“Jean. I just love that
scarf! It goes so beautifully with the sweater, the cardigan, and the skirt.
Where did you find it?”
The SconeLady is always
interested in scarves, especially ones with delightful colors all swirled
together into wonderful patterns. It was a scarf any model in NYC might wish for.
“Oh, it's from my
friend. Not just any friend: it's from our Eric’s wife..she died,
you know; not 15 months ago.”
“She did? Oh, I didn’t know
that!” I thought of Eric now, standing with the other Mousehole Men, all ready to perform. “I’m so
sorry,” I continued. I felt truly dreadfully sorry, for Eric is dear, and would feel
such a loss deeply.
“Yes, a lovely lady she was,
a real friend. Spent most
of her time trying to get well. But it just wasn’t to be, and so she
prepared. One day she rang me.”
“Oh?” I said. “What did she
say?”
Jean sat for a moment,
remembering. “Well, she said she had some things for me, if I wanted 'em.”
I waited, not wanting to
hurry the difficult memories.
“Yes, she had some things for
me. So I came round, and visited. And what do you suppose?” Jean looked up at
me.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,”
said I.
“She said, ‘Come in the
lounge, I have a box for you.’ There was a box of scarves,
and some belts.”
Ah, I thought. The lovely
scarf Jean was wearing was from our Eric’s lovely wife. “This was one of them,
then..” I ventured.
“Oh yes, my favorite in
fact. I wear it because 'tis pretty, like 'er.”
“It certainly is pretty, Jean, and a lovely reflection of your friend.”
We sat waiting for a
moment, thinking our thoughts together. Soon there was a stir as the Male Choirs began readying themselves for the performance. As we watched, there was Eric dutifully following the fellow in front of him. He turned his head in our direction, and smiled.
Jean and I smiled back. And waved..
See you along the way!
the SconeLady
the surf beach, Porthmeor (just look at this, RSS!)
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