When Is It A Good Time To Be An Empath?

For an empath, probably all of the time, but lately, being an empath has become almost debilitating.

There are some empaths who struggle to be in public places because they constantly absorb other people's energies and that is paralyzing for them. For me, for the most part, I am able to manage those interactions so that I can function socially. Of course, then I need to retreat, clear out, and recharge and then I can go back out and face the world again.

For as long as I can remember, I feel other people's experiences. I can hear a story and it's not just relating that affects me, it's as if I am in that person's shoes. I think it's why I don't care for violent or sad movies (truth be told, I don't watch many movies anyway), or movies with animals or children. Despite them being fiction, the possibility of another's suffering hits me hard and deep.

On top of this, I have a blunt sense of right and wrong, often much to the chagrin of others. Over the years, I've been working to integrate a gray area in this duality, but I am a fierce defender of those upon whom an injustice has been inflicted.

Back in the early 90s, I chased a claim of sexual harassment toward a young woman in my office all the way up to corporate counsel of one of the largest accounting firms in the world because it wouldn't stop and I was not going to let her leave her job because of it. I filed a complaint with the supervisor of a Department of Labor auditor who sat in front of me and told me my records were wrong because there was no way a woman named Alicia Anderson living in that neighborhood was white. I spoke up for the young couple who were visibly disturbed by service they received but didn't have the tools to rectify the situation. I got on the phone with an office in Wyoming who mistreated an Eastern Indian woman on my team most certainly because of her name and accent. I called animal control and worked with the sheriff to be sure a herd of horses rapidly losing weight would either get the quality hay and water they needed or they'd be surrendered. I can make a crying baby stop almost instantly, just by looking at her or him with understanding. And I smile, at anyone.

Being a social justice fighter isn't just about right and wrong, it's about feeling another's suffering and doing what I can to bring about relief. I am capable, competent, resourceful, and quick to act. You'd want me on your team if compassion and justice were your mission.

I walked to school in the 70's in Boston. If you don't know about school busing, it's worth a dive into a few books or a listen to a podcast. I walked past buses with black kids behind the windows and I heard what white adults would say to these kids. I'd seen people spit as they walked by. At kids. KIDS! Like me! Every n-word, every curled lipped pejorative, every huff of disgust was slung at me too. I saw no difference between those kids on the bus and myself. I listened to family members talk with disgust about black kids "coming in" and my heart hurt. My stomach cramped. My head swirled with the question, how can you hate someone you don't know? If you hated them, you hated me. I distanced myself from my family for some time because I didn't know how to deal with that.

Expressing compassion is part of an empath's life. Over the years, I have learned to feel compassion not just for those who are hurting, but for those who do the hurting. I have been able to still love family who say some really racist and hurtful things. I would say friends as well, but I choose my friends. I can separate love from agreement. I can love someone and not agree with their beliefs. I can have compassion for the hurt they have deep inside that would cause them to hate others and deny current events.

But something is happening. Over the past two years, the global injustices, persecutions, separations, discriminations, murders, court decisions are taking their toll on me and now I am having a hard time not absorbing so much suffering. I cannot hear a separated child's cry without breaking down with a split heart: one half feeling the fear and terror of a confused child alone in an unfamiliar world, and the other half feeling the helplessness, despair, and agony of a parent whose child's whereabouts are unknown. I cannot look at a photo of a starving seal cub or polar bear disoriented by a landscape that no longer provides food and the map needed for survival, because I cry knowing we ought to be doing better. I cannot sit at a table with a dead animal in the center because I know it was once part of a family unit and I know of the fright it experienced right before it was slaughtered. I cannot read a headline of a mother screaming because her child's leg was just blown off, literally, in what is one of the most senseless and egregious abuses of power in my lifetime, because her voice and pain permeate my entire being. I cannot listen to a privileged man berate a woman for speaking out about sexual abuse many years ago because I know her story and I know why she kept quiet, and I know what shame of privilege looks like. And here I sit feeling helpless and hopeless.

I am the fixer, the protector, the one who knows what someone is feeling and can be there to offer comfort and guidance. But I can't fix this. I can't help them all. And my ability to send compassion to those who are complicit by way of choice, silence, ignorance, convenient disregard, vote, is fading. And that is a horrible sinking feeling. It feels like a personal failure.

Can I still love all as one when so many others are suffering, and hurting, and dying? I cannot give up on that.

I cannot.

I must not.

#chooselove
#weareone
#itshumanity

Prayer for 2019

If you've shared a meal with me, you know that before eating, I bow and give thanks.

Someone once asked, out of curiosity, what I said in my prayer. It can go anywhere from the obvious, such as, thanking the planet for providing the food in front of me and for bringing my meal companion to the table, to giving thanks for the hot water water I use to wash my plates and the four walls surrounding us in safety, to being grateful for coming to a place of compassion and no harm in my food choices. I may send out prayers to someone in particular who has been on my mind, or ask that all beings know peace.

Last night, as I was having an early dinner because it was the eve of the new year and I needed to be ready to spend hours outdoors with my herd if the fireworks got too close, I sat in quiet and in prayer. For the new year, the new moon, the partial solar eclipse of this week, I felt the pull to pray deep for the planet and all its beings. More than that, to pray for love. To pray that all beings may know love, love for themselves and love for others. That they may know love from themselves and from others.

Suddenly, I heard the message, it was healing. Healing needed the space.

I realized, I could pray for love--and I will continue to do so, but it is healing that is needed. For if a person has trauma, self-loathing, lacks belief in their value, stews in old patterns and thoughts, they cannot be in a space of true love. Because love of self is often the hardest to achieve, yet it is essential to really loving another. Love of self comes from being healed of worn stories, from karma of past lifetimes; it comes from believing that you are love and so is every other being on this planet.

If you cannot see yourself in every other being, your expression of love is short-circuiting. To not see yourself in other beings, is to put yourself above others, creating separation and distinction, imposing a measure of worthiness and the right to exist.

Once we heal a wound, one at a time, once we forgive a past injustice, once we detach from the story we created that binds us to what happened, we experience a freedom like nothing else. We then possess the vision to continue our healing. As this happens, the pain is transmuted to universal love.

Love isn't agreeing with or forgetting, it's allowing space for all of us to heal, including ourselves. It's holding space for another to go through their process and not be tied to the outcome for them. Love is a practice and a journey.

I. We. All.

In light and love,

Mirror, Mirror

They say that what you don't like in another is a reflection of what you don't like in yourself.  That concept has always eluded me.  I could sort of get it, but not fully grasp it.

This morning I whacked the back of my hand on the corner of the counter and it hurt.  As I thought to myself, "wow, I need to slow down and pay closer attention", I recognized that I took responsibility for whacking my hand.  It wasn't the "stupid counter" and it wasn't because of the dog who was nearby that I moved too closely to the edge.  No, I did it.  Done.

In just that moment, I laughed out loud!  The clarity of the lessons is getting stronger and stronger.  It was because I lived with someone for many years who would do the same thing but the reaction would be a full on rant including countless profanities.  And it would linger for another 10 minutes, "g-dammit, f*&#n this and that, sh*!" and I would listen and sit with my jaw open.  "How could something like hitting your hand on the counter cause such an incredible rage?"  Really?

Back then, that's when I realized I would do the same thing.  Not that demonstrative or violent but it was the counter's fault for sure.  It took the exaggerated expression of another to show me my own actions.

So, this morning when I laughed, I gave thanks to the Universe.  As difficult and unpleasant many of those experiences were, they were what I needed to move another step ahead in releasing my own demons.

Mirror, Mirror, you are the fairest of all.

Choosing A Makeover

You know those sinus headaches that go on for a few days?  The ones that drag and hurt and pretty much cloud your entire being?  The kind that no matter what you do for relief, it won't budge?

Well, that familiar little no good pest has been around my head since Thursday.  What options did I have?  Be miserable sitting and doing nothing but complaining about my misery or keep myself occupied with other things and only be aware of the persistent misery when it knocks real hard?  I chose the latter.

The other things mentioned included two fairly late nights out involving some loud music and dancing.  Now, the dancing part really does help keep the pain at bay.  There is a reality bite here in that burning the midnight oil on consecutive nights and getting up early the next day while fighting off a physical challenge does take its toll.

What I want to say doesn't come out right.  I'm more irritated by silly things that on a normal day wouldn't even warrant an eyebrow lift.  I even missed dinner with my friend Bill last night because I couldn't get it together to communicate my intentions.  So, before bed I took some Tylenol night cold syrup.

Bodie woke me up around 2am to go out.  I have no idea how I made it to the door and back because I'm pretty sure I was sleep walking.  The chicklets woke me up around 6:30 with an alarming cheeping which caused enough concern for me to get up.  Upon trying to locate three chicks through very groggy eyes, I found two, and they were in a panic because one was missing.  We found her, tucked up under the flap of the cardboard box.  All was well.  Back to bed I went.

Sometime around 8:30am I got up.  While I knew none of my animals would die if they didn't eat before 9am, I sure felt like if I didn't go back to bed I just might croak.  Nonetheless, out we went for morning chores.  When I finished, I had to think about the list and knew I had covered the compulsories but I sure didn't do them fully awake.

I didn't even have energy to make something to eat.  I had a cup of Throat Coat tea, looked at Facebook, talked to the animals and then decided it was time to nap.  Oh, I'd say three hours went by, occasionally waking up to Bodie barking at any passerby or Pinkie curling up into my back and then getting down and back up again.

I had fed a light breakfast so the horses needed a lunch.  In the meantime, my friend Kim had called to say they could drop off a basketball for the goodles.  I'm not really sure what I said the first time I called her back.  Recognizing my lack of clarity, while I was outside, I sat down in the dry lot and I just looked and listened and breathed.  Shadow and Pippin found their spots to get down close by and chew cud, Red was doodling for his girls, my wild birds were so generous with their songs they induced an immediate smile, the horses were chewing hay, the canal water rushing by, Bodie by the gate listening to the street with one ear and watching me with both eyes, and Pinkie was curled up under my legs seeking comfort from the sound of a neighbor shooting.  Such bliss.  Such peace.  Such gratitude.  My heart smiled.

I called Kim back to invite her and Scott over for quesadillas.  Yum!  Black beans, chipotle sausage, roasted vegetables, mango and avocado.  I could not keep that dish to myself!  A quick dip in the shower, a little straightening up of the house, chop chop vegetables, a little uplifting message from Pema Chodron and we had a feast!

So, yes, I could have chosen to stay in the dark side of my mood and let the physical discomfort rule my day.  But after sitting out with the animals and just taking it all in, I heard them say, "We like it better when you're at peace."  And my day changed.

Why Respite Ranch?

When the wind blows in Central Oregon, it's time to redirect and retreat indoors.  Rain? Snow? Cold? No problem.  Wind?  I run for cover!

It is very windy today.  The kind of wind that just knocks the wind out of you to make its own force even more hearty.  I thought spending a few hours indoors would be a good time to start on those taxes.  Then I realized it had been a while since I had posted a blog.  Naturally, the priority won out.

The animals and I are in our sixth month here at Respite Ranch.  Everyone has done a beautiful job adjusting to the new surroundings and rhythm.  They are thriving under the blue skies.  It is a lot of work taking care of everyone.  I am still making my own adjustments for what works best for them and being mindful of space and time for me.  They come first.  As any of you with children can appreciate, my business drops when one of them needs something.

Restating the fact, ranch life can be hard, painful--outer body and inner soul--and sometimes cruel.  Yet for any moment of discomfort, there are hours of comfort.

I invite anyone who could use a shift in perspective, a little personal space, a spot of encouragement to find their clouded truth, to come to Respite Ranch and just be.  We are surrounded by trees, countless birds overly generous with their songs, mountain views, fresh air and love.  Lots of love.

If hugging or grooming a horse is not within your comfort zone, just sitting and watching them and absorbing their therapeutic energy is vibe altering.  Of course, I would encourage you to redefine your comfort zone.  They are incredible healers.  Intuitive, giving, grounding, kind, compassionate, and knowing.  Looking into the eyes a horse is like finding the portal to your deepest self.  There is only truth.  There is only love. 

Do you enjoy eggs?  It is an honor to crack a pearl from one of my girls and enjoy the rich flavor of the bright orange yolk, the way an egg is supposed to taste.  Those not accustomed to farm fresh eggs might think the egg is a funny color.  It's the happiness and health of my beautifully feathered hens being shared with you.

They like to follow me around the ranch and they talk as we go along, commenting on what bug they just snatched from a blade of grass or encouraging me to give them a little snack from the house.  They are big fans of yogurt, tuna, rice and all kinds of fruits and vegetables.  We contribute very little trash to the landfill.

While Shadow and Pippin can get rather randy this time of year, observing their antics and their affections melts away any ice walls that serve no positive purpose.  They nap together, sometimes curled into each other.  They call to me in very sweet voices, "ma'aaa" and I cannot resist.  Shadow is so affectionate, it's hard to fathom.  When he curls up at my feet, I'll sit on the ground beside him and he wiggles a bit to get himself touching me or he finds a way to rest his horned head against my body.  And with such tenderness and knowing that he is safe, my angel falls asleep.

He will stand for as long as I will to be groomed.  He likes to extend his front legs, one at a time, and I gently pull on them, move them around, massage his shoulder and his joints and he is genuinely grateful.  Shadow is my protector.  If he hears my voice change as I scold Pippin for his bad boy advances, Shadow will leave his hay in his house and come running to me, literally.  If Pippin is challenging me, Shadow will knock him clear of me.  Then he comes to my side to be sure I'm okay and I thank him and kiss him and he walks away with pride knowing his momma is safe.  Honestly, is there any greater privilege?

Pippin is a handful.

I pray he never stops loving peanuts because that is how I get everything done with him, including brushing his hind legs that look like tattered wool blankets.  Pippin wants nothing to do with a brush so while he is shedding, he has big clumps of wool hanging off of him.  So, I feed him peanuts with one hand while brushing him with the other.  He is smart enough and understands that I get something too.  The poor baby does take his share of bumps and bruises by the head of Shadow.  There is a good 25 pounds difference between them and Shadow does have all the power.  So, when he gets an undeserved pummeling, he comes to me for comfort.  The other day, he managed, as goats do, to get a hook of a cord stuck in his mouth.  Thankfully, I was able to keep him from pulling and Shadow from head butting long enough that I could figure out which way the hook was facing and get it out of his little mouth.  He cried.  I kicked into crisis management mode.  So now we are just watching the little swelling he has on his cheek to be sure it doesn't get worse but only gets better.

They are humorous.  They are fun to watch running around in circles chasing each other or the dogs.  They are clever and you can be impressed by just what they'll figure out.

No ranch stay is complete without the loving companionship of Bodie and Pinkie.  Once you get past their individual manners of greeting you, they are perfect hosts.  You will not be left alone, no need for affection will go unmet, your desire for tactile stimulation will be more than satisfied, and your heart will smile and laugh.  Their love is sincere and endless.  

As wide as you can open your heart, they will fill the space with their loyalty and acceptance of you.  And when they fall asleep on your lap or at your feet and start to twitch, snore or talk in their doggie dreams, it is impossible to hold onto anything that doesn't make room for your greatest good.

Pooker,   the matriarch of Respite Ranch acknowledges you every time you come in.  She is partial to the Y chromosome, so if your gender is not such, she doesn't intend to offend, it's just the way she is.  She is 18 years old and she deserves every treat, kiss, bath, scratch she gets.

The Respite Suite has calming energy for a visitor.  I had the very comfortable queen bed made many years ago.  It puts you on the pedestal you deserve with its pillow top mattress, extra pillows and light down comforter that is cozy in winter or summer.  The windows are adorned in green, from the natural landscape outside.  The lamps are soft, the iPod loaded, a candle and incense ready for a flame, a few books of interest are on the table for when a line of written inspiration can round out your day on the ranch.

I enjoy my space.  I enjoy looking out onto my animals and hearing my hens cluck up a storm when they've left one of their pearls for me to find.  I enjoy how the physical work keeps my body strong and allows these magnificent beings to exist in harmony and respect of each other, knowing they will be cared for and provided for, nurtured and appreciated.

I think about my previous homes in city landscapes.  What different lives I've led.  I'm going to stick with this one for a while longer.  More lessons have been learned in the past 5 years than in the previous 40.  What a gift.  I am very happy to live this gift and share this gift, and I am not ready to tuck it away in the closet to be cherished as just another memory.

Good Wishes

My day was so full of ranch productivity--it felt great!  I have another couple of hours of stamina to conquer more, but the alarm tomorrow morning will chime regardless of how much sleep I have had.  Despite waking up this morning at 6am to discover a broken water pipe, I have had this outpouring of drive.

I felt light.  I felt peace.  I felt space and freedom.

When I stop and look at events, thoughts and vibes leading up to something, I cannot help but acknowledge that that is exactly what was happening: leading.  So I follow willingly.

This evening a conversation took place that will have a very significant impact on me.  It will present major challenges, a curveball or two, and considerable adjustments.

Here's the thing.  Rather than feeling stressed about the potential for weighty struggles, I still feel all those things I felt this morning and throughout the day.  Rather than feeling helpless and overwhelmed, I feel fresh and empowered.

The Sound of Music is one of my all time favorite movies and I do have to steal a line that "The Reverend Mother used to say, 'When one door closes a window opens.'" (I've seen that movie countless times yet I can't be sure I quoted it correctly!)

I have faith in my abilities.  I am confident.  I am resourceful and creative.

While those statements are true, I call upon my friends and family to help me focus these qualities to forge ahead, clearing the next steps on my path.  I ask you to gift me good wishes in your thoughts, prayers, dreams and meditations.

Sometimes my independence takes the lead.  This time, I'm inviting my vulnerabilities to show up and allowing my heart to be open to all positive energy coming my way.

Peace.  Light. Love. Thank you.

June 3: Peace

Life has been full of unexpected, not entirely, and surprising turns these past few months.  You could say that what was my life six months ago is nothing like it is now.

Truthfully, I am grateful for the major shift; it needed to happen.  I am at peace with the concept of the shift.  The details, hitches, twists and turns; however, leave me feeling less than at peace.  In fact, I am probably the most ungrounded as I have been in a very long time.  It takes a lot to get air between my feet and the earth.

There have been so many posts related to peace, healing, love, moving forward, transition, on Facebook lately.  Each one makes it sound so simple and easy.  I read the post, smile, embrace the content, nod my head in full agreement and then click "share" so maybe someone else can experience that refreshing clarity--as fleeting as it may be.

And yet, no sooner do I share that post than do I return to that previous state of uncertainty.

Today, as I do in the mornings, I reached over to read the inspirational thought for the day from my book Spiritual Diary.  I share it with you here.

"Live each present moment completely and the future will take care of itself.  Fully enjoy the wonder and beauty of each instant.  Practice the presence of peace.  The more you do that, the more you will feel the presence of that power in your life."    ~~~ Paramahansa Yogananda, SRF Lessons

I have read this multiple times today.  A year ago, I completely resonated with this.  This is where I spent my days.  How did I wander off so far?  I am an eternal traveler, but how could I leave such a secure space?

We know "things happen for a reason."  I do believe this.  More than that, I believe everything that happens in our lives, every choice we make and the ensuing consequence, is a lesson.  We are here to learn those lessons and whether or not we learn them is our karma.

I am making the most concerted effort every day to open my heart and mind to this current life lesson.  There is something mighty big in there for me to learn because otherwise, it wouldn't be this difficult.

That little paragraph above that I shared with you is my key.  Now to find the matching keyhole in my soul.

Peace.





 

Sunday on the Ranch

It's a late Sunday afternoon with a very agreeable temperature and a mild breeze, scattered cloud cover to dull the intensity of the summer sun, clear air quality with a reported low pollen count. It's peaceful. At times.

I'm sitting on the porch, grateful for wireless internet, passively accompanying the goats, Shadow and Pippin, on their afternoon pasture browse. They are becoming quite independent, relatively speaking, but they do still keep their rectangular pupiled-eye on their momma as a reassurance that all is well.

Looking back to May 11 when I went to Jennifer and Ed's to pick up my new bottle baby goats, I knew very little about how to care for two caprine creatures let alone the energy it would take. Immediately recognizing my short-coming, I ordered three books about goats from amazon.com. Two books specific to Boer goats, the breed of the little half-brothers.

Momma goats, or dams, only have two teats. When she has three babies, which is not uncommon, it's typical that the smallest kid gets pushed off the milk by the other two and doesn't thrive. For the kid's sake, this triplet becomes a bottle baby. Goats are herd animals, so getting one bottle baby is unthinkable.

For the first four to five weeks, the little ones required feeding five times a day. This meant heating the milk to 103 - 105 degrees, preparing the Gerber baby bottles with larger rubber farm animal nipples and heading to the barn for the evolving lesson in feeding baby goats. This also meant feeding as early as 7am and as late as midnight with quality time spent just cuddling the vulnerable ones. Another meaning: limited sleep.

Shadow was born May 1 and he is named such because from the time he came home with me, he has not left my side. A constant under my feet, he is my shadow. I pondered Spirit for a while as he has the soul of many in his deeply connected eyes.

Pippin was born May 5. He was originally called Latte because of his espresso and foam coloring. We had a dickens of a time for the first few weeks; he was a little sick here and there. Diarrhea and many an anal temperature read later, I started calling him Poopy, Pip, as in pip-squeak, and later to Pippin.

As the past few months have gone by, their need for bottled milk has decreased. Going from five times a day to now which is just one at night. Even now, instead of a full 10oz bottle, they are down to just 5oz. By mid-week, they will no longer take a bottle.

It's a strange transition. I was buying six gallons of milk each week at Costco when they were at their peak consumption of about 28 - 30oz each a day. It was momentous when I got only two gallons. And just this week, I bought only a half gallon at Trader Joe's. A little sadness set in.

There came a moment when I said to myself, "Wow, these goats are really attached to me!" Then I thought about that and said, "Yes, they are." For I am their momma, their protector, their nurturer, their stall cleaner.

And they are my kids.

Photos

Top: Pippin stretched out as Cleopatra on the hay trailer as Shadow follows behind.

Middle: Learning to bottle feed. Pippin on the bottle and Shadow smiling.

Bottom: Coming out of the carrier on their first day home with me. Pippin in the forefront.

It's Beautiful

This is what I have been saying all day as I was glued to my laptop watching live feed of the rescue of the miners in Chile. "It's beautiful."

I couldn't come up with any other expression. As I stood in front of my screen with goosebumps and teary eyes watching yet another miner reach the top of the shoot in the capsula, I would say, "this is beautiful" or "it's beautiful" or "wow, this is so beautiful."

The impact of hundreds of people from all walks of life working ferociously on a common goal hit hard. The human spirit, when set about to focus on the greater good, is beautiful.

I suppose I could make a political statement or even more frightening, a politically correct statement. But neither of those are my intention.

My point is that we just witnessed a very beautiful event today. People from different religions, different political parties, people who wear different clothes, marry different people, speak different languages, eat different foods, pray to different gods, these same people got together and contributed their expertise, their ideas, their time and energy for the same goal.

And the result was, yes, you guessed it, beautiful.

We are more alike than we are different. A paraphrase of something Maya Angelou said.

It is a super clear sky tonight in Central Oregon. The stars are abundant. I will use them to wish many wishes that more can good be accomplished through our differences.

Chi-Chi-Chi-le-le-le. They offered a lesson to us these past 2 months. May we learn from what was endured.

Peace.

Happiness Is...

Being alone in a quiet house, no television, no radio, no chatter, listening to my two dogs simultaneously snoring in their peaceful deepest sleep.

Peace Comes

There had been something bugging me about the day Tripper left me: June 25. Why that day? Why didn't he come to our new ranch? Was it a Friday that was bothering me? Was it the date? A persistent nagging I could not shake.

On Tuesday, I was talking with Bonnie and telling her the story of losing Tripper. She asked me when that happened and I gave her the date. Again, that tug. What was I missing?

I took some time to sit on the sofa with Pooker and let my mind go. Let the feelings come and go and I did my best to not grab onto any one of them but to let them wash over me and let me feel. My eyes were closed and my breathing was slow and calm.

I saw my friend Fred Burrill. Fred Burrill's birthday was June 25. He would have been in his early 100s this year.

Several of you know who Fred is, many of you do not.

Mr. Burrows as we called him as kids, lived up the street from us. He was a tall man with a tick in his walk. He walked everywhere, he did not drive. Fred would pass our house with his fishing rod in hand and his fishing vest packed with the necessities of his outing. Off he went to catch the bus to head to his post. We would yell over from the porch, "Hi Mr. Burrows!" And his smile would gleam in our direction and his large hand would wave back at us.

We went up to his house to get candy. And he had a never ending supply. He was a happy man. He seemed to have no worries, no enemies, no reason to not be smiling.

Many years later I was visiting my parents and who came walking up the street but Mr. Burrows. He was carrying his grocery bags, this time a little more hunched over. I asked him if I could help him home. We chatted on the way to his house and it was the first time I had ever been inside his house. It was small, a shotgun apartment.

From there, our friendship blossomed. And I learned his name was not Mr. Burrows but Mr. Burrill, or Fred.

I would visit him and we'd play cribbage or listen to Hawaiian music on his old style cassette player or we would head to the super market in my Volkswagen Fox--ample space for me, a bit cramped for my 6'4" friend.

During our visits, he told me stories of his early life, he shared precious pearls of wisdom and he always reminded me, "take it slow."

For one of his birthdays, my dear friend Suzanne came over with her cello and played him a private concert and sang to him. If you could have seen the smile on his face. It was simple and beautiful. I gave him a new music player with buttons that were easier for his curling fingers to press to play his music and with speakers a bit stronger so he could hear better with his aging ears.

One of our last outings was to the Kennedy Library. He didn't come inside, it was getting too difficult to get in and out of the car. But we sat there with the windows open feeling the ocean mist and listening to the waves hit the rocks below and the seagulls singing their nautical tunes. That was a special moment. We both were in the same car yet someplace else in our minds and hearts and enjoying every minute.

Fred moved into a nursing home and I saw him a couple of times. We still managed to get in a game of cribbage.

I moved to Argentina and my mother read me a letter sent to me by a family who knew him. Fred had passed away.

There is great wealth in having someone so wise in your life. His influence was significant. His steadiness and confidence was reassuring and inspiring. He was a good friend.

So, with this memory I have come to understand the meaning of Tripper's death. He came into my life at an important time of transition. He offered me stability and consistency. He was a rock of unconditional love. He was much like my dear old friend, Fred: the one who has been there and done that and who didn't get too riled about anything. He reminded me what was important in life. Fred and Tripper did that.

I am blessed to have had these friendships. And I believe they are intertwined. June 25 was no random day. June 25 made perfect sense and I am so relieved to have put this together.

When I get back to Long Beach and to my photos, I will post a photo of Fred on his concert birthday. You'll see everything in his smile.