My Friend Mary
Last month I lost a dear friend to a sudden, major stroke. Now, each time I sit crocheting, much of the time spent is in thought of Mary.
A sweet soul that I spent afternoons in the sun outside the Timbertown Resale Shop, sharing patterns and recipes, and sometimes naughty gossip as the day wore on and customers came and went with found treasures from the Ahlquist's shop.
Mary treated all with graciousness. She forwarded baby hats to hospitals, money to the unworthy and wouldn't turn away someone in need. She was rarely without yarn and hook in hand, working endlessly on shawls and blankets and dishcloths. If canning peaches or tomatoes, she wouldn't hesitate to share some of her bounty with me, to can as well.
Her words were fun and honest. When bothered once by a seedy woman, she said, "Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya". We would laugh, and I knew this was the worst she could spew.
I sit tonight crocheting an afghan for the upcoming winter nights, and listen to a late summer rain storm, and think of Mary. I picture in my mind how she would hold David's hand . . . look up at her tall man . . . and follow.
Mary is my dear friend who I miss and truly always will.
