God's Knees

Weekly coffee-group yesterday, a lift, secured with coded access, glided me up to a typically gorgeous apartment. There are always captivating views of another angle of the island through floor to ceiling glass, and the company is wonderful. I feel so privileged to have encountered a group of generous, kind-hearted women who identify with my dislocation and are humorous and down to earth. No fake here baby, just gentle friendship and respect.

I felt a part of me shift forward. Like the vehicle had finally just slipped out of painful first gear and moved to second. Still a long way to go till it is old hat, but not as s-l-o-w a process as it has been.
And in that surge of familiarity and ease, a memory fell off the shelf and landed in my lap, as tangible as if it had just been freshly baked. In my mind I was standing at the window of a dear friend's house, overlooking this range of hills that I always imagine as an olive chenille blanket draped over the knees of God. Watching fat farm animals ponderous in puddled green quilt squares and a sky, bleak and tumbled with steel wool.




The clink of mugs turns me as the water boils for tea (our special blend), and I take in the smell of homemade pizza set out amongst flax baskets, red biscuit tins and comfort-food recipe books like Apples for Jam. Our offspring clamour underfoot and my friend smiles easily with an unfathomable grace as teenagers and preschoolers fill their plates, giggle and tell tales on each other.



We live very different lives now, continents apart, but share a love of all things family and vintage, and the fact that we cry when we part. The doorways of our homes lie open to each other and I have the feeling, if the last 12 years has been anything to go by, that old age will still see us fond.


She is a bowl of organic plums and a batch of homemade baby food, she is a stack of muslin wraps for my babies, and we have shared many a fairy sprinkled cupcake party with our girls and our other close friends. She was sunlit comfort to the lonely me that needed her friendship all those years ago, in my preparation for parenting and adjustment into motherhood. And a homeschooling support when I floundered between the lines.


There are just a handful of them, like her, that are like the bookends to my flimsy adventures and uncertainty. A few solid, exquisite, timeless friends who, even though they are not seen in my everyday and might not be for a very long time, are unspoken parts of my existence. They will never know the times they walk into my awareness, when a tiny action sparks a memory.

Another heart friend who loves red, has called and sent me words of love. She is the very best kind of thoughtful and leads through her exceptional gift of communicating with others. Another very bestie is like a delicate rose-printed teacup, her loyalty as enduring and precious as bone china. We finish each other's sentences and also cry to be apart. There is an ease with each other that has no need for words. Another treasured stalwart in the heart friend collection is lilac and cream, black coffee and silver retro and soft yet deeply strong. Others are family.



But I got to thinking that some girls are out there right now, going through the agony of the loss of a friend. And it is a desperate grief, when those we emboss into our heart-skin, slip into a place where only memory can press them back.

Although in the Northern Hemisphere it is crisping towards the cooler months, below the Equator, the winter is fading. I know in our home town there will be streets lined with these blossoms and for those who are losing and having to let go - I dedicate these.


And a vaseful for your tables too, my friends at God's knees, you know who you are.

Simoney  – (October 21, 2010 at 9:29 AM)  

So glad you are finding freinds Amy. love and hugs
xx

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