Thursday, July 28, 2011

Dear Therman (from journal entry 7-27-11)

Often I think about how we used to talk when we were both in the house in Georgia. You at the table and me on the kitchen counter. About nothing. About everything. We always made it deep. We always made it nothing. In my mind some days, I'm back there with you. Talking about everything and nothing. Walking to the bank, Publix, shopping for the month at WalMart. Picking you up and dropping you off, being picked up and dropped off at the Greyhound station, at the airport. All of it. Recently added to my collection of memories was us catching the train and bus from Alan's funeral in Long Beach this summer.

Because we are so much alike, roamers of the land, collectors and tellers of stories, we knew the face to face moments wouldn't last long. But thank you. For every word of advice, every conversation, every dollar bill, all of the information about politics I wouldn't know anyway. I am glad to know you as family. Honored to call you friend.


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