a person is a person, no matter how small

~*~*~*~GBE2- Popular~*~*~*
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My friend Irene was popular. 
The waves of people that flooded the funeral home today proved this point. 
People mattered to her, and so, in turn, she mattered to people. 

Many of us there had a shared history, and I loved seeing all the familiar faces again. We caught up, cried, laughed and remembered all the crazy fun we had together.. two decades worth….but the thing that made Irene, Irene was the percentage of people walking through that knew her from a random encounter. She epitomized the phrase “never met a stranger” truly, every person that came in contact with this emotional powerhouse was changed and made to feel like they were just a bit more special than they might have considered.

Case in point, I go to the store…I walk down the street….I visit my kids school – and my friend count rarely changes. Irene, on the other hand, talked to everyone, and CARED. It was as if  that random person in the gas station was the center of her world for that moment- or for the rest of her life as it was. 

Many jokes were made about Walmart- it was not an exaggeration that she could be just running in for a pack of toilet paper – but come out with a new buddy. Two of the ladies who spoke at today’s memorial service met Irene when she approached them on a walk around her neighborhood. One was simply working out in her flower garden when Irene struck up a conversation- made a real connection, and created a deep lasting friendship. That’s the kicker, she truly connected – this was not popularity for popularity sake, she was popular because she cared. But she did not care what ‘side of the tracks’ a person came from, what they looked like, dressed like or what they were struggling with, (except to offer all the help she physically, emotionally, could.)  

Like many people who care deeply, she tended to take on a lot of the emotional baggage of those around her…so it is fitting that on Tuesday she went to the park alone to sit by the waterfall she loved. We all need time to process life.

One tragic tumble later and the lady we all loved is gone. 
This is so wrong, so senseless, sad.
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In trying to inject some tiny bit of understanding, I have to say her life needs to serve as a reminder that “A person’s a persons no matter how small!” …

(no matter how small they may think they are) 

Every chance encounter is an opportunity to meet someone interesting and maybe even make a lasting friend.
 

Thanks for really “hearing” us Irene
 I miss you

   

 

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Lost my voice

Hit with shocking news yesterday, I lost my writing voice.

The only thing consistently working is the delete key. I write, delete, write, delete….sit – stare – nothing. 

Mainly, I am desperately trying to process the sudden accidental death of a girlfriend….but at the same time grappling with a head-full of thoughts, all the who, what, why, when, where and how questions that flood in after a shock. Who am I?, What am I doing? Why!?  and so on…. 

Without going into too many details, (for both the sake of readers who knew her, and for those who didn’t) this sweet emotional powerhouse of a woman left the earth too early, leaving so much undone. We have a shared history that goes back two decades, a friendship that ebbed and flowed like family and a connection that -often scared me into hiding….

This is what is most painful, this is what has sucked my writing voice right out of me. Although her accidental death is not about me, it is hard not to look into the mirror when something like this happens and suddenly see things with a clarity that wasn’t there before.

Changes have to be made.

(note-the delete key has been working like crazy mad for the past several minutes…I don’t know how much to share here….where is the line?  who moved my thoughts? )

  Blogging has never been so hard, but worse my bread and butter articles are piling up- writing fashion articles is near impossible- who cares who is wearing what today, sports are meaningless… I have to get back into the swing of it all, but also know I cannot keep up.

*lots of words were here*
delete-delete-delete……..

Suffice it to say, taking a good look at all your BIG QUESTIONS is worth it.  If your life does not line up with what you say you valuemake changes.

Baby steps, baby….I am not able to change everything in a day, and am determined to be gentle with myself this time….but  I also do not want to lose this glimpse of truth.

(and now reader, if you are of the praying persuasion- 
please say one for my girlfriends family – they are hurting)  

spaghetti in heaven


King Louie loved spaghetti and meatballs…..

Louie came to live with us twelve years ago. A little Havanese, this feisty Cuban pup was a ‘consolation prize’ of sorts. The breeder felt terrible about an unfortunate accident involving my Labrador Retriever and let my kids choose one of her new puppies. Louie was a cutie, a white and black curly haired fluff ball. 

*The accident: We dropped Nike (my black lab) off at a friend’s house the night before we left on vacation….but, before we actually left – my friend called and said there had been an accident….her neighbor’s dog, a German Shepherd, attacked my small lab pup and broke several bones- we rushed over, took Nike to the vet….but she didn’t make it.*

I was never a “small dog” person, but Lou became part of the family.  Liza Jane, the cat I introduced below, came right about the same time, and they were buds.

Louie loved carrots which turned his mouth orange, and spaghetti – which he couldn’t have of course, but the smell drove him crazy…and over the years, he had his share. he’d steal a bite – and the evidence on his curly white fur was clear.

Since he was a Havanese, he did not shed, his curly hair just grew and grew and grew…more often than not he looked like a dirty mop. The photo above was right after a grooming – a very rare occurrence. So, needless to say, Lou was not often very photogenic.

                                                      Unlike this fancy creature…..


  We are going to miss the little moppy fella.

The good news is that everyone was home, this is not the norm for a Saturday morning. I wondered if he would even make it through the night – so, while I am so sad he is gone…my oldest (who was only 8 when we brought lou home) held him as he took his last breaths and everyone else stood nearby.  precious.

                               I hope they serve spaghetti in heaven….with meatballs.