But Ya Got Ta Have Frie-ends....

Out the window this morning

to make the day last long . . .

the song "Friends," written by and sung by the Divine Miss M.  I have the song memorized because it appeared at a time I felt friendless and I listened to it over and over again.  

Happily, in these latter days, I am blessed with many friends.  Oh, I can still feel lonely sometimes when days go by and I am alone with my lost love.  But I know there are people I can call, people I can speak with.  And not just people I need to pay to listyen to me.  And there are people who actually seem to enjoy hanging out with me sometimes.

Becoming a caregiver has deeply changed what I value in other people.  It has also turned me toward the path of Christian community.  I've been a born again believer since 1983 (now that situation was a baptism by fire that I won't talk about here but, honey, if I ever write a memoir, be sure to get a copy if you can stand the heat) and since then tried one church with Will back in the last century and now my love of ritual and progressive theology have brought me to "the Episcopal branch of the Jesus Movement," as our Presiding Bishop Curry likes to say.

I've misplaced some connections along the way.  I know from reading the posts in a Facebook group of spousal dementia carers that this loss is common for dementia carers. There's one friend who I told we should meet again under the influence of alcohol and I think she heard "we shouldn't meet anymore".  If I had the energy, I'd do the hard work of repair but, you know, I don't have the energy.  The reason I said that was that whenever she drank she'd wind up telling me how mean I am or was.  She regularly reminded me, in some way or other, that I was an asshole.  I used to feel like, "well, this is great that she's honest."  No I feel like, "Why doesn't she give a friendlier interpretation to my behaviors, like - you're under tremendous pressure from your grief/fear/mental illness."  

Over time, I've also been limiting my connection to a family member and an old friend, both of whom sometimes pop some reference to my imperfections into conversations by email or phone.  I think they probably try not to do so but, ya know, Mark 6:4 -- ya feel me?  

This morning, as the sky changes from mauve to salmon and the river slides silver beneath chilly geese, I am feeling very George Hearn  (No no, not Sweeney... ZaaZaa!

 

 

I am the Kakester goo goo ga joob.