snippets from the past week

This week has been full of life, and not, rich as usual, with reminders of the love that flows between friends.

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For the "not" part, a friend's husband died about a month ago and his funeral was this week. He had had stomach cancer, had been declared cancer-free, and then stopped feeling well. There was much investigation without much result, and then I imagine the cancer made itself more apparent. The funeral was held in a beautiful old-style Episcopalean church with high, arched windows and spring-time flowers still perched up on the window sills in celebration of Easter. The bright whites, yellows, and greens contrasted lushly with the grey and white walls of the church, as did the hope and sorrow evident throughout the service.

Part of the service was in Spanish -- the man who died was Columbian and he and his wife had lived in Latin America for many years before settling near Boston. He was skilled and funny and passionate, though lived his last years working in jobs that we would call "beneath" him.

I met this man's widow when my friend Char was sick. She was a good friend to both Mark and Char and played MC at Char's memorial service, which I organized and where we both spoke. Years later, I bumped into her in the lobby of my office building and we renewed our friendship.

At the funeral, she appeared full of life-spirit, not joyous, not beaten down either. Her husband of more than 40 years is gone; I hope she continues to find her way back to this life.

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Also this week, I learned that my friend D had been terribly ill, but was starting to mend. He came down with pneumonia quite suddenly last Saturday and was taken off to the e-room by ambulance. He has fortunately started to recover and may come home soon. His loving and devoted partner, K, seemed surprised to discover himself tired after nearly a week's effort to manage D's hospital stay and work a little on the side. K is fortunate to have the loving support of his siblings, and I am fortunate to have K's and D's friendship for a while longer.

I live with the constant knowledge that life is short, but some days it is like a distant hum. D's illness, perhaps more than G's death, has yanked that reality more distinctly into my thoughts.

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In a typical year, our snowdrops bloom once. They are supposed to make their appearance on the anniversary of Mark's death, March 9, but that happens only rarely. Sometimes we see them in January, sometimes not until April. It all depends on when the snow clears. This year, they bloomed three times (but still not on March 9. They are obstinate, in keeping with Mark's cherished spirit). They are blooming now, perhaps for the final time until 2008.

We were supposed to have a nor'easter today. There is much rain, though little wind. But because the temperature is flirting with the freezing mark, we are seeing a little snow mixed in. We worry about tomorrow's marathoners, especially the inexperienced ones who may not know how to protect themselves from the damp and cold.

The wood stove is chugging along. The cats sleep through it all.

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Yesterday, we performed our first work share at the farm where we'll be getting vegetables this summer and into the fall. The day was cool, but the sun brilliant. We worked in the greenhouse for a while, moving around plants at various stages of growth. We moved some into their "halfway house" where they'll experience more of the hardships of a life lived outdoors, with some protection from the elements for a while longer. We briefly dug into wet clay to form raised flower beds. And we raked mowed raspberry beds to remove old canes.

And everywhere we saw signs of life -- in the sprouts and actual plants we were moving, for example. But we also uncovered worms in the earth we were digging and plant shoots while we were raking. We warmed up enough to strip down to our tee shirts and got good country air into our lungs.

When I came home, I felt just a little changed, perhaps a little more full of life and determination. We hope to go back next week.