A few days later...

Then Thanksgiving came. It was the first Thanksgiving I spent alone. For most of the day I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I woke up and thought about what to do with the day. I drove the pond. A friend of mine calls it the center of the universe, and it's true it really does feeling as though it is the center when I'm there. I stood at the edge of the land locked pond and breathed in the air. It was cold and gray, a bit damp. I walked along the paths that surround the pond. I stopped at Thoreau's Cove and looked at the reflections, at that moment the sun made a brief appearance. That appears to me as Henry. Whenever I visit the pond on days that are gray and dreary seems there is always a ray of light at some point. When that happens I always say: "Hello, Henry." 

That happened just as a group of people came across the bridge. We all greeted each other. One man stopped and chatted with me. He told me he was an artist and often painted the pond. He asked me to have a look at his work sometime that is displayed at the pond gallery. He also invited me to have Thanksgiving dinner with them. I thanked him, and thought how gracious that was. Now that is what Thanksgiving is to me. Extending yourself to others. I declined, feeling I was beginning to enjoy the solitude. 

I walked up around the ruins of Thoreau's cabin. Stood among the ruins and looked for the rock I left there in January in memory of our cat Oliver. I walked up to the Bean Field path. I stood at the crossroad of two paths trying to decide which way to go. I turned onto the Bean Field path and this massive creature swooped down in front of me, so quick and silent I didn't know what it was when it swopped in front of me. It reminded me of being in Minnesota on the Mississippi experiencing the eagles flying overhead. 

I located the creature who awakened my senses to the natural world sitting high in a tree on a branch making quiet hooting noises at me. Other than the sound of small mammals scurrying in the woods it was just the two of us chatting about how beautiful he was. I'm sure the animals scurrying about were grateful I was keeping him occupied as the ran for cover. 

Sebastian is here!!

I haven't written in twenty days. Not that I haven't thought of writing. Thanksgiving was in there and the birth of my first grandson, Sebastian.

I was driving through the farmland of Pennsylvania when I heard he made his way into the world. Sebastian! November 22, 2010 at 3:19 am. Five pounds 12 oz and nineteen inches.

I thought of my sister and how she would have been thrilled to hear that news. She loved babies like no other person I have known.

I drove up to see him in Portland Maine. It was a drizzly, foggy day, but still a nice drive. It's always a surreal feeling driving into Maine. I was never content or happy when I lived there. Every time I cross the border I feel like I have returned home. It never felt like home when I was there. Perhaps because I lived there for so long, so many memories are there.

Danny Dries August 28, 1941 ~ November 7, 2010

Danny was a very special friend I met through the web. Unfortunately, I never met him in person, but always felt I knew him through our postings and emails.  I heard he passed on yesterday and my heart sank, I cried. I knew he was fighting with health issues and always wondered if anything happened to him, would anyone contact me. I was so honored when his family did so. He was a very special friend to me. I will miss him dearly. I wrote this letter to him shortly after I heard he finished his earthly journey. 

Dear Danny,

I heard today that you passed away. When I read the words I cried. You'd think that was silly. I know. Probably ask me why? You lingered in and out of my mind this weekend. Was that you saying goodbye? 

We never met in person. Yet still, I felt I knew you all my life. I found you surfing the web awaiting my granddaughter's arrival. I read your blog and emailed you and found a sincere, loving friend. You asked me once how we knew each other, because it seemed we always did. You were surprised when I said no, just through the web. 

Time went by, wrapped up in life. I'd visit your blog to see how your life was. I'd email and you, and surprisingly you always remembered who I was.  We exchanged emails and shared our lives. You turned me into a mac user, and for that I am eternally grateful! You tried to be a curmudgeon, but I knew better. I shared my road trips with you, and you promised to join me sometime. I guess that is out of the question? But you were always with me and always will be. Friends would ask who you were, and I'd always say 'my dearest friend.' 

I loved your street scenes, I loved your full moons over the Brooklyn Bridge. I loved that your family was so important to you. I loved the pride you had in all of them. I loved your old photographs. I loved your spirit. 

Time passed on again.

I found you on Facebook and we reconnected. I tired of Facebook, as I often do. I still went to your blog to read and muse. I loved the music you posted. I loved your rambles and insight. Your political views, and your art.  What you were eating seemed so important. The photographs of your family. And your comments about American life. I was amused when you blogged about me disappearing. You made me laugh without even trying.

I ached when you were ill, and they couldn't find a answer for you. I felt the joy you felt when your daughters graduated from high school and were accepted into universities. And then became successful women, who you were so proud of. You wrote to me once: "I'm amazed at the unique talented children I've managed to produce from two failed marriages. " I always felt it was because you were such an amazing father and friend to them. 

You are an amazing friend, an amazing father, an amazing artist, blogger, human and curmudgeon. You are missed. I know you're in a better place, more than likely looking down shaking your head at all the insanity. It's lonely not having your physical being here, or just knowing it is here. But I know you're here in spirit. 

Rest now my friend and know how deeply you are loved and missed. 

Deb

Great Meadows

Taking in nature in Concord.

Backroads

The interstate was closed in New York yesterday, at least for a small section as drivers passed into New York from Pennsylvania. Traffic was backed up for miles, mostly tractor trailers and those caught in their shadows.  Cars piled off looking for new routes or easy detours. Driving off onto back roads in hopes of finding their way to unknown destinations. Following the traffic winding through the countryside of New York until they faded away seeking their destinations the road less taken stretched out revealing small towns, farmland and once thriving businesses fallen to the wayside.

And long forgotten relatives resting along side the road in a lone cemetery. Sitting at the crossroads of a small highway and a side road. Stopping in an effort to take some shots of this long forgotten intriguing cemetery, camera out, admiring the old stone work reminding us of those long past. Looking through the lens the flashing low battery light, never a good sign, two frames clicked off....

Long forgotten, no parking other than the space created on the side of the road by other pulling off to visit.  A dilapidated iron fence lying on the ground not far from the Stone gate intended as an entrance. It appeared to still be under the care of someone, albeit not frequented by many, if anyone at all. Most stones were old, and tipping over if they had already fallen. A few had begun a descent into the earth like the one it memorialized. 

Traveling back on the highway this cemetery isn't far from civilization. So close, but still forgotten. Back on the highway the cars zoom off to their destinations. How many people even noticed the small cemetery on the side of the road? Traveling the back roads reveals so much of life, or how life was at one time, yet no one takes the time to notice in their busy lives.