Tuesday, February 05, 2008

I don't mean to be reclusive...

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...but sometimes I'm just quiet.

I'm an introvert, after all, which is why I really don't mind living alone. When I'm working from home, much of my week is spent in quiet solitude, save for the occasional cooing over one cat or another who wants attention. (Single female, lives alone, two cats, knits, gardens -- could I be any more of a cliché?)

Sometimes I get so caught up in my introverted ways that I get out of the habit of blogging. But I do have several things I want to blog about, and hope to accomplish that in the next few days. Right now, however, I thought I'd take a moment to write about where I've been this evening.

I have a small group of friends whom I've known for almost 20 years. When our schedules have allowed, we meet weekly around one friend's kitchen table, to share our joys, weep over sorrows and pray together over ongoing concerns. One friend is retired, one is an accountant, one is a school nurse.

I hadn't seen these friends in months -- we all got busy last summer and just hadn't had a chance to meet in ages. In early December, Linda, the nurse, invited us for a Christmas dinner at her house, but that was hastily postponed after she learned that her only son had been wounded in Iraq. He's now stateside at Walter Reed and recuperating amazingly well, due in no small part to the prayers and good will of many, many folks.

Tonight, Linda was finally ready to host that postponed Christmas dinner, and it was such a joy to see these women I have known and loved for so long, but hadn't seen in months. We picked up right where we left off, and at one point this evening I looked around the dinner table, feeling incredibly blessed, thinking about how long we've known each other, all the things we've carried each other through, and how blessed I was to have that bond.

As we came through the front door tonight and hugged each other hello, Linda couldn't wait to tell us the latest news about this brave son of hers, who just a few weeks ago had made the difficult decision to allow surgeons to amputate his severely damaged leg. Linda told us that today he walked his first few steps on a prosthesis, unaided. His rapid recovery and incredibly high spirits have amazed and inspired friends, family and doctors alike. Again, I feel blessed to be a witness to such a miracle, when by all accounts he should not have even survived the explosion of that IED, the same explosion that took the life of one of his buddies.

As much as I hated missing my fiber friends at knit night tonight, it sure was wonderful to get to see these other friends, and be reminded of how much they mean to me. Here's hoping we'll be able to get back into our regular weekly meeting schedule around the kitchen table. But don't worry, TNK'ers, I'll make sure it's not on Tuesday nights -- you're stuck with me! :-)
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7 comments:

Bess said...

Ahhh. I could just feel the love you have for each other in every sentence. Thank you for sharing it with me.

Jane said...

"Friend" is a very powerful word, isn't it?

Issy said...

We missed you but It's good to know you had a wonderful evening.

Robin said...

How wonderful!!! I'm glad Linda's son is on the road to recovery!

FrequentFrogger said...

What a wonderful connection you have with your friends! It's wonderful that you have all made sure to keep it strong. You have an incredible gift for friendship.

Great news about J.P.--a remarkable young man. He will continue to shine with the attitude that he has. Thanks for letting us know he's doing so well.

Patsy said...

Hi Mary,
I can totally relate to your relationship with your friends. I too, heard good news about J.P. on Tues and am so glad he is doing as well as he can. I call those friends "someone you can call in the middle of the night" people. I'm glad you got to have a wonderful evening with them even if you were greatly missed. You are truly blessed indeed.

Anonymous said...

Mary, thank you for sharing about your wonderful friends and your gathering. True friendships are a gift that continues to grow through thick and thin, distance and time. Rita