Our friend Tom

 Crickets chirp in the pitch black night from beyond an open window.  The air is cool but Ozzie remembers the hot day and sleeps on the slate floor.  

I've been reading, running, sewing.  Taking my time with life.      

Returning to the habit of listening to "my" music.  Realizing that all this talk of "happiness" is good for me, but knowing all the while that I like sad, sorrowful stories and music.  If I had to only listen to happiness and bright cheery things I think I would go mad.           

I was an English major, after all.  Perhaps one of the most depressing things to study is literature.  I remember asking my professors when the "happy" stories would be on the syllabi.  They told me to seek elements of hope in writing rather than joy.    

Even the bible says that in knowing sorrow you will have wisdom.  Today I got a big dose of it.

 And I want to seek hope in this news.

  Our neighbor, Tom Norman,  has been given a grim diagnosis of cancer.    

Tom is a genuine, caring neighbor.  He served his country during WWII.  He lost his wife many years before we moved next door, a loss so deep that he mentions her with tears in his eyes.  Tom has a peach orchard and a fantastic garden.  This year he'll turn 91.    

Tom plays a banjo with the Lonesome Strings.  When he goes out "pickin" he means that he's going to play a very special kind of music called high lonesome blue grass.  This type of blue grass is very old and unique, nothing like contemporary country music.  He has two sons, one who is an artist.   My husband, Richard is very close to him, and shared this sad news after dinner.

Our house is quiet tonight.    

So we will think of ways to be there for our good friend as he faces this next great challenge of his life.  I think it will kill me not to hear him fire up his noisy garden tiller at 1:00 every day.