This past week in Colorado has been all about the connections. Like the trees in an Aspen grove, with their interlocked roots, we met and nourished one another with food and words and hugs and laughter and some tears.
We had lunch at an Ethiopian restaurant in Colorado Springs, where the food was delicious and we were met with hugs and declarations of 'Peace'. My groups of friends had not met before - once we'd ordered, they began to talk of where they live and who they knew - and discovered that two of them had met once upon a party at a mutual friend's house. Bill asked Mary if she wanted to join him sometime for some cut-throat bridge as a fourth with his mother and brother; she said she didn't know the game, but would love to. I sat next to my friend Mrs. Young, who is now 93 - rejoicing that I could see her with mine own eyes and talk with her once again.
We stayed with Rose's ex-husband's sister Debbie; the two of them talked fast as they tried to fit in all the words they could in a short time as they caught up on the events of years. We stayed with Mary and Jim, my friends from college, where I was the one talking fast as we caught up. We stayed with Rose's beloved cousin, Gaylene and her husband, Tom; more speed talking.
We picked up Ginny and caravaned to her cabin in the mountains. Rose, Ginny, Gaylene and Tom have known each other since high school. Their connections are strong; over the years, they have held each other up in the bad times, rejoiced together in the good. I watched a lot as they laughed and cooked and talked of times old and new. I watched care lines lighten, worries fall from shoulders.
I swore, if I watched closely enough, I could see the connecting lines grow stronger, like a pencil line retraced to add emphasis and definition to a drawing.
I'm pretty sure I'm on to something here.