Friends Sitting with Silence Shining

I begin my days with a loose routine of morning readings, nothing cast in concrete, but generally start with the poet Rumi. This epitomizes the week.

“But for us this day is Friends sitting together with silence shining in our faces.”

If friendship were a basket, this week the basket is large and we filled it to the brim.

Leo announced his birthday. He’s an old soul in a 35-year-young body. I quickly put a peach/mango crisp in the oven. Leo noted that Ana and Michelle had invited us out to their casa twice and for various reasons, we had declined.

We plotted, pulled the treat from my oven, and drove out to Oconahua. At their gate, I phoned Michelle. “We are here to share.” It was perfect. They are in the middle of a couple construction projects, so we ate dessert, visited just the right amount of time and left, everybody happy.

Winding our way through convoluted streets in the small village, I renewed my love for this country. Stuck in my own yard weeks on end, sometimes I fail to “see.” With all the rains this year, this lush country is more vigorous, more luxurious with vegetation than I’ve ever seen. The laguna is full to the rock-wall boundaries, no longer room for the cattle to graze around the edges. Returning home, I was able to “see” the changes in my own yard.

On my calendar I had marked “R” on the 10th, 11th, and 12th. What in the world? Oh, yes, reunion! Our annual 1963 High School Class Reunion, cancelled weeks ago. I wrote to the other six women in our email group, begun when we all showed up for a reunion in 2005 in Harlem, and suggested we have a virtual reunion, and I’ll bring enchiladas verde and key lime pie.

For three days we chatted back and forth as able. We span several time zones. Denise and Cheryl live in Oregon. Ellie in California. Charlotte in Billings and Karen in Floweree. Our other Karen lives in Oswaldtwistle in England. And myself in Mexico. We shared bits of our lives, real and pretend, groaned over foods “brought to the table,” and even “accompanied” Denise on a zip line adventure, celebrating her 76th birthday.

Like frosting on the cake, Sharon, one of my favorite people, wrote me from Watson, Saskatchewan. We’d drifted, life happens, and coming back together was like we’d never lost touch.

I met Sharon 25 years ago, when she lived in Vancouver, B.C., and I lived in Washington. We crossed the border many times. She moved to her home in Saskatchewan and I moved to Harlem, within a couple years of each other. Border crossing continued, road trips I treasure.

Sharon has a gift for seeing the whole person and loving them anyway, warts and all. She is one of the most human people I know. We all need a Sharon in our life.

Ah, yes, life. No Friendship basket is filled with only sweets to eat and we’d soon tire of that diet.

Leo showed up one morning and indicated that I not leave my house. He was masked and standing far from my door. His aunt was taken to the hospital in Guadalajara with COVID. Though vaccinated, her lungs are compromised. He asked me to let others know he wouldn’t be around for a few days and to take precautions.

When I told Michelle and Ana the bad news, Michelle said, “Sondra, that means we are at risk too. We were with Leo.” “Oh, right. I never even thought of that.”

So we, few as we are, are on high alert, using extra cautions. Leo went for the test again this morning and he is clear. Yet, for two weeks, we all, those of us on the Rancho and our friends in Oconahua, will continue as if we are at high risk.

Leo is working in my yard today. While he is working, I stay in the house. His auntie is better. She might pull through.

Our Friendship basket is woven with hope, lots of grumbles, and Shining Silence.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].