are now in a storage room. Getting all of my things into storage with a closing deadline coming up when I sold the farm wasn't easy. I attempted to organize it by numbering the boxes and keeping a list of the box numbers and contents on my iPhone. Let's just say that the first few boxes list almost every individual item, but at the end the descriptions got more and more general. Sometimes I listed the closet or room, sometimes a general category like pots and pans or towels and such. That's the first part of the issue.
The second part is that I envisioned neat rows of cardboard boxes in more or less numerical order. Wrong. Since I spent most of my time packing, I did not get to see the storage room much until after we had fitted in the two rugs I sent out for cleaning at the last minute. I say "fitted in" because by the time the rugs got there, there was just about enough room to shoehorn them in. When I opened the storage room door, there was almost no room to stand inside the room. So much for making a nice list of the boxes I wanted to get to first because they contained things I could use as I settled into Amagansett.
I was so frustrated. Then the advice finally got through. I could continue to be frustrated because I couldn't locate or get to what I wanted or I could regard the whole thing as a treasure hunt. I would simply take out boxes as I could reach them and see what I found inside. A treasure hunt. And that's what it has turned out to be. I'm finding things I almost forgot I had, let alone that I had packed them.
My favorite item surfaced when a friend delivered a chest of drawers that was somehow accessible for removal and would help out a lot at the Amagansett house (I hate the idea of buying something when I know I have it somewhere already). As it was moved out of the bed of the pickup truck that had transported it, he looked down and asked if I had dropped my watch. No, it was still on my wrist. Wonder what this is. I looked. It was a watch I had bought a few years ago. Not very expensive but it was a shape and design I liked and seldom saw. Also it was purchased on a girls weekend trip with my daughters and a dear friend. I was so sure that I had packed it in things I took with me on my road trip, that I had turned all my bags and boxes upside down more than once in a search for it, but to no avail. Now suddenly here it was again. I have no idea how it failed to get taken out of the drawer or how it stayed in there despite all the moving around, but here it is now. Now that's what I call a treasure hunt.
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