I have been thinking a lot about the friendships I have in my life and how I have many different kinds of friends that offer many different kinds of joy. I have friends at work, friends with similar interests, friends of different ages, friends in the family, travel friends and friends I may have only met once, but that touched my life more than some people I have known for my entire life. Each friend has definitely left some kind of mark on my heart and when I read this story yesterday I knew I wanted to share it with you… ….
Riding the bus can be such a vibrant experience with so much to see. Every street is a different snapshot of events and life.
Once, when I was a few seats back from the bus driver, an elderly gentleman stepped on, paid his fare, and sat in one of the first seats. At first glance I thought he must be hot, wearing a long-sleeved shirt on such a warm day. But as my eyes focused on the images, I realized he actually had a sleeveless shirt on, and his arms and sternum were covered with tattoos.
A youngster sat across the aisle from him and had the audacity—for which I was longing—to ask him, “Mister, what’s that you got all over you?”
He laughed. His answer was kind and rehearsed. Perhaps he had stopped counting the number of times he had been asked this question. “Well, you are pretty young, but I know you got friends.” The youngster readily agreed. “And maybe one of those friends you had moved away or went to a different school or something, and you might have said to them you would never forget them. You’d always remember them. You ever done that?”
Again, participative agreement from that youngster. Me too. “Here’s the thing with me. When I was just a little older than you, I decided when I really wanted to remember a friend of mine, somebody that I was powerfully connected to….I’d just wear ‘em. Right on my skin. Then for sure they’d be with me wherever I went, and no way could I forget them. They’re on my skin.”
Sure enough, I wasn’t the only passenger enthralled by the story. Several heads were leaned forward for a closer look. Lots of different styles. But every tattoo was the name, mostly first names, of someone with whom this man had a connection in his life. Accommodatingly, he held his arm out in front of him so anybody that wanted to could get a better look.
He turned his forearm over and pointed out a name, saying “this ‘n here. My first. I was just a bit older’n you. He ain’t here no more. I mean, not living anymore. But he lives with me as long as I’m walking. At least.”
The bell drew a number of us back to our place in the world. The man with the names tattooed drew up the satchel he had at his feet and said, “gotta go. Thanks for asking. Remember your friends.”
My stop was just a few blocks later. My head was full. As a lettering artist, I found that the many different styles with which that man had decorated himself were writing themselves into my thoughts. Bold. Playful. Stately. Elaborate. I knew without having to ask that the man chose a style that suited the connection he was memorializing.
Not given to tattoo work for myself, yet taken with the intent, I wondered how I might remember this man’s efforts in my own life. With my own connections. So much buzz happens around the importance of networking and creating connections. There are ways we indelibly write our names on others without a literal mark. And they on us.
That day I made connections by not averting my eyes or attention from a youngster and an old man. I do not know their names. I do not know where they live or if they still live. But I am connected to them in an indelible way. (Written by Mary Anne Radmacher)

**I guess what I think about when I read this story is to not miss those tiny moments of sharing by the distraction of our own thoughts and concerns about the next event we are off to or things we have to stroke off our never ending list. …I want to share with you some of the new connections I have formed on this trip due to the fact that I have been given the gift of time and for once in my life I am not rushing on to the next activity, chore or distraction…..

Connect by definition (verb) 1.bring together or into contact so that a real or notional link is established. 2. Join together so as to provide access and communication. 3 associate or relate in some respect 4.think of as being linked or related 5.provide or have a link or relationship with 6.form a relationship or feel an affinity……

My connection with Betty….the cleaning lady……
I have been watching Betty clean and buzz around on the golf cart for many years around Frisco campground…I usually greet her with a smile and good morning as I make my way to the ladies room to brush my teeth and wipe the sleep out of my eyes….this year my encounter with Betty was different….One morning while washing my face I decided to tell her how sorry I was for the loss of Charlie as I knew she worked with him for many years….she said “I sure do miss him…..you know I was the one that found him”….She was a little teary as she recounted the events for me….”he must have been trying to light the tank in his trailer as he still had the matches in his hand…I am not too sure, but I think he might have spent the night outside on the ground”…I could feel her pain and spent a good deal of time with her in the bathroom trying to comfort her….she told me they had a big bonfire that night and told stories about Charlie as a way to ease their pain and celebrate his life….
A few days later I met Betty again and asked her how she came to work here at the campground and she told me she is retired from a good government job, but likes to keep busy….then she looks at me and says “I have had lots of loss in my life and I don’t like to have too much time to think…” She shared with me that she had lost 2 children, 1 grandchild and her husband…I had no idea….She said she thinks about maybe taking some time now for herself and that she thinks she is ready to move on…. Again…we spent several minutes(in the ladies room) sharing stories and tears…

The next morning I meet her again and she asks “when are you leaving?” I tell her in a couple of days…she looks at me and says in her Southern accent…”I am really going to miss seeing your pretty little face”…..and a connection is made….

Ester…..the story-teller…
I have seen Ester and Marty come here for several years. They are part of New Yorker gang (also known as the River Rats). We have greeted each other with hellos and how was your drive down?, or how was your Winter?….small talk….
I was walking through her campsite and she said “why don’t you sit down for a few minutes…” and offered me a chair. I was off to town to fit in a quick workout and pick up some groceries…but I thought…why not just sit for a few minutes….(hearing Bill’s voice echo in my head….you got some where to be….stop that….we have time to just sit…).
I sat down in the chair and looked into Esters blue lively-wise eyes and knew I was going to hear some stories. You can always hear Ester’s laugh through the campground so I knew she had a fantastic sense of humor.
I asked her “so your friends Larry and Freddie left today??? “She answers “Yes”. “Did I ever tell you the story about them? I love their story.” “No” I tell her. “Larry and Freddie had a love affair as young adults, but distance tore their relationship apart. They both married, but Freddie continued to keep in touch with Larry and his wife by sending them a Christmas card in the mail each year”….I am thinking back as she is talking to the very first time we met Larry and he came over to the campsite where our gang was all gathered and laughing and carrying on and he asked us to turn down our Reggae music and we all thought he was not a happy camper ….as she continues her story she tells me Larry lost his 16 year old daughter to cancer and then his wife to the same disease….oh my….I remember hearing about his wife, but had no idea they had lost their only child.
Turns out Freddie also lost her husband to cancer and was living in California when she got the call from Larry telling her he had lost his wife to cancer and so their friendship and love affair began again. Ester says to me….”Freddie is a very brave woman you know…..she left everything…her house, her friends…absolutely everything to go and be with Larry….and look at how happy they are.”
We had all witnessed the change in Larry from that first year we met him and I feel somewhat guilty knowing now what he must have been going through at that time. Being only in my late twenties when we first met I would probably not have understood the depth of his sorrow until now. I am so happy that he has found such a great partner to share his passions and life with. Thank you Freddie!
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I ask Ester how long she has been married and she tells me 53 years. She says she met Marty in the 4th grade at a Catholic school wearing their little uniforms. She said her girlfriend ran up to her and said “have you seen the new boy Marty in 4C?” and the rest is history. I ask her about her kids as I knew some of them were runners etc….I was pretty sure she had 3 children after spending some time with her husband Marty last year who shared with me his passion for instructing disabled skiers in the winter. She says well.. actually we had 4 children. We also lost a child…I stumble over my words and am not too sure what to say….”oh I’m sorry… …..she answers…”honey….that was a long time ago”….but I still feel her pain.
She goes on to tell me she worked in school system for many years and was the lady that shock her finger at you if you were late and then gave you a hug and sent you off to class. I could so picture her doing just that. She said she still does some part time work and helps out Rocket Rick (another River Rat) with some kiosks he has at different malls. Her eyes light up when she speaks of Rick…..She says “you know Rocket Rick (50ish) has looked after both his parents right? I have never seen a child so devoted to his parents.” I have a flash back of seeing Rocket Rick many years ago in Bonaire and watching him guide his parents one at a time up to the little beach side restaurant to have lunch. He has since lost his dad, but continues to care for his mother who has Alzheimer’s disease. Ester tells me his mother is in a home just around the coroner from where she lives and that Rick goes to visit her pretty much every day….takes her for drives, reads to her etc….She says she remembers getting a call from Rick one day saying his mother was having a really good day and that Ester should come over quick to see her. She stops at this point and apologizes “sorry I can’t tell this story without crying every time”(never once during her own story telling did she cry for herself, but when she spoke of her friend and his devotion to his mother her tears flowed….connection) by the time Ester got there that day his mother was no longer having a good day and she was agitated and angry as many Alzheimers patients sometimes become and she was striking out with her fists at Rick and she said Rick was holding on to her hands and repeating softly to her over and over “I love you mom” “I love you mom”….and it just broke Esther’s heart. She says “I really hope Rick meets someone special…he deserves to.” “me too I answer.”
I enjoyed my afternoon visit with Esther and now have a better understanding and a glimpse into the lives of her dear friends (connections) who I have been seeing down here for years, but have never really got the chance to know intimately….Running to town no longer seems important and the sun is setting for another day.

I read in Mary Anne’s book that in Uganda when a friend stands in front of friend they have a saying which means I am the mirror of your heart…..I will try and reflect the best qualities my friends have shared with me and remind each of them of their greatness…
(I promise no tattoos mom…deb)