My Best Friend

We first met 35 years or so ago. He, a lanky 19 year-old with thick wavy hair down to his shoulders, with an easy-going walk that betrayed his Puerto Rican childhood. A walk that showed the world that he held it in the palm of his hand. He owned a red step-sided Chevrolet that he named Ruby Truck. Ruby was awesome, and it was a sad day indeed when, many years later, he sold her for $150.

His cousin, Beriah, and I were good friends, and he taught me how to muck about with clay, and throw it on a wheel. I made some pretty nice pots, and spent many happy days at the gallery that the family owned. It was through Beriah that I met my best friend.

Our very first date was a picnic on the Battenkill River which flowed through our town. He brought his fishing rod, and I brought the oatmeal/apple cookies. We sat on a thick wool plaid blanket, and enjoyed the stillness of the day. He stole kisses in between casts!

We were married within the year. He had turned 20, and was by now quite grown up. We will celebrate 34 years in a week or so. Our favourite passtime? Sitting on the river bank, or in a canoe, throwing out the line, listening to the occasional 'plop' of a rising fish, enjoying the quiet of the afternoon.

It's good that we haven't changed too much.

It's good that we are still best friends.

Thank you, Larry, for the best years of my life. I love you so much.