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Archive for March, 2013

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I have now completed 2 pairs of socks.  The world did not end.  It was not a random phenomena.

What’s more:  I bought yarn on Friday to start a third pair.  I am designing this pair myself  and I am hoping it will look like a aran sweater for my feet, only in burgundy.

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Squoosh Fiberarts, Ultra Sock, superwash merino.  The color is Raison.

In other news,  the town I live in was featured in Travel and Leisure magazines as having one the most beautiful town squares in America.

http://www.travelandleisure.com/articles/americas-most-beautiful-town-squares/1

This is no surprise to anyone who lives here and anyone who knows me also knows that I love where I live.  I love that it feels like a small town even though it’s surrounded by the rest of Atlanta.  I love that the Library is half a block away, that I can walk to the bank, the grocery store, or any number of great restaurants, and that the Marta train will take me most places if my car is out of whack.  I love that everyone cares what happens here and that it isn’t such a big place that it’s hard to manage well.  And I love the Courthouse square and I’m thrilled that it was noticed.

Of course, I might not be so thrilled in a month or two when tourists start showing up to hang out here instead of going to the World of Coke or the Margaret Mitchell House.  When I can’t park in front of my building or get a seat at my restaurant of choice.  When the free concerts in the park or the Art Festival are so mobbed it’s better just to stay home.  Sigh, then I might as well go brave the crowds at the aquarium or the museum myself.

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I guess it’s too much to ask to expect people to stay where you left them.  Even my keys sometimes wander off and because I need them I search everywhere, even in the unlikely places, empting closets, and leaving a trail of disruption to mark my path.  The keys always show up though, right where I left them.

A long time ago my path diverged, not through snowy woods, but certainly down a road less taken and my friends of those days went on down the path meant for them.  One I couldn’t stay on.

I didn’t hunt for them, like I do for my keys, because our paths had split too far apart, but now and then I wondered what they were up to.  Occasionally I uncovered a name I knew while searching the internet for something else.   Which is a bit like finding a key that goes to a house you don’t live in anymore.

Today I learned that someone, whose friendship from those days I cherish, died a few years ago.  The most comforting thing about this is that the friends we shared back then were all there for him during his illness and final days.  They are still there on their journey, having traveled together past many milestones, while I continued to see them in situ at the crossroads where we parted.

I can mourn who you were, the lovely, charming, playful man I left at that fork in the road.  It’s much, much harder to mourn the man you became, the one I didn’t get to meet.  That man who moved mountains and uncovered every stone searching for humanity’s past and then suffered through a long painful illness.  All I  know about him now is that he was well loved.

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