CIRCLE OF FRIENDS

 

I had a tight circle of neighborhood friends when I was growing up.  I was part of a trio of three best friends.  We played ball, fished, camped, and made up adventures together.  Both were at our wedding (more about them later).

I learned to appreciate my circle of siblings later in life.  There is quite an age difference between us.  Only three remain out of six kids: Karol, Jim, and yours truly.  Jim and I had our little brother, big brother stuff. Once at dinner, he said he had an upset tummy, was dismissed, then ran out to play ball. I knew he was faking, so I  ran after him and yelled, "You Faker," while hitting him over the head. We survived and we are good adult friends.  Karol has stood by me during difficult times. What can I say?  I love my Sis.

Friends come wrapped in different surprise packages.  Doug and I got together over our differences regarding climate change. I could call him an "Alarmist," and he could call me a "Denier."  Neither is accurate.  That subject is long past.  We now share many things, including prayers for each other. 

I'm at the age where I keep losing people.  Our bodies wear out, much like clothing.  I have my favorite shirts and wear them over and over.  Each time they are washed, fibers of the fabric come off and end up in the lint trap.   I clean the screen and toss the lint away, and regrettably, I have to pitch my favored shirts when they wear out.  Slowly, and sometimes quickly, our bodies break down until there isn't anything left. 

Soon, my wife and I celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary (Applause!).  While waiting for our meal at a restaurant, we decided to imagine we were at a huge round table with family and friends who had made an impact on our lives. (Disclaimer: this is not an exhaustive list, but I want you to stay with me).  My earliest friends were Dale and Mike, the other two of the tight trio. neighbors on our dead-end street.  These are the friends you take everywhere you go, though miles separate.  Grandma Frye was a special friend.  She wasn’t my grandma, but a neighbor who lived across the alley from us.  She lived in a garage apartment next to her son’s home.  When I visited, she had a treat and would tell me Bible stories and listen to Billy Graham on the radio.  It was a place I could go to be a child.

Where we live now, we have a neighborhood "Mayor" named Bill.  He's the go-to guy to discover the latest gossip, I mean news.  I'm the "Cop."  I keep my eyes on the neighborhood.  My wife is the "Person of Peace" who learns about the concerns of our neighbors and does something about it, with the permission of the Mayor and the Cop (who agree if they want peace in the neighborhood).  In reality, everyone in the hood has a role and a story.  We are a loosely connected circle that becomes a tighter circle when the need arises.  

We belong to other circles outside the neighborhood.  They make a constellation in our lives that makes our universe better and happier. 

(What Circle of Friends do you have?  Please share YOUR story by clicking on the pencil icon below).  

 

     

   

     

THE BARN OF MEMORIES

 

I recently have been introduced to the program "The Repair Shop." It combines two things I enjoy: tinkering and stories.  It is a British program about a place that repairs or restores items of priceless memories.  People bring their family treasures to the barn, and the artisans begin working to restore it to its glory days.  When they drop off their items, the people explain the significance to the team.  In other words, they share the story about the items and the loved ones attached to them.

People get attached to items that remind them of a past loved one.  It helps them feel connected to that person.  It could be anything from an old toy to a rare painting.  

There are various artisans in the barn: mechanical engineers, seamstresses, woodworkers, restorers of furniture, ceramics, and the list goes on.

When people come in, they explain the story and significance of their item.  When they return, their precious item is unveiled to declare its new life.  The artisans are paid by the production company, but the real pay is seeing the reactions on the faces of the item owners.  In a sense, they now share part of their story.

I don't have many items to remind me of my parents, so these stories mean something to me. 

What objects do you have that contain a story for you? We would like to hear about your story items.  Please post in the comment section below (click the pencil).