Simply Life and the Little Things

Simply Life and the Little Things

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            My friend Dick is gone from our lives. We feel sad. We feel relieved he no longer suffers. We feel guilty we couldn’t take away his pain and confusion. We will miss him, his kindness, his motor cycle rides to Malta for lunch, his incredible stories.

            Dick and Jane. Who would have thought I’d have ready-made such good friends when I moved from Washington to Montana. Dick and I were in the same class in school but we didn’t hang out together. We’d reconnected when I visited Dick at the VA Hospital in Seattle where he’d had surgery. We kept in touch by phone. Dick told me stories of Jane, with wonder in his voice, long before I met her.

            Dick tried to talk me out of moving from Washington. Montana is too harsh, too drastic, he told me. Well, there is truth to that. But truth is what I needed and I had to find a piece of that in Montana.

Dick and Jane “took care of me”. They made sure I was okay. When roads were icy and I needed to go to Havre for physical therapy, Dick drove to Harlem, picked me up, fed me after therapy and took me home. Now that is a friend. As Jesse, another classmate of ours said, “Dick is a good man.”

Shortly after Jane told me Dick had died, I was in the Cathedral in Etzatlan with other friends, three of whom also knew Dick. I sat for a while in the front pew thinking of him, tears streaming my face, tears I could not stop. Ah, Jane, it is hard.

Meanwhile . . .

Today sand sifts between my toes, surf caresses my ankles, while Steve, Theresa and I walk to Tony’s On The Beach for breakfast. We have only four days for me to show them my Mazatlan. Already, they love Mexico like I love Mexico. Today we designated as a beach day. We’ll settle under a palapa, talk, read and fend off beach-junk vendors. Perhaps, if we are hungry enough later, we’ll walk the other direction to Pancho’s for coconut shrimp. 

It’s the little things that matter. On the bus trip from Zapopan to Mazatlan, Steve put his water bottle in in a cup holder on the seat down by his calf. I saw that. Looked down by my seat and I had one too. My eyes bugged. “How did you find that? I asked. “On all the bus trips I have taken, I never knew there was a cup holder.”

“I learn something new every day,” Steve told me.

“Me, I’ve always tried to corral my water bottle and juice can between my feet to keep them from rolling all over the bus.” I had an empty seat beside me so that gave me two cup holders. I felt rich. It’s the simple little things that matter most.

Simple things, like a Montana sunset which cannot be beat for size and glory. For intensity, I’ll put up tonight’s Mazatlan scarlet sunset, smaller, more contained than a Montana sky, but unmatched as the fiery globe dropped into the Pacific.

Simple things like taking three hours to dine on a patio on the beach; three hours that flew by as a minute.

Simple things like remembering stories of Dick. One time Steve came to Montana to help me with a large work project.  Dick met him, holding a cardboard sign with his name printed in black marker, at the train station in Havre. Dick drove Steve over the icy roads to Harlem to my home. By the time they arrived, they were friends.

These are my people.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

April 26, 2018

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