My thoughts carry me back to Yorkshire, specifically Menwith Hill Station, Pateley Bridge, Friday night.
I would just like to share a bottle of wine with you tonight, listen to some YouTube music, and then maybe a movie, wrapped in each other's arms.
Look into your eyes, again.
Maybe talk literature. Share music. But mostly just share each other.
It’s sad how so many folks are so upset about political environment. That was one of the nicest things about Pat. She completely avoided the news.
Individually each of the posts on this blog are really, really awful, but as one scrolls through the blog, one can really see how good it is.
Every morning, walking back from the bus stop, having dropped off Sophia for another school day, and every evening dropping Sophia off at home -- I am reminded of the wonderful walks I had with Pat. Early morning and late in the evening, even in Texas, the weather is generally wonderful and dawn or dusk reminds me of those halcyon days in Yorkshire.
I'm rereading Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain, An Autobiography of Faith. I came across this book during my time with Pat. It was probably during the middle of our time together. I do ot recall how I came across the book. Somehow, Pat must have mentioned it to me.
I could never write to Pat, but I wish I had kept up with Colleen, at least on a very irregular basis. I would like to know how things worked out for her and her husband. Most importantly, maybe she would have stayed in touch with Pat and would be able to tell me something -- anything -- about Pat.
You have no idea how much I enjoy Thomas Merton's autobiography and I wish I had someone with whom to discuss it. But, it seems, "sharing books" has never been very rewarding for me. May wouldn't even begin to listen to me. Pat might at least enjoy a conversation. I don't know.
Our best times, if I recall correctly when Pat and I went on long walks at night or on the weekend and were completely quiet, lost in our own thoughts.
Generally speaking, England was a miserable place to stop, get a snack, rest. The weather outside was generally miserable. I don't recall why we didn't go inside. Perhaps we weren't interested in anything more than resting and the proprietors would not let us just sit without ordering something. Why didn't we go out for tea more often or even an ale in the evening?
But if Pat wants to know a bit more about me, my psyche, a good place to start, Thomas Merton.
Wow, I miss her. Pat.
