I hadn’t thought of my friend Bob for a while. Perhaps he just wanted to sit together again, like we used to.
|Bob & me and Jack, on the couch ... A gathering of his many friends for Bob's 70th birthday. Soon after that he was gone. But he still visits me.|
Saturday, Kessy and I were enjoying Coffee Clutch. This morning Bob, and our many visits occupied my thoughts. Bob was taken from us too soon, a few years back. A Viet Nam vet, agent orange and cancer eventually won. Sitting with Kessy something took me to Bob’s big shop where his tools, collectables and motorcycles lived. Often on a visit to his farm he’d steer us to that place he called his sanctuary. We’d sit in the old, worn chairs, between his bikes and wood stove, sip on coffee and swap stories. Mostly he’d have the stories, Ol’ Bob was indeed a master storyteller. Often though, we’d simply sit together—in the summer doors flung, wide fans whirring—in the winter all tucked in, wood stove blaring ... Friends don’t always need words. I felt Bob join me this morning, no words, just a visit. Perhaps he just wanted to sit together again, like we used to.
|Bob at his 70th birthday ... A gathering of friends did indeed give him a great send off.|
~ Gitty Up, Dutch Henry.