Thursday, May 27, 2010

The first time I saw him, I probably didn’t notice him at all. He sat next to me for 6 weeks before one day I asked him to borrow a pencil. He was quiet, pensive and he happened to have a pencil I could borrow for class that day. He told me later he thought I had a pretty neck. I stopped by his house for a visit some time soon after that. We had both determined an interest in alternative health. Methods and herbalism. I was timid and a bit unsure to enter his house alone. What if he was an axe murderer or worse? He did have a knife collection, which at the time I thought unusual. He fixed me tea with a cinnamon stick and honey in it, which I would later find out would become one of our most treasured rituals. He had an unusual heat that radiated from him, an intense healing energy that emanated out of him and was made tangible by his more recent career choices of EMT, PA, etc….his love for medicine was undeniable. I compare him much to the ocean, as the ocean is never still and always moving, always changing….

One thing about him was his inane love for Village Inn, yes, the restaurant. Their tea and pie and assorted bland meals. He always liked to sit with his back to the wall. An old holdover from being a PI, I suppose. He had worked with tigers. He had wanted to own a wolf and had to obtain his licensure to work with wild animals. He ended up killing him shortly after he got him because he had broken out and killed chickens. Sadly and much to his dismay, as he loved him. Shortly thereafter he switched to the more benign and less frightening feline companions. One named after that familiar orange cartoon cat from the Sunday paper and the other after a basketball player (he was the fat one)…

Those amazing times I am not hard pressed to remember. They come to me in the morning, early, when I cant sleep. I think I smell you or feel you at times. Cloves and cinnamon, much like the bar of soap I made you that Christmas. The one that lasted forever and you would never get rid of it, until every last bit was used up. Those times that we shared, you and I, sometimes alone and sometimes with others. They were special. You were special and are missed greatly. You always have been.

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