It's been a heavy-hearted few days for me. First there was the passenger plane shot down and all those innocent people killed. It haunts me.
Then Saturday, as Brett and I drove to our favorite local winery for lunch and wine, I learned that a friend and neighbor when we were living at Aspen Meadows had lost her long battle with cancer. She had been fighting the cancer long before we sold our home and moved up here. Brett and I sat with our wine on the terrace of the winery, overlooking the pine studded Sierras, and talked about Rebecca. She was a live wire and a spit fire; gracious hostess and warm friend; she liked bawdy stories and shocking people (I was an easy target); she was affirming and generous with her time and attention; she was fit; she was a writer; she gave of herself to her friends, family and community. I admired her greatly and it is hard to believe all that energy and laughter is gone.
Sunday, Brett and I went to church before going down to Sacramento to see a play. We are intermittent church goers -- we are both very spiritual but find God in our Sunday trail rides through the mountains as much as in our church community. My friend, Kitty, slid into the pew next to us. I asked how she was doing -- her husband had been put on hospice last time I saw her. She told me he died last week; that she was floating; existing in a space that didn't feel real. I hugged her hard.
I've decided that I don't like getting older. Losing people I love is hard; watching friends and family lose loved ones is hard too. Getting old sucks.
When Brett and I emerged from the Sunday afternoon matinee, it was raining in Sacramento. We drove home with the windshield wipers slapping, up into the foothills where we were sure it would be raining even harder.
We were wrong, by the time we reached home there were a few scattered drops but not enough to warrant the wipers, and not enough to wet the road. There were just a few soft splats on the dusty ground and on Pistol's rump.